CHAPTER XXV
Rush wheeled and looked sharply behind him. For several weeks he hadexperienced the recurrent sensation of being followed, but untilto-night he had been too absorbed to give a vague suspicion definiteform. He stood still, and was immediately aware that somebody else hadhalted, after withdrawing into the shade of one of the trees that linedAtlantic Avenue. He approached this figure swiftly, but almost at hisfirst step it detached itself and strolled forward. Rush saw that it wasa woman, and then recognised Miss Sarah Austin of the _New York EveningNews_. He recalled that she had approached him several times with therequest for an interview with Mrs. Balfame; and that she had taxed hispoliteness by trying to draw him into a discussion of the case.
"Oh, good evening," he said grimly. "I turned back because it occurredto me that I was being followed."
"I was following you," Miss Austin retorted coolly. "I saw you turn intothe Avenue two blocks up, and tried to overtake you--I don't like to beout so late alone, especially in this haunted village. The knowledgethat everybody in it is thinking of that murder nearly all the time hasa curious psychological effect. Won't you walk as far as Alys Crumley'swith me?"
"Certainly!" Rush, wondering if all women were liars, fell into step.
"I've been given a roving commission in the Balfame case," continuedMiss Austin in her impersonal businesslike manner, which, combined withher youth and good looks, had surprised guarded facts from men as waryas Rush. "Not to hunt for additional evidence, of course, but stuff forgood stories. I've had a number of dandy interviews with prominentElsinore women, as you may have seen if you condescend to glance at theWoman's Page. Isn't it wonderful how they stand by her?"
"Why not? They believe her to be innocent, as of course she is."
"How automatically you said that! I wonder if you really believeit--unless, of course, you know who did do it. But in that case youwould produce the real culprit. What a tangle it is! A lawyer has tobelieve in his client's innocence, I suppose, unless he's quite anuncommon jury actor. I don't know what to believe, myself. But of onething I am convinced: Alys Crumley knows something--something positive."
Rush, who had paid little attention to her chatter, which he rightlyassumed to be a mere verbal process of "leading up," turned to hersharply.
"What do you mean by that?"
"That she knows something. She's over on the _News_ now, understudyingthe fashion editor before taking charge, and we lunch together nearlyevery day. She's so changed from what she was a year ago, when she wasthe life of the crowd--so naive in her eagerness to become a realmetropolitan, and yet so quick and keen she had us all on our mettle.Great girl, Alys! At first, when I met her here again, I attributed thechange to the same old reason--a man. I still believe she has had someheart-racking experience, but there's something else--I didn't notice itso much that first day--but since--well, she's carrying a mental burdenof some sort. Alys has a damask cheek, as you may have noticed, butnowadays there's a worm in the bud. And those olive eyes of hers have away of leaving you suddenly and travelling a thousand miles with anexpression that isn't just blank. They will look as grimly determined asif she were about to turn her conscience loose, and in a moment thiswill relax into an expression of curious irresolution--for her: Alysalways knows pretty well what she wants. So, as this mystery must be inher consciousness pretty well all the time, when she is at home, atleast, I feel sure she knows something but is of two minds about tellingit to the police."
"Have you any object in telling me this? I thought you modern women whohave deserted the mere home for the working world of men pridedyourselves upon a new code of loyalty to one another."
"That's a nasty one! I'm not disloyal to Alys. Others have noticed thatthere's something big and grim on her mind, as well as I. Jim Broderickis always after her to open up. I have a very distinct reason fortelling you. In fact, I have tried to get a word with you for sometime."
"Have you been following me? Were--were--you in Brooklyn yesterday?"
"Yes, to both questions." Her voice shook, but her eyes challenged himimperiously; they were under the bright lights of Main Street. "I'lltell you what I believe Alys knows: that you killed David Balfame; andshe can't make up her mind to betray you even to liberate an innocentwoman."
He was taken unawares, but she could detect no relaxation in his strongface; on the contrary, it set more grimly.
"And what are you up to?" he asked.
"To find the proof for myself, and get ahead of Jim Broderick."
"I know of no one so convinced of Mrs. Balfame's guilt as Broderick."
"That's all right, but a man with as keen a scent as that is likely tofind the real trail any minute."
"And you believe I did it?"
"I think there are reasons for believing it."
"I won't ask you for them. It doesn't matter, particularly. Whatinterests me is to know whether you believe that if I had committed thecrime of murder I would let a woman suffer in my stead."
Miss Austin cerebrated.
"No," she admitted unwillingly, "you don't strike one as that sort. Butthen you might argue that she is reasonably sure of acquittal and youwould have scant hope of escaping the chair."
Rush laughed aloud. It was a harsh sound, but there was no nervousnessin it, and he continued to look interrogatively at Miss Austin. He hadbarely noticed her before, but he observed that she was a handsome girlwith a clean-cut honest face, a bright detecting eye, and the slimwell-set-up figure of an athletic boy. Her peculiar type of good lookswas displayed to its best advantage by the smartly tailored suit.
