Part 21
He was a trifle over the medium height and slender, with black hair just turning gray, and a face that women would call handsome, but that men would call effeminate because too flawless. The eyes had a peculiarly cynical expression about the corners, and the clean-shaven lips, while firm set and classic, were full and red.
"Yes, I!" he answered, and the voice was wondrously low and musical. "I am fortunate indeed to find you alone, Stephanie."
"I cannot say as much, Mr. Amherst!" she scorned.
He laughed lightly. "Time was when you were more than glad when I found you _alone_."
She glided swiftly toward the bell--but he was before her and blocked the way.
"Don't!" he said gently. "Consider--and don't. You may call--yes, you may even ring for the servants--and what, think you, will be the inference with _me_--me alone with you here--by appointment?"
"My servants never infer what it is impossible for them to believe!" she spurned. "They know I left you in disgust with myself and loathing for you--you unspeakable poltroon."
He put out his hand as though to stay her.
"You misunderstand, Stephanie dear," he said softly. "I've not come to reproach you, nor to find fault, nor to cast up the few unpleasant things in an exquisite past. I've come----" he took a step toward her--"I've come, dearest, to beseech you to forgive--to come back to me--to let me make amends." He held out his arms. "You're the only woman in the world for me--I know it now--I knew it as soon as you had left me. I've come clear from India to tell you--to take you away with me. Won't you come, dearest, won't you come?"
"You would dare!" she exclaimed tensely. "You would----"
"I would dare the gates of hell for you, sweetheart!--to hold you once again in my arms, to pillow your dear head upon my shoulder, to bury my face in your ruddy tresses, to have you----"
"What folly--what silly folly!" she interrupted. "I am no longer your paramour, thank God! I am trying to be an honest woman--to regain the place I lost by reason of your seductions and false tongue. Do you think I would forfeit it again even though I loved you to distraction?"
"You _do_ love me, Stephanie--you----"
"I loathe you!--your honeyed words and pretty beauty that once led me astray are now simply reminders of your abominations, and the proofs of your depravity.--I ask you to leave the house at once, Mr. Amherst."
"You mean it?" he whispered. "You actually mean it?"
"I _do_ mean it," she replied. "It may be difficult for such as you to comprehend--but _I mean it_. Now go."
He looked her in the eyes a moment, then he humbly bowed his head.
"I will go," he said contritely. "I will go----"
Suddenly he leaped forward--and his arms closed around her, pinioning her hands to her sides.
"But I will kiss you another time before I go--and maybe I shall----"
She fought him silently--unwilling even for the servants to see her in this man's embrace. She evaded his every attempt at her lips--she struggled--she buried her hair in his face--she felt his breath on her neck--she was carried slowly across the room--her hair burst free and fell in waves around her, enveloping her face and shielding it somewhat from his attempts.
"You siren!" he panted. "You siren!"
"You devil!" she gasped. "You worse than devil!--Loose me! I tell you--loose me!"
"I'll loose you," he breathed,--"I'll loose you--when I've had--my----"
He raised her in his arms and bore her toward a couch--crushing her to him in a mad ecstasy that left her well-nigh senseless.
She felt herself strike the couch--felt herself flung upon it--tried to cry out and could not! With a final desperate effort that exhausted her last atom of strength, she strove to thrust him from her.
But he only laughed--and shifted his hold.
"Not yet, sweetheart!" he panted.--"Not yet----"
She closed her eyes in helplessness and sickening fear. It was useless--she could not----
Then she felt Amherst's grip on her torn loose. She opened her eyes--to see him and Harry Lorraine grappled in furious fight.
She struggled up--and watched--fascinated and silent; forgetting either to summon help or to flee.
Round the room the men reeled, locked in each other's arms--staggering against chairs and tables--hurling them aside--overturning them--crushing the bric-a-brac under foot. They were down and up, and down and up--they rolled over and over, fighting without method--Lorraine striking wildly in the fury of insane rage, which gave him strength but deprived him of the power of thought. Amherst--taken unaware and weakened by his unhallowed passion, but with a trifle more deliberation in his manner, prevented the other from doing him serious harm.... Both had been cut by the broken ornaments or by corners of the furniture. Neither man spoke. Lorraine's face was set in the fury of hate--Amherst's in the fury of desperation. Lorraine was venting the pent up wrongs of months of brooding--Amherst was fighting for his life! he had no doubt of the other's intent to kill. He was trying to get away--to break his assailant's hold.... But through it all Lorraine managed some way, somehow, to keep his hold--and slowly to work his hands toward Amherst's throat--one of them was already there. Amherst made a frantic effort to unloose it. They staggered down the room--swept a cabinet bare of antiques--swayed a moment back and forth--then went down, Amherst underneath.
