XXVII
When Wilkins had disappeared around the angle of the staircaseBassett went to a chair and sat down. He felt sick, and his knees weretrembling. Something had happened, a search for Clark room by roomperhaps, and the discovery had been made.
He was totally unable to think or to plan. With Dick well they couldperhaps have made a run for it. The fire-escape stood ready. But asthings were--The murmuring among the crowd at the foot of the stairsceased, and he looked up. Wilkins was on the staircase, searchingthe lobby with his eyes. When he saw Bassett he came quickly down andconfronted him, his face angry and suspicious.
"You're mixed up in this somehow," he said sharply. "You might as wellcome over with the story. We'll get him. He can't get out of this town."
With the words, and the knowledge that in some incredible fashion Dickhad made his escape, Bassett's mind reacted instantly.
"What's eating you, Wilkins?" he demanded. "Who got away? I couldn't getthat tongue-tied bell-hop to tell me. Thought it was a fire."
"Don't stall, Bassett. You've had Jud Clark hidden upstairs inthree-twenty all day."
Bassett got up and towered angrily over the sheriff. The crowd hadturned and was watching.
"In three-twenty?" he said. "You're crazy. Jud Clark! Let me tell yousomething. I don't know what you've got in your head, but three-twentyis a Doctor Livingstone from near my home town. Well known and highlyrespected, too. What's more, he's a sick man, and if he's got away, asyou say, it's because he is delirious. I had a doctor in to see him anhour ago. I've just arranged for a room at the hospital for him. Doesthat look as though I've been hiding him?"
The positiveness of his identification and his indignation resulted in achange in Wilkins' manner.
"I'll ask you to stay here until I come back." His tone was official,but less suspicious. "We'll have him in a half hour. It's Clark allright. I'm not saying you knew it was Clark, but I want to ask you somequestions."
He went out, and Bassett heard him shouting an order in the street. Hewent to the street door, and realized that a search was going on, bothby the police and by unofficial volunteers. Men on horseback clatteredby to guard the borders of the town, and in the vicinity of the hotelsearchers were investigating yards and alleyways.
Bassett himself was helpless. He stood by, watching the fire of his ownigniting, conscious of the curious scrutiny of the few hotel loungerswho remained, and expecting momentarily to hear of Dick's capture. Itmust come eventually, he felt sure. As to how Dick had been identified,or by what means he had escaped, he was in complete ignorance; and anendeavor to learn by establishing the former entente cordiale betweenthe room clerk and himself was met by a suspicious glance and whatamounted to a snub. He went back to his chair against the wall and satthere, waiting for the end.
It was an hour before the sheriff returned, and he came in scowling.
"I'll see you now," he said briefly, and led the way back to the hoteloffice behind the desk. Bassett's last hope died when he saw sittingthere, pale but composed, the elderly maid. The sheriff lost no time.
"Now I'll tell you what we know about your connection with this case,Bassett," he said. "You engaged a car to take you both to the main lineto-night. You paid off Clark's room as well as your own this afternoon.When you found he was sick you canceled your going. That's true, isn'tit?"
"It is. I've told you I knew him at home, but not as Clark."
"I'll let that go. You intended to take the midnight on the main line,but you ordered a car instead of using the branch road."
"Livingstone was sick. I thought it would be easier. That's all." Hisvoice sharpened. "You can't drag me into this, Sheriff. In the firstplace I don't believe it was Clark, or he wouldn't have come here, ofall places on the earth. I didn't even know he was here, until he cameinto my room this morning."
"Why did he come into your room?"
"He had seen that I was registered. He said he felt sick. I took himback and put him to bed. To-night I got a doctor."
The sheriff felt in his pocket and produced a piece of paper. Bassett'smorale was almost destroyed when he saw that it was Gregory's letter toDavid.
"I'll ask you to explain this. It was on Clark's bed."
Bassett took it and read it slowly. He was thinking hard.
"I see," he said. "Well, that explains why he came here. He was too sickto talk when I saw him. You see, this is not addressed to him, but tohis uncle, David Livingstone. David Livingstone is a brother of HenryLivingstone, who died some years ago at Dry River. This refers to apersonal matter connected with the Livingstone estate."
