Chapter 19

"It was a paragraph in one of your books that revealed it to me," contributed Creighton gloomily. "You once described a bad night you spent due to your companion talking in her sleep. That enabled me to give my operative a tip."

"In one of my own books! The irony of fate, that! Please, Mr. Creighton, tell me why you happened to have Janet shadowed in the first place. What had she done to deserve this delicate attention? Is it possible that you suspected _her_?"

"I most certainly did." Chin cupped in both hands, his eyes fixed on the floor at his feet, he morosely supplied her with the salient features of the case as he had come upon them, from the discovery of the steel chip that pointed to an inside job to the moment when he learned that only Janet was missing from the house on the occasion of the monk's final appearance. "Then it developed that she hadn't been at the theater, as she was supposed to be. I argued from the return of the notebook that the case was drawing to a climax, so I went to New York to see if she would take advantage of my absence to slip away. When she did, it seemed pretty conclusive evidence of her guilt. I put Kitty Doyle on her track. Until this morning, the worst I thought of you was that your friendship for Janet had led you to condone her crime."

"Whereas the truth is exactly the reverse! Her friendship and my crime!" She gave a little shiver. "That chip from the dagger--interesting! It really started you on the right track, didn't it? I never knew I'd nicked the blade. Mmph. Extraordinary what trifles may affect our destinies! Funny, don't you think?"

Each word she uttered in that whimsical tone was like a needle pricking his heart. He threw out his hands protestingly, suddenly groaning the very phrase that Janet had used in her troubled dreams.

"Miss Ocky, why did you do it? Why did you do it?"

"Yes, I must tell you about that." Her reply was cool, matter-of-fact, and he did not see that she winced at the pain in his voice. "After all, I can plead extenuating circumstances. I'll make it short as possible; you can ask questions later if you wish. Meanwhile, please don't interrupt me or I'll lose track of my story.

"I had been away from here twenty-two years. When I came back ten weeks ago I discovered a situation that I had never dreamed existed. Lucy's letters had never been especially happy or cheerful, but neither had they contained anything to give me even an inkling of the truth. I did not know she was married to a human vampire, a sort of--of spiritual leech! Words can't tell you the difference between the Lucy I left and the Lucy I returned to! It hurt me--oh, it hurt me!

"You won't put down all that I say about Simon to personal prejudice because you have heard enough about him from others to realize how mean and selfish and--and psychically cruel he could be. He never beat Lucy, but that was simply because he specialized in a more refined type of cruelty--and if you want to know which of the two hurts a woman most, there are plenty of unfortunate wives who can tell you!

"Simon owed everything he had in the world to Lucy, for it was the money she brought to their marriage that enabled him to start his own tannery and gave him the opportunity to develop new processes that proved lucrative. Father disapproved of the match, but did not actively oppose it, and when he died shortly after, Simon's feet were on the road to fortune. Remember that, please!

"When I came home, I found he had completely broken Lucy's spirit and was deliberately trying to accomplish the same result in the case of his son. He had all but succeeded, too. Money seems to be the answer to practically every problem in this country to-day, so I was able to come to the boy's rescue. I told you one evening how I decided to put him on his feet, promote his elopement with Sheila Graham, who will make him an excellent wife--and incidentally put a spoke in Simon's wheel!

"I began to study my brother-in-law, and the more I learned about him the more shocked and fascinated I became. Satisfied with the lion's share of the income from the tannery, he refused to develop the business so that Jason's modicum might increase to reasonable proportions. He had always hated Jason since the panic of 1907 when he had to borrow money from him and give him a small interest in the business.

"He hated his manager, Graham, too, because he was beginning to be troublesome. Graham felt that his long and faithful services deserved some greater reward than a small raise in salary, and the one thing Simon could not bear to do was to reward a man according to his deserts! He decided to discharge Graham--but that did not prevent him from threatening Copley with the ruin of Sheila's father if he did not discontinue his attentions to the girl! Pretty?