As they writhed on the floor amid the fallen débris, Lorraine's hand touched a heavy, silver candlestick.--He seized it by the stem--there was a flash--and with all the strength of his insane fury, he brought it down on his enemy's head.
Amherst's arms relaxed--his eyes closed and the blood gushed forth. Again the candlestick rose, and fell; this time squarely on the temple--and with crunch of metal on bone, the fresh spurt of blood, Amherst's body crumpled into an inert mass.
Once more Lorraine's arm went up----
"Don't hit him again!" said Pendleton quietly--yet sharp as the crack of a whip. "You are striking a dead man, Lorraine."
The candlestick slipped from Lorraine's fingers and he staggered up--the frenzied look on his face slowly faded into one of unrelenting comprehension.
"Yes!" said he, glancing down unmoved at Amherst's body. "He is dead--damn him! I'm glad I killed him! The beast!---- Thank God! I came in time, dear," he exclaimed, turning to Stephanie.
But Stephanie had fainted.
Lorraine sprang toward her--to be brought up by Pendleton's quick command:
"Let her alone for a moment--she has only fainted--and tell me how this happened."
Lorraine, suddenly weak, collapsed on a chair.
"Never mind--I'll get some brandy----"
"No--I'm all right," Lorraine said huskily.--"It is well for you to hear before she wakes.--I was restless after dinner. I didn't wait for Cameron; I went for a walk, leaving word for him to remain until I returned. I don't know how long I walked, but presently I was aware that I was before Stephanie's home.--The lights were burning--the shades were drawn. I went in on the piazza, with no purpose, nothing but a desire to see her--you understand? As I passed this window, I noticed the door to the enclosed piazza was ajar.--I pushed it open and entered. I heard a queer sound in this room, like persons in a struggle. I dashed across--and saw--saw Stephanie flung upon that couch, and Amherst bending over her. For an instant I was paralyzed! I saw Stephanie try to force him back; heard him laugh in triumph and say something. Then action came to me and I hurled myself upon him. We fought all over the room--you can see how we fought--he to get loose, I to get a grip on his throat and choke the life out of him. I must have had the strength of a demon, for Amherst, I think, is the stronger man. How often we fell, I do not know--sometimes he was under, sometimes I was. And all the while, 'Kill him! Kill him!' was ringing in my ears.... We went down again, I on top.--My hand touched the candlestick--I grasped it and struck.--I would be striking him yet if you had not stopped me." He got up slowly, his face unnaturally flushed.--"I'll go to the police station and give myself up. Let the carrion lie where he is until the officers come. You look to Stephanie--it's better----"
He staggered, put his hands to his head, swayed a moment, then pitched forward to the floor, and lay quiet.
"Good God!" cried Pendleton.
Springing to Lorraine's side, he tore open his waistcoat and placed a hand over his heart--no beat responded. He listened!--It was silent.
Lorraine was dead.
He looked at Stephanie--she was still insensible. What should he do? Two dead men, an unconscious woman, and himself! What was best for _her_?
An instant he thought.--Then he strode across, and was gathering her in his arms to bear her from the room when she opened her eyes.
She gave a gasp--saw who held her--the startled look vanished--and she smiled.
"Montague!" she said weakly. "Montague! How did you get here--how----"
She caught sight of the two forms on the floor--stared--then shuddered in sudden remembrance.
"Dead!--Both dead!" she whispered. "Let me down, dear--I'm not----"
"You must come away," he said, putting her down but keeping his arm around her. "This is no place for you, sweetheart."
She suffered his arm to remain, and stood looking at Lorraine--Amherst she had recoiled from in horror!
"They killed each other?" she questioned faintly.
"No--Lorraine killed Amherst--and then was stricken either by apoplexy or a heart attack--the victim of his own frenzied emotions."
"I see!" she whispered.--"I see!"
"Come outside, dear--you need air, and I must summon a physician and the police."
"Can't we do--anything for Harry?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"At least, we can put him on the couch."
"It is wiser not."
"Must we let him lie on the floor?"
"Since he is dead, it is best not to disturb anything until the police come," he replied--and slowly led her from the room.
As he did so, steps crossed the piazza and the entrance bell rang.
