CHAPTER XVIII
Young Bruce had had no appetite for his part in the Balfame drama. Hehad presented himself at the back door, however, at eight o'clock on thenight of the interview with the heroine, assuming that Frieda would bemoving at her usual snail's pace from the day of work toward the eveningof leisure. She slammed the door in his face.
When he persisted, thrusting his cherubic countenance through thewindow, she threatened him with the hose. Neither failure daunted him,and he was convinced that she knew more of the case than she was willingto admit; but it was obvious that he was not the man to appeal to thefragment of heart she had brought from East Prussia. The mere fact thathe looked rather German and yet was straight American--employed,moreover, by a newspaper that made no secret of its hostility to hercountry--satisfied him that he would not be permitted to approach herclosely enough to attempt any form of persuasion. He drew the longbreath of deliverance as he reached this conclusion; the bare idea thathe might have to bestow a kiss upon Frieda in the heroic pursuit of dutyhad induced a sensation of nausea. He was an extremely fastidious youngman. But even as he accepted defeat with mingled relief and chagrin, thebrilliant alternative occurred to him.
He had ascertained that Frieda was intimate in the home of ConradKraus, otherwise "Old Dutch," of Dobton, the County seat. Conrad, Jr.,treated her as a brother should, and it was his habit to escort her homefrom the popular dance-hall of Elsinore on Saturday nights. Bruce had nodifficulty in learning that the young German-American had been dancingwith his favourite partner when her dead nerve seemed to threatenexplosion and had fraternally run home with her. The energetic reporterdid not wait upon the next trolley for Dobton, but hired an automobileand descended in front of Old Dutch's saloon fifteen minutes later.
Young Kraus was busy; and Bruce, after ordering beer and cheese andtaking it to an occupied table, drew the information from a neighbourthat Conrad, Jr., would be on duty behind the bar until midnight. It wasthe habit of Papa Kraus to retire promptly on the stroke of nine andtake his entire family, save Conrad, with him. The eldest of the unitedfamily continued to assuage the thirst of the neighbourhood until twelveo'clock, when he shut up the front of the house and went to bed in therear as quickly as possible; he must rise betimes and clerk in theleading grocery-store of the town. He was only twenty-two, but thriftyand hard-working and anxious to marry.
Bruce caught the next train for New York, had a brief talk with his cityeditor, and returned to Dobton a few moments before the closing hour ofthe saloon. He hung about the bar until the opportunity came to speak toConrad unheard.
"I want a word with you as soon as you have shut up," he said withoutpreamble.
The young German scowled at the reporter. Although a native son ofDobton, he resented the attitude of the American press as deeply as hisirascible old father, and he still more deeply resented the suspicionthat had hovered for a moment over the house of Kraus.
"Don't get mad till you hear what I've got to say," whispered Bruce."There may be a cool five hundred in it for you."
Conrad glanced at the clock. It was five minutes to twelve. He stood asimmobile as his duties would permit until the stroke of midnight, whenhe turned out the last reluctant patron, locked the door and followedthe reporter down the still-illuminated street to a dark avenue in theresidence quarter. Then the two fell into step.
"Now, what is it?" growled Conrad, who did not like to have his habitsdisturbed. "I get up--"
"That's all right. I won't keep you fifteen minutes. I want you to tellme all you know about the night of the Balfame murder."
He had taken the young German's arm and felt it stiffen. "I knownothing," was the reply.
"Oh, yes, you do. You took Frieda home and got there some little timebefore the shooting. You went in the side entrance to the back yard, butyou could see the grove all right."
"It was a black-dark night. I could see nothing in the grove."
"Ah! You saw something else! You have been afraid to speak out, as therehad been talk of your father having employed gun-men--"
"Such lies!" shrieked young Kraus.
"Of course! I know that. So does the press. That was a wild dream ofthe police. But all the same you thought it wouldn't be a bad idea tokeep clear of the whole business. That is true. Don't attempt to denyit. You saw something that would put the law on the right track. Now,what was it? There are five hundred dollars waiting for you if you willtell the truth. I don't want anything but the truth, mind you. I don'trepresent a paper that pays for lies, so your honour is quite safe. Soalso are you."