"You hardly look the sort to run a man down," he murmured, and this timehe smiled.
"One gets mighty keen on the chase in this business." They turned intothe deep shade of Elsinore Avenue, and she stood still and lowered hervoice. "If you would tell me," she said, "I'd swear never to betrayyou."
"Then why ask me to confess?"
"Oh--it sounds rather banal--but I want to write fiction, big fiction,and I want to come up against the big tragedies and secrets of the humansoul. If you would tell me the whole story, exactly how you have felt atevery stage and phase before and since, I feel almost sure that I couldwrite as big a book as Dostoiewsky's "Crime and Punishment"--not half solong, of course. If we learn from other nations, we can teach them athing or two in return. You may ask what you are to expect in return fora dangerous confidence. I not only never would betray you, but I'd makeit my study to divert suspicion from pointing your way. I could do it,too. You are safe as far as Alys is concerned. The secret is oppressingher terribly, and she's driven by the fear that her conscience willsuddenly revolt and force her to speak out--particularly if Mrs. Balfamebroke down in jail, to say nothing of a possible conviction--not that Ibelieve anything short of conviction would open her lips. You are thelast person on earth she would hand over to the law; it seems odd to meyou can't realise that for yourself."
"Realise what?"
"Oh, I've no patience with men! I never did share the platitudinousbelief in propinquity. Why, Alys has turned half the heads in Park Row.Even the austere city editor is beginning to hover. How any man couldpass a live wire like Alys Crumley by--and distractingly pretty--for awoman old enough to be her mother!"
He caught his breath.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Mrs. Balfame."
"And yet you accuse me of letting her lie in prison bearing the burdenof my crime?"
"As the only way to possess her ultimately."
"And how many, may I ask, are saying that I am in love with my client?"
"Not a soul--save, possibly, Alys to herself. She doesn't seem to havemuch enthusiasm for the Star of Elsinore. Provincial people are toofunny for words. Maybe we New Yorkers are also provincial in ourtendency to forget there is any other America. I intend to cultivate theopen mind; a writer must, I think. So you see just how in earnest I am.Don't you believe you could trust me? All the world knows that anewspaper person is the safest depository
on earth for a secret."
"Oh, I have the most touching confidence in your honour, and the mostprofound admiration for your candour, and the deepest sympathy forambitions so natural to one afflicted with genius. I am only wonderingwhether if I gave you the information you seem to need you would permitMrs. Balfame to remain in jail and stand trial for her life."
"You are not to laugh at me! Yes, I should. Because I know that she hasninety-nine chances out of a hundred to get off, and that if she werecondemned you would come forward at once and tell the truth."
"And you really believe I did it?" His hands were in his pockets, and hewas balancing himself on his heels. There was certainly nothing tenseabout his tall loose figure, but the light of the street lamp, filteredthrough a low branch, threw shadows on his face that made it look pallidand as darkly hollowed as the face of an elderly actress in a movingpicture. To Miss Sarah Austin he looked like a guilty man engaged in thehonourable art of bluffing, but her mounting irritation precluded pity.
"Yes, Mr. Rush, I do. It is to my mind the one logical explanation--"
"You mean the logical fictional--"
"I'm no writer of detective stories--"
"Just like a novel then?"
"Ah! That I admit. The great novel is a logical transcript of life. Theincidents rise out of the characters, react upon them, are as inevitableas the personal endowments, peculiarities, and contradictions.Understand your characters, and you can't go wrong."
"You are the cleverest young woman I ever met. For that reason I feelconvinced you need no such adventitious aid as confession from amurderer. You will work it out--your premises being dead right--farbetter by yourself. It's the contradictions you mentioned I am thinkingof, both in life and character."
"You are laughing at me. It's no laughing matter!"
"By God, it isn't. But you couldn't expect me to plump out a confessionlike that without taking a night to think it over."
"If you don't tell me, I warn you I'll find out for myself. And thenI'll give it to my newspaper. To begin with, I'll find out if you reallydid see any one in Brooklyn that Saturday night. I'll discover the nameof everybody you know in Brooklyn."
"That's a large order. I fear the case will be over."
"I'll set the whole swarm on the case. But if you will tell me thetruth, you will be quite safe."
"The cause of literature might influence me were it not that I fear tobe thought a coward--by my fair blackmailer."
"Oh! How dare you? Why, I don't want your secret to use against you. Ithought I explained--how dare you!"
"I humbly beg pardon. Perhaps as it is such a new and flatteringvariety, it deserves a new name. I suppose the legal mind becomeshopelessly automatic in its deductions--"
"Oh, good night!"
They were at the Crumley gate. Rush opened it and passed in behind her."I think I too will call on Miss Crumley," he said. "I have been toobusy to call on any one for weeks, but to-night I must take a rest, andI can imagine no rest so complete as an evening in Miss Crumley'sstudio. I see a light in there--let us go round and not disturb Mrs.Crumley."