"I was interested in the working conditions at the tannery, conditions that were unsanitary, primitive--obscene! I met the Maxon person in a grocery, as I told you, but it was before the strike, not after. He told me things, and even with a liberal discount for exaggeration, they were pretty bad.

"It was then I decided to take a hand in Simon's family and business affairs! I have a queer sense of humor at times, and it rather amused me to think of myself as a deputy of Destiny! And--and it just so happened that I was in a position to play fast and loose with no regard for possible consequences to myself.

"I opened my campaign by promoting that strike! I persuaded Maxon, a born agitator, to talk the men into doing it, and I provided him with money so they should not be broken by hardship. Afterwards I found he hypothecated this fund and spent it on a dance-hall girl, so I was obliged to send more money later, in a letter signed by the monk, to a more responsible treasurer! I was a little shocked when Maxon was accused of murder, but my spirit rejoiced at the thought of him in jail! _Snake_!

"The strike only brought out Simon's worst qualities of stubbornness and vindictiveness. He ordered a closed shop, and suspended a lot of innocent, needy clerks without pay. Except that it goaded him to fury, a pleasant achievement to contemplate, I had to write off my strike as a flash in the pan.

"I chanced to discover that Simon's heel of Achilles was his fear of death, so my next scheme was a pious plot to frighten him into behaving like a human being and a good citizen. I had known the legend of the monk all my life, of course, and it was while telling it to Janet one day that I was struck with the idea of employing it to my own ends--though I afterwards pretended to Simon that I first heard of it from Sheila Graham.

"The next time I went to New York I purchased the costume and a pair of large boots from a theatrical supply store. I made a mask myself, and wired the cowl to stay up so that it would give the impression of a tall man. The large boots, of course, were to give a wrong idea of the man's size in case I left tracks.

"Sometimes I kept the outfit in the bottom of a trunk in that closet, there, but more often it was hidden in a cubbyhole of my little house down the hill. There is a very ancient and disreputable typewriter in the attic, there, too, and I used that to write my messages on. I concealed that, by the way, under a loose piece of flooring just as a precaution, though I did not think then that a police case would ever grow out of what I was doing!

"I set the first fire in the tannery, and it fizzled out. Then I wrote my first note to Simon and waylaid him in the trail. I slipped off the disguise in the woods, ran to overtake him and pretended I, too, had seen a 'ghost'. The next day I brought him that historical book and read him the legend, and I had real hopes of humanizing him when I saw how scared he was!

"I followed up this jolt by firing the tannery again, hoping that its destruction would necessitate the building of modern and proper quarters for the men to work in. I was nearly caught that time--Simon had the cunning to order his watchman to make double rounds!

"That night brought things to a sudden head. I had escaped from the tannery yard, run up into the woods and shed my disguise, and came back to stand on the hill and watch the fire.

"It was than that Leslie Sherwood spoke to me and made no bones about expressing his hatred of Simon Varr. I was curious to know why he was so bitter, and I had a sneaking notion that it might have something to do with the way Leslie had suddenly deserted Hambleton and abandoned my sister to his only admitted rival. It did! I asked him to tell me the story back of it and he willingly complied.

"It appears that Simon clerked for a time in a local bank of which Leslie's father was the president, and while there had discovered old Mr. Sherwood guilty of serious defalcations. Sherwood was too deeply involved to extricate himself short of stupendous good luck and years of effort, so Simon cunningly stored away his knowledge against a day when it might come in useful. Blackmail.

"The occasion arrived quickly. Lucy was obviously attached to Leslie, if not secretly engaged to him. Simon went to Leslie and told him he must withdraw with no word of explanation to Lucy under penalty of having his father exposed as a thief! Leslie was knocked galley-west, of course. He went to his father, found that Simon had told the truth, had a row with the old gentleman and departed forthwith, stricken to his soul.

"I don't criticize Leslie for acting that way. He was obeying the queer standards of behavior we have set up in the West. Actually, it never once occurred to him that to kill a blackmailer of that type rather than permit him to ruin a woman's life might be a very righteous deed! I see you wince, Mr. Creighton! Please remember I have lived in the East long enough to imbibe some of its philosophy. I don't consider one human life so much more important than the happiness of many other people!