The sheriff took the letter and reread it. He was puzzled.
"You're a good talker," he acknowledged grudgingly. He turned to themaid.
"All right, Hattie," he said. "We'll have that story again. But justa minute." He turned to the reporter. "Mrs. Thorwald here hasn't seenLizzie Lazarus, the squaw. Lizzie has been sitting in my office eversince noon. Now, Hattie."
Hattie moistened her dry lips.
"It was Jud Clark, all right," she said. "I knew him all his life, offand on. But I wish I hadn't screamed. I don't believe he killed Lucas,and I never will. I hope he gets away."
She eyed the sheriff vindictively, but he only smiled grimly.
"What did I tell you?" he said to Bassett. "Hell with the women--thatwas Jud Clark. And we'll get him, Hattie. Don't worry. Go on."
She looked at Bassett.
"When you left me, I sat outside the door, as you said. Then I heard himmoving, and I went in. The room was not very light, and I didn't knowhim at first. He sat up in bed and looked at me, and he said, 'Why,hello, Hattie Thorwald.' That's my name. I married a Swede. Thenhe looked again, and he said, 'Excuse me, I thought you were a Mrs.Thorwald, but I see now you're older.' I recognized him then, and Ithought I was going to faint. I knew he'd be arrested the moment it wasknown he was here. I said, 'Lie down, Mr. Jud. You're not very well.'And I closed the door and locked it. I was scared."
Her voice broke; she fumbled for a handkerchief. The sheriff glanced atBassett.
"Now where's your Livingstone story?" he demanded. "All right, Hattie.Let's have it."
"I said, 'For God's sake, Mr. Jud, lie still, until I think what todo. The sheriff's likely downstairs this very minute.' And then he wentqueer and wild. He jumped off the bed and stood listening and staring,and shaking all over. 'I've got to get away,' he said, very loud. 'Iwon't let them take me. I'll kill myself first!' When I put my hand onhis arm he threw it off, and he made for the door. I saw then that hewas delirious with fever, and I stood in front of the door and beggedhim not to go out. But he threw me away so hard that that I fell, and Iscreamed."
"And then what?"
"That's all. If I hadn't been almost out of my mind I'd never have toldthat it was Jud Clark. That'll hang on me dying day."
An hour or so later Bassett went back to his room in a state of mentaland nervous exhaustion. He knew that from that time on he would be undersuspicion and probably under espionage, and he proceeded methodically,his door locked, to go over his papers. His notebook and the cuttingsfrom old files relative to the Clark case he burned in his wash basinand then carefully washed the basin. That done, his attendance on a sickman, and the letter found on the bed was all the positive evidence theyhad to connect him with the case. He had had some thought of slippingout by the fire-escape and making a search for Dick on his own account,but his lack of familiarity with his surroundings made that practicallyuseless.
At midnight he stretched out on his bed without undressing, and wentover the situation carefully. He knew nothing of the various neuroseswhich affect the human mind, but he had a vague impression thatmemory when lost did eventually return, and Dick's recognition of thechambermaid pointed to such a return. He wondered what a man wouldfeel under such conditions, what he would think. He could not do it. Heabandoned the effort finally, and lay frowning at the ceiling while heconsidered his own part in the catastrophe. He saw himself, followi
nghis training and his instinct, leading the inevitable march toward thisnight's tragedy, planning, scheming, searching, and now that it hadcome, lying helpless on his bed while the procession of events went onpast him and beyond his control.
When an automobile engine back-fired in the street below he went sickwith fear.
He made the resolution then that was to be the guiding motive for hislife for the next few months, to fight the thing of his own creating toa finish. But with the resolution newly made he saw the futility ofit. He might fight, would fight, but nothing could restore to DickLivingstone the place he had made for himself in the world. He might besaved from his past, but he could not be given a future.
All at once he was aware that some one was working stealthily atthe lock of the door which communicated with a room beyond. He slidcautiously off the bed and went to the light switch, standing with ahand on it, and waited. The wild thought that it might be Livingstonewas uppermost in his mind, and when the door creaked open and closedagain, that was the word he breathed into the darkness.
"No," said a woman's voice in a whisper. "It's the maid, Hattie. Becareful. There's a guard at the top of the stairs."