"They must not enter, Montague!" Stephanie exclaimed--"they must not enter!"--She sank on a chair.--"Go--tell Tompkins I am not at home to anyone!"
He met the butler at the rear of the hall.
"Mrs. Lorraine is not at home--whoever it is must be sent away," he directed.
"Yes, Mr. Pendleton!" the man bowed.
Passing the doorway to the living-room, Tompkins glanced in--and straightway his immobility of countenance vanished. He stopped, staring--terror and amazement blended on his face.
"The door, sir, the door!" said Pendleton sharply.
"Yes, sir--yes, sir!" the butler answered--and sprang to obey.
"Is Mr. Pendleton here?" came Cameron's voice.
"No, sir; Mr.----" Tompkins began--when Pendleton cut him short.
"Come in, Cameron," said he, "you're just the man I want."
"Lorraine didn't keep his appointment with me," explained Cameron, as he entered. "And----"
"Lorraine is here!" Pendleton answered, drawing the other over to the living-room door.
"Good God!" was Cameron's amazed cry.--"_Lorraine!_ and who is the other?--Amherst! _Amherst!_ Dead!--what does it mean?"
"They both are dead," said Pendleton. "Lorraine killed Amherst with yonder candlestick--and then, a moment after, was stricken by apoplexy or a heart attack."
"You were here?" Cameron marvelled.
"I came in just as Amherst received the fatal blow.--Lorraine was explaining how it all happened when he himself was seized and died instantly."
"And Stephanie?"
Pendleton turned sharply to the butler, who was standing open-mouthed behind them, and said:--
"Tompkins, call up Dr. Hubbard at once and ask him to come over immediately."
He waited until the man had gone and the door was closed behind him--then he lowered his voice.
"Stephanie was here through it all--she had fainted on the couch."
"Where is she now?"
"In the piazza-room!"
"How much does she know?"
"Everything."
"Who else knows it?"
"No one."
"Not even Tompkins?"
"Not even Tompkins. He and the other servants were at dinner--their dining-room is in the rear downstairs."
"You are positive? They," with an expressive gesture toward the floor, "must have made considerable noise."
"If you had seen Tompkins' face when he came to answer your ring, you would not doubt," Pendleton replied.
"Then why bring Stephanie into the affair? Let her know nothing--let her be upstairs--anywhere--so long as she isn't on _this floor_.--How did _you_ enter?" he asked suddenly.
"Through the piazza-room."
"Are you prepared to take the risk of being--implicated--to relieve Stephanie?" Cameron asked.
"I understand," Pendleton answered. "I am willing to take the risk."
"And Stephanie can--if the extremity arise," Cameron went on, "tell the facts and relieve you. We may have to confide in the front office, but I think even that will not be necessary. Fix up the story with her while I notify the police. I'll use the upstairs telephone."
"What do you want me to tell?" asked Stephanie, entering the hall from the dining-room door.
She had regained her composure--and save for a slight flush on her cheeks she appeared as calm and self-contained as ever.
"We want to save you the painful experience of having to relate what happened--there," Pendleton replied, with a slight motion toward the living-room. "You can say that you were upstairs asleep--lying down after dinner--that you heard nothing of the fight until something aroused you and you descended to find Cameron and me here, and the----"
"How will you account for _your_ presence?" she interrupted.
"By the truth--that I came to call, entered the house by the piazza and the living-room just as Lorraine delivered the fatal blow, Lorraine's explanation of the deed, and his own sudden death."
Slowly she shook her head.
"Do you think the police will believe it?" she asked.
"Certainly--why should they doubt it?" he answered.
"Do you think the public will believe it?"
"Of course!--And what have the public to do with it anyway?"
"They might ask, both the police and the public--and the police will _have_ to ask if the public demands to know--what you had to do with the killing? Your friendship to me in the past; your--devotion in the present; my--love, they will say, for you; the coincidence of Lorraine's and Amherst's visits, coupled with your own, and that _you_ survive while _they_ died--all, all will make most startling inferences, don't you think, Montague?"
"Not in the least, dear!" he smiled, though he knew she spoke the truth--at least so far as the public was concerned. To it there would always be something unexplained about the tragedy; something that either he or Stephanie could have made plain--and would not. "My reputation and standing in the community, and the reputation of my family before me, is sufficient answer to such inferences," he added.
Again she shook her head.
"No man's reputation should be taxed--where murder has been done and self-interest can be imputed--when the truth can be told by an eye-witness," she decided. "I shall have to speak eventually, so it is much the wiser to speak at once--to delay will only breed doubt of my tale. I shall tell the story, dear."