"Simon's death warrant was nearly signed that night, though he was to have one more chance. I left Leslie and came home, and I won't even try to describe my feelings when I realized how that monster had used his power to sneak into this house and destroy Lucy's happiness!

"The dagger on the table caught my eye and I remembered its inscription. 'I Bring Peace'. Suggestive--very suggestive; I thought of the peace it would bring to a number of persons if any one had the courage to--to play Destiny. I thought of Leslie's expression when he told me he still loved Lucy devotedly, and of hers when she heard the news of his return. There were two more people who would find happiness if Simon were removed.

"I took the dagger, but of course that was dangerous by itself, so I slipped into the study, pried up the roll-top cover of Simon's desk and pouched a notebook that looked as if it must be valuable. Then I had still another idea--it seemed a good one then! The house was still, except for Bates snoring in the pantry. I went out on the piazza and forced the lock of one of the living-room windows with the dagger. Mmph! Wish I'd noticed that nick! I thought I was only leaving evidence of a burglary!

"The next evening I had a snappy talk with Simon. I told him that the death of old Sherwood--who succeeded in rehabilitating his fortunes before he died--had taken that particular curse off Leslie, and that Leslie had told me everything. Simon merely asked me what I was going to do about it. I suggested divorce--his last chance!--and he turned it down. Just from meanness and malice, he turned it down. Blame me for anything you please, but don't sympathize with Simon; he asked for it!

"I knew a detective was coming on the morrow and I wasn't anxious to take more chances than I had to. The hour was striking--!

"Don't look at me like that! I won't go on with that part of it! Harrowing and gruesome, and not at all important.

"I'm afraid I didn't take either the police or you very seriously. More fool I! As I examined my position it seemed to me that I had left absolutely no clue, that I was secure from every suspicion. Mmph. I forgot Janet!

"She and I never had secrets from each other until this affair of Simon Varr. I had discussed him with her and she understood just what a blot on society he was, but I had not confessed to playing Destiny! After the murder, however, she learned of the monk who had been threatening Simon. She knew I detested him, she knew all my points of view, and her old mind began to work. Janet's mind is like the mills of the gods; it grinds slowly but exceeding fine.

"She watched me, questioned me slyly, and presently began a search for proof of her suspicions. She found the notebook in the back of one of my bureau drawers, and then she found the disguise in the house below the hill. She knew the truth!

"She has a Scotch conscience, which appears to be a terrible affliction! She was horrified at her discovery, almost sickened, but her loyalty to me rose above every other consideration. If she had only come to me--! But she didn't; she elected to follow certain impulses of her own conception.

"The most important thing, according to her strict notions, was that the stolen property should be returned to its rightful owners. In wondering how best to do that, she evolved the crazy scheme of appearing in the monk's costume some time when I was with you. She could leave the notebook for you to find and at the same time provide me with a perfect and impervious alibi in case suspicion was ever directed my way!

"You know how it worked out. It's a miracle she didn't kill poor Mr. Krech! He looked very cunning in his bandage this evening!

"Of course, Janet gave herself away to me! When she came home late that night I had it out with her--and sent her away! I admired her loyalty and spirit, but she was entirely too dangerous to have around! I think Scotch consciences jump at odd angles like cats and detectives!

"That brings the story to date, Mr. Creighton. You know everything else, and the next move is yours." She leaned back and regarded him quietly, her little mocking smile on her lips. "What is the usual procedure? Do you make the arrest yourself? Or do you call the police? What a triumph you will enjoy over Norvallis!"

He did not reply in words. The answer lay on the floor beside his foot, where he had dropped the note to Jason Bolt which he had brought with him in his hurried dash to her side. He picked it up and gave it to her.

When she had read it, she let it drop in her lap. There was no mockery in her expression at that moment, though she could not forego a whimsical little taunt.

"That isn't practicing what you preach, Mr. Creighton!"