Conrad ruminated for a few moments. He was literal and honest and wantedto be quite positive that he was not asked to do something which wouldmake him feel uncomfortable while investing those desirable five hundreddollars in West Elsinore town lots, and could reassure himself that thetruth was always right whether commercially valuable or not. He balancedthe pro's and con's so long that Bruce was about to break outimpatiently just as he made up his mind.
"Yes, I saw something. But I wished to say nothing. They might say thatI was in it, or that I lied to protect Frieda--"
"That's all right. There was no possible connection between her andBalfame--"
Conrad went on exactly as if the reporter had not interrupted. "I hadseen Frieda through the back door. She was crying with the toothache,and I heard her run upstairs. I thought I would wait a few moments. Thedrops she said she had might not cure her, and she might want me to goto a dentist's house with her. She had gone in the back-hall door.Suddenly I saw the kitchen door open, and as I was starting forward, Isaw that it was not Frieda who came out. It was Mrs. Balfame. She closedthe door behind her, and then crept past me to the back of the kitchenyard. I watched her and saw her turn suddenly and walk toward the grove.She did not make a particle of noise--"
"How do you know it was not Frieda?"
"Frieda is five-feet-three, and this was a tall woman, taller than I,and I am five-eight. I have seen Mrs. Balfame many times, and though Icouldn't see her face,--she had a dark veil or scarf round it,--I knewher height and walk. Of course I watched to see what she was up to. Afew moments later I heard Balfame turn in from Dawbarn Street, singing,like the fool he was, 'Tipperary,' and then I heard a shot. I guessedthat Balfame had got what was coming to him, and I didn't wait to see. Itiptoed for a minute or two and then ran through the next four places atthe back, and then out toward Balfame Street, for the trolley. ButFrieda heard Mrs. Balfame when she came in. She was all out of breath,and, when she heard a sound on the stairs, called out before shethought, I guess, and asked Frieda if she had heard anything. But Friedais very cautious. She had heard the shot, but she froze stiff againstthe wall when she heard Mrs. Balfame's voice, and said nothing. We toldher afterwards that she had better keep quiet for the present."
"And you think Mrs. Balfame did it?"
"Who else? I shall not be so sorry if she goes to the chair, for a womanshould always be punished the limit for killing a man, even such a manas Balfame."
"No fear of that, but we'll have a dandy case. You tell that story tothe Grand Jury to-morrow, and you get your five hundred before night.Now you must come and get me a word with Frieda. She won't look at me,and of course she is in bed anyhow. But I must tell her there are acouple of hundred in this for her if she comes through--"
"But she'll be arrested for perjury. She testified at the coroner'sinquest that she knew nothing."
"An abscessed tooth will explain her reticence on any other subject."
"Perhaps I should tell you that she came to see us to-night--last nightit is now, not?--and told my papa that Lawyer Rush had frightened her,told her that she might be accused of the killing, that she had betterget out. But Papa advised her to go home and fear nothing, where therewas nothing to fear. He knew that if she ran away, he would be suspectedagain, the girl being intimate in the family; and of course the policewould be hot on her trail at once. So, like the good sensible girl sheis, she took the advice and went home."
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"All right. Come along. I'm not on the morning paper, but I promised thestory to the boys if I could get it in time."
He hired another automobile, and they left it at the corner of Dawbarnand Orchard Streets, entering the Balfame place by the tradesmen's gateon the left, and creeping to the rear of the house. The lane behind thefour acres of the little estate was full of ruts and too far away fromthe house for adventuring on a dark night. They had been halted by thedetective on watch, but when their errand was hastily explained, hejoined forces with them and even climbed a lean-to in the endeavour torouse Miss Appel from her young and virtuous slumbers. Their combinedefforts covered three hours; and that explains why the tremendousnews-story appeared in the early edition of the afternoon papers insteadof whetting several million morning appetites.
The interview with Frieda, who became very wide awake when the unseemlyintrusion was elucidated by the trustworthy Conrad, and bargained forfive hundred dollars, explains why Mrs. Balfame spent Thursday night inthe County Jail behind Dobton Courthouse.