He heard her moving to his outer door, and he knew that she stoodthere, listening, her head against the panel. When she was satisfied sheslipped, with the swiftness of familiarity with her surroundings, to thestand beside his bed, and turned on the lamp. In the shaded light he sawthat she wore a dark cape, with its hood drawn over her head. In somestrange fashion the maid, even the woman, was lost, and she stood,strange, mysterious, and dramatic in the little room.
"If you found Jud Clark, what would you do with him?" she demanded. Frombeneath the hood her eyes searched his face. "Turn him over to Wilkinsand his outfit?"
"I think you know better than that."
"Have you got any plan?"
"Plan? No. They've got every outlet closed, haven't they? Do you knowwhere he is?"
"I know where he isn't, or they'd have him by now. And I know Jud Clark.He'd take to the mountains, same as he did before. He's got a goodhorse."
"A horse!"
"Listen. I haven't told this, and I don't mean to. They'll learn it ina couple of hours, anyhow. He got out by a back fire-escape--they knowthat. But they don't know he took Ed Rickett's black mare. They thinkhe's on foot. I've been down there now, and she's gone. Ed's shut up ina room on the top floor, playing poker. They won't break up until aboutthree o'clock and he'll miss his horse then. That's two hours yet."
Bassett tried to see her face in the shadow of the hood. He was puzzledand suspicious at her change of front, more than half afraid of a trap.
"How do I know you are not working with Wilkins?" he demanded. "Youcould have saved the situation to-night by saying you weren't sure."
"I was upset. I've had time to think since."
He was forced to trust her, eventually, although the sense of somehidden motive, some urge greater than compassion, persisted in him.
"You've got some sort of plan for me, then? I can't follow him haphazardinto the mountains at night, and expect to find him."
"Yes. He was delirious when he left. That thing about the sheriff beingafter him--he wasn't after him then. Not until I gave the alarm. He'sdelirious, and he thinks he's back to the night he--you know. Wouldn'the do the same thing again, and make for the mountains and the cabin? Hewent to the cabin before."
Bassett looked at his watch. It was half past twelve.
"Even if I could get a horse I couldn't get out of the town."
"You might, on foot. They'll be trailing Rickett's horse by dawn. And ifyou can get out of town I can get you a horse. I can get you out, too, Ithink. I know every foot of the place."
A feeling of theatrical unreality was Bassett's chief emotion during thetrying time that followed. The cloaked and shrouded figure of the womanahead, the passage through two dark and empty rooms by pass key to anunguarded corridor in the rear, the descent of the fire-escape, wherethey stood flattened against the wall while a man, possibly one of theposse, rode in, tied his horse and stamped in high heeled boots into thebuilding, and always just ahead the sure movement and silent tread ofthe woman, kept his nerves taut and increased his feeling of the unreal.
At the foot of the fire-escape the woman slid out of sight noiselessly,but under Bassett's feet a tin can rolled and clattered. Then a horsesnorted close to his shoulder, and he was frozen with fright. Afterthat she gave him her hand, and led him through an empty outbuilding andanother yard into a street.
At two o'clock that morning Bassett, waiting in a lonely road near whathe judged to be the camp of a drilling crew, heard a horse coming towardhim and snorting nervously as it came and drew back into the shadowsuntil he recognized the shrouded silhouette leading him.
"It belongs to my son," she said. "I'll fix it with him to-morrow. Butif you're caught you'll have to say you came out and took him, or you'llget us all in trouble."
She gave him careful instructions as to how to find the trail, and urgedhim to haste.
"If you get him," she advised, "better keep right on over the range."
He paused, with his foot in the stirrup.
"You seem pretty certain he's taken to the mountains."
"It's your only chance. They'll get him anywhere else."
He mounted and prepared to ride off. He would have shaken hands withher, but the horse was still terrified at her shrouded figure andveered and snorted when she approached. "However it turns out," he said,"you've done your best, and I'm grateful."
The horse moved off and left her standing there, her cowl drawn forwardand her hands crossed on her breast. She stood for a moment, facingtoward the mountains, oddly monkish in outline and posture. Then sheturned back toward the town.