"No--you shall----"
"Yes, dear; I shall tell the story."
It was final. Even Pendleton realized it.
"Am I worth it, little woman?" he asked.
"It is _I_ who am not worthy," she replied--"I never have been worthy of your--love."
He held out his arms.
"Sweetheart!" he cried.
She went to him, with an adorable smile and a sigh of supreme content.
"If you wish it, dearest," she whispered, "if you wish it--after a little time."
FINIS
_New Stories by John Reed Scott_
Since the publication of "The Colonel of the Red Huzzars," Mr. Scott has written continuously for an increasing audience. His stories of American life as well as his Valerian romances have pleased thousands of readers, and each new novel from his pen shows the versatility and skill of a master of fiction. "The First Hurdle and Others," his latest work, is Mr. Scott at his best.
The First Hurdle and Others
By JOHN REED SCOTT
_Author of "The Colonel of the Red Huzzars," "The Princess Dehra," "Beatrix of Clare," "The Woman in Question," "The Impostor," "In Her Own Right," etc._
_Frontispiece in color by James Montgomery Flagg 12mo. Cloth, $1.25 net. Postpaid, $1.37_
"It is the one book of short stories that is worth reading from cover to cover."--_Pittsburg Dispatch._
"The stories are entertaining, live and well written."--_Chicago Tribune._
"Mr. Scott's ability has grown remarkably as a writer of fiction. They are written with skill and humor."--_Indianapolis News._
"The same vivid imagination and rapid manner that was liked in 'The Colonel of the Red Huzzars' and the 'Princess Dehra' are manifested in Mr. Scott's briefer work."--_Hartford Courant._
"They are all interesting."--_New York Sun._
_Illustrated booklet, "The Writing of a Series of Great Romances," sent on request_
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PUBLISHERS PHILADELPHIA
_John Reed Scott's Most Dashing and Spirited Romance_
THE LAST TRY
By JOHN REED SCOTT
_Author of "The Colonel of the Red Huzzars," "The Princess Dehra," "Beatrix of Clare," "The Woman in Question," "The Impostor," "In Her Own Right," etc._
Three illustrations in color by Clarence F. Underwood. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25 net. Postpaid, $1.37.
This is a totally independent story, complete in itself, but in effect is a sequel to "The Colonel of the Red Huzzars" and "The Princess Dehra." In it for the last time the Duke of Lotzen tries to win the throne of his forefathers. Not openly nor in kingly fashion does he go about his work, but sneakingly, with all kinds of murderous designs upon the life of the rightful ruler of Valeria. Then, when everything else has proved futile, Lotzen plays his last card--he abducts the lovely Dehra, Queen of Valeria.
How Armand meets this Last Try of Lotzen--which is played out to a finish in the capital of the Kingdom with peace and quiet on every side--how he and Lotzen fight a duel to the death in Ferida Palace, is told with a vividness, a finish and a dash, which Mr. Scott has never surpassed. It is the last of the trilogy and, we think, the best.
"Spirited, graceful and absorbing at all times--hats off to John Reed Scott."--_Boston Globe._
"A novel none should sidestep, for it would be missing the best one of the season."--_Grand Rapids Herald._
"Romantic, ingenious and stirring fiction."--_N. Y. Times._
"A tale of adventure that never slackens its headlong pace. It is a lively and altogether satisfactory piece of fiction."--_New York Tribune._
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PUBLISHERS PHILADELPHIA
"_'The Lady Doc' is a stirring and deeply-appealing volume._"--_Boston Globe._
The Lady Doc
By CAROLINE LOCKHART
_Author of "Me--Smith."_
_Illustrated by Gayle Hoskins. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25 net._
The Lady Doc is a woman physician graduate of one of the "diploma mills" who settles in a typical little "cow-town" of the Far West. The town is in process of booming and the "Lady Doc," being a woman of strong personality and more than average looks, enters with avidity into the difficulties which arise. She allies herself with the local "Ward McAllister," who has his own troubles when he attempts to draw social lines among the crude Westerners, and many humorous and tragic events follow. There is also a merry little "biscuit shooter" with an unusual history who gains a lover in the young Easterner who arrives just when things are beginning to get interesting.
"The humor is at times irresistible."--_Philadelphia Press._
"A compelling story--one so absorbing that hours slip by unnoticed until the end is reached."--_Chicago Tribune._
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PUBLISHERS PHILADELPHIA
+-------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's note: | | | |Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | | | +-------------------------------------------------+