"I--I could not find the strength," he muttered hoarsely.

She made no verbal response to that, but her eyes blessed him. After a moment she forced one uncertain question from trembling lips.

"Will you tell me wh-why?"

"Yes. I've a confession to make, too, Miss Ocky." He nerved himself to this ordeal. "I--I searched your room last evening while you were at the Bolts. Looking for proof against Janet. Will you forgive me?" He waited for her quick nod. "I found nothing, but I did see your diary on that desk--and glanced at it."

"Ah!" said Miss Ocky, her cheeks stained a deep crimson.

"I found something there that interested me--made me--happy! A line wishing we had met twenty years ago. Will you tell me what you meant by that? I'm afraid to trust my own interpretation." He paused, but she remained silent. "Anyway, I echo the wish! But twenty years is not a lifetime. If you tell me what I want to hear, we can still have many years--to forget Simon and think only of our own happiness--"

"Oh, stop! Stop!" She flung out a hand imploringly and drew back from him, her face ashen. "Oh, what a fool I've been--what a wicked little fool! I saw this coming--I never should have let it happen--oh, I should have hit you over the head--k-killed you, too!--anything but let this go on! But I d-didn't have the s-trength either! I wanted my bit of happiness--I wanted to be cared for like--like that by some one--by--by _you_ above all! And now--and now--!" She broke off on a sob.

"But, Ocky! What is it, dear? We have the future--"

"That's just what we haven't got!" she gasped. "Oh, don't you understand? Haven't you guessed why I have done all these things, why I was able to play Destiny without fear of the consequences to myself, why I called you in to-night to hear my confession?" She drew a sobbing breath, "I told you I was very ill. Peter, I--I'm _dying_!"

Softly though it was spoken, the word crashed upon his ears like a thunderclap. He sprang to his feet, shaken and bewildered.

"Ocky! What are you saying? Are you telling me the truth? What is the matter with you?"

"Yes. It's the truth. Sit down--please! Don't get silly ideas into your head about a doctor. Give me credit for some sense!" She managed to smile, and gallantly pitched her voice to a note of lightness. "As for what's the matter--well, we needn't wander off into pathology, need we? I think we'll dispense with an ante-post-mortem, if there is such an animal! I contrived to tie some of my little innards into bowknots once when I was h-hunting hippopotamusses in the Himalayas, I guess.

"Months afterwards, I came down with a pain--a pain such as I could not have believed a human being could experience and survive, I went to a doctor in Paris, and he told me there was no hope. A few months later I had a second attack. When I was able to travel, I went to a new man in Rome. He said the next attack would be the--last.

"Then I came home. I wanted to see Lucy again, and if this stupid business of dying had to be gone through I wanted to do it here in this old house. I wanted a few weeks or months of peace and quiet and h-happiness." Her voice broke, then steadied again. "Golly--what a fizzle!" She shivered. "This afternoon I got my--notice! How I wished you were here! I came up to my room, burned that diary--you snooped just in time, Peter!--and wrote two letters. I didn't dare leave the house to mail them. I might have dropped in the--_ah_!"

Swift as a flash of lightning it had come. Beyond that one moan she fought silently, lips tight, one hand clutching at her side, through seconds that seemed eternities to the man watching helplessly. At last the spasm passed and speech returned to her.

"That's--just a preliminary twinge!" she whispered between her teeth. "Peter--there's something beyond the stars! You believe that, don't you?"

"My dear--my dear!"

"That's all right, then." She looked at him long. "I wonder if you'll ever forgive me for hurting you like this. Try, won't you, Peter?" Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears. "Will you get me a glass of--water. On the table by my bed." She waited as he eagerly fetched it, grateful that he could do even this much. "Thanks. Now, a handkerchief--over there on the bureau." Again she waited, this time until he was across the room by her dressing-table. Then she raised the glass and spoke softly. "I'm glad I took this from _your_ hands--Peter!"

She had not thought him capable of such quickness. Not a drop had passed her lips before he was upon her with the leap of a frightened deer. A vicious sweep of his hand sent the glass from her fingers out the window and through the moonlit night, to fall harmless on the lawn.

"Ocky--what were you doing?" he demanded almost furiously.

"Peter--what have you _done_?" she retorted. "That was all I had--all I had! Oh, that was a cruel of you! Why do you want me to suffer? Could you not let me die in peace?"

"You aren't going to die!" he cried. "Listen--how long will it be before another of those attacks comes on?"

"I--don't know. Several hours, p-perhaps." She stared at him open-eyed. "Wh-what are you going to do?"

"Local doctor, for temporary relief. To-morrow, the best diagnosticians--and surgeons if necessary--in New York." He was alert, now, coolly capable, free of the stupor of grief and despair. His face was grimly defiant as he added, "We'll see how much those gentlemen in Rome and Paris really know!"

"Oh--it's useless, Peter. And--and I _can't_ live! They'll h-hang me! Peter, there's something I haven't told you. I hadn't stopped to think until lately that an unsolved crime leaves so much ugly suspicion in its wake! Innocent people--suspected all their lives! I couldn't die with that on my soul so--so this afternoon I wrote a full confession and mailed it to Norvallis--"

"Oh--_that_!" he said contemptuously. He reached into his pocket, plucked forth two letters and dropped them in her lap. "There!"

"Peter!" She stared at them. "Where on earth--? I couldn't go to town s-so I gave them to young Merrill to post. And he--he--"

"Is one of my men, introduced by Judge Taylor at my request! I'm glad you picked him, Ocky! He placed them on my desk, as in duty bound." He hesitated, eyeing her dubiously. "I'm going for that doctor--Joliffe, the chap your sister has had. I liked his looks. First, though, I suppose I'll have to rouse Bates to mount guard over you!"

"No-no--not that! Whatever happens, let that be our secret!"

"You must promise me not to do anything foolish while I'm gone." He took one of her hands and clasped it tightly in both of his. "Ocky, keep your nerve, dear! I'm going to get you out of this--get you out _somehow_! Leave it to me, dear, and stop worrying. Now, promise me!"

"There's another thing, Peter; I ought to tell you while we have this opportunity to talk. Mr. Krech knows I--I did it!"

"Krech! _Krech_! How in thunder--"

"I don't know, but he does. It would have been funny last n-night if it hadn't been so tragic! He got me alone for a few minutes and began to drop hints; said you were practically certain of the criminal and that if he were the murderer he would do almost anything desperate to prevent himself from being caught, only he admitted he couldn't think of anything!"

"Will wonders never cease! However, we needn't bother our heads about Krech--I'd trust him with my life. Can't waste any more time on him now. Promise me, Ocky!"

"It's--no--use--"

"_Promise me!_"

"I--I promise, Peter!"

He bent and kissed her almost fiercely--and was gone.

_XXIV: Beyond the Stars_

The next two hours for Peter Creighton were more like a nightmare than a nightmare itself. First he aroused Bates and startled the old man with the news of Miss Ocky's illness, and ordered him to call Lucy Varr and suggest that she go immediately to her sister. He could not bear the thought of Ocky sitting there alone with hideous memories of the past and fearful doubts of the future. Then he ran to the garage, jumped in the car and drove madly through the night to the home of Doctor Joliffe. The physician was an elderly and experienced man long-practiced in the art of turning out promptly for these midnight emergencies, and he was pulling on his trousers almost before the door-bell had ceased to ring, but to the anguished gaze of the detective he resembled nothing more than a languid snail with white whiskers. It seemed as if they would never get back to the house.

They finally did, and Joliffe took competent charge of the situation. Creighton, banished peremptorily, went into his room, extinguished the lamp, and sat down on the edge of his bed in the dark to await a verdict from the doctor. At each side of him his fingers gripped the corner of the mattress tensely.

He had not waited thus above fifteen minutes when he heard a familiar, heavy tread in the hall outside. His door was unceremoniously flung open and the space filled by a huge form.

"Creighton--you in here?"

"Hello, Krech. What are you doing here at this hour?"