CHAPTER XVII
The Heart Helper
Never during her association with Wise, had Zizi wanted him so much asshe did at present. The situation, she felt, was too big for her tohandle, and the contradictory conclusions forced upon her bewilderedher.
Public interest in the Blair murder had waned, or at least it waswaiting for the trial of McClellan Thorpe, and while the police wereready to listen to any new evidence or theories, none seemed to beforthcoming.
Julie was in despair, feeling that the great Pennington Wise was makingno headway in his endeavors to free Thorpe, and Benjamin Crane too wasbeginning to doubt Wise's ability.
Zizi, therefore, felt the brunt of upholding her colleague's reputationfor cleverness and success, and now that things were getting socomplicated, and Penny Wise so far away, the girl felt herresponsibility almost greater than she could bear.
But, she concluded, after deep thought, the first and most importantthing to be done was to locate that John Harrison.
From Benjamin Crane she obtained the address of young Douglas, thereporter, and went to see him.
Douglas was greatly pleased with the appearance and manner of hisvisitor, for Zizi was at her sparkling best, and that was very goodindeed.
"You see, Mr. Douglas," she confided with a captivating smile, "I'm aHeart Helper."
"A what?"
"Yes. I help people's hearts,--people who are sad or in trouble. Now,I'm working in the interests of a dear friend, a lovely girl, whosesweetheart is being most unjustly treated, and only I can set thingsstraight. Think of that!"
The great dark eyes flashed an appealing glance at him, and Zizi's redmouth took a sorrowful droop at the corners.
Instinctively he yearned to bring back the smile and he said, promptly,"Can I help you? Is that why you come to me?"
"Exactly," and Zizi beamed at him, quite completing his undoing.
"And what I want," she went on quickly, lest she lose hersuddenly-acquired power over him, "is only the address of Mr. JohnHarrison."
Douglas's face fell, and he plainly showed his embarrassment andchagrin.
"That I can't tell you," he began,--but paused at the look of despairthat came to Zizi's expressive face.
"Oh, please," she begged. "It's so necessary,--so important. I won'tmake any wrong use of the information. Please tell me."
"But I can't, Miss Zizi. You see, Mr.--Harrison isn't where he was.He--he isn't anywhere."
Clearly, Douglas thought, he was making a mess of things. But what couldhe say?
"Are you making game of me?" Zizi's tone was wistful, and with her headcocked to one side like an alert bird, she waited breathlessly for hisanswer.
"No, not a bit of it!"
"But--you say--he isn't anywhere! What do you mean?"
Still under the spell of her smile, her fascinating manner, and hersweet, piquant little face, Douglas hesitated,--and was lost.
"Well, you see, he,--he was somebody else. I mean he isn't,--that is, heisn't himself."
"Are you sure you are?" Zizi laughed outright, so infectiously, thatDouglas joined in.
"No, I'm not!" he admitted. "Now, if you're not, either, we're all inthe same boat."
But Zizi was not to be put off with foolery.
"Mr. Douglas," she said, seriously, "truly, I'm on an important errand,and one involving grave consequences. You can help greatly by giving methat man's address, and help not only the girl of whom I spoke, but helpthe cause of right and justice, even, perhaps, in a matter of life anddeath. Don't refuse----"
"But if I don't refuse, I must at least inquire. And, suppose I tell youthat Mr. Harrison does not want his address known?"
"I assumed that. But, suppose I tell you that it may help to clear upone of the greatest mysteries of the day if you will just give me a hintwhere I can find that man. And, even though he has forbidden you totell, I think I can assure you that he won't mind my knowing the secret,and if he does mind I'll persuade him to exonerate you."
Zizi had meant to take quite a different tack,--use hints of legalauthority or suggest his duty to humanity, but intuition told her thatthis man was best persuaded by coaxing,--and Zizi could coax!
She succeeded only partly. After she convinced Douglas of the wisdom ofsuch a course he told her that John Harrison had been at the HotelConsul in Brooklyn, but had left there, and had left no further address.
Moreover, he declared he had no knowledge whatever of the whereabouts ofJohn Harrison at the present time.
"No!" and Zizi flashed a quizzical smile, "because he has changed hisname! I know that from your emphatic declaration! But I'll find him.Good-by."
Zizi betook herself forthwith to the Hotel Consul.
A polite clerk informed her that Mr. Harrison had checked out, leavingno address.
Determinedly she interviewed the cab drivers ranked in front of thehotel, and by a lucky chance found the one who had driven Mr. Harrisonaway. A proper bribe brought the knowledge that he had been driven tothe Wilfer, a much smaller hotel nearby.
To the Hotel Wilfer Zizi went, and learned there was no John Harrisonthere, but a very few inquiries proved to her astute intellect that theLouis Bartram, who was the only guest registered at that time on thatafternoon, was in all probability the man she sought. At any rate therewas no harm in trying.
She asked for an interview, and was connected with Mr. Bartram's roomsby telephone.
"I want to see you again," she said, in response to his Hello,--"Let mecome up, Mr. Midnight Visitor, please."
Partly the pleading voice, partly the fact that Peter was eager for newdevelopments in his devious course, and partly a sudden recollection ofthe girl he had seen in his father's library, brought about a cordialinvitation to "come along."
And Zizi exultantly went, hoping against hope that she was on her way tolearn something of real importance.
For so many hopeful openings had proved blind alleys, so many brightprospects of success had dimmed on nearer view, that Zizi had begun tolose heart, and this seemed to her perhaps a last chance.
Peter received her in his sitting room, and as the big dark eyes lookeddeep into the chicory blue ones, and both smiled, it was impossible tobe formal.
"Why are you a burglar, Mr. Bartram," Zizi said, as she seated herselfsociably in the depths of a big armchair. "You don't look the part abit."
"What is _your_ calling?" he countered; "for unless it is that of awitch or Brownie, I'm sure _you_ don't look it."
"I am all of those things," she announced, calmly, crossing her daintyfeet and gazing guilelessly at him. "I'm a witch, a Brownie, a sprite,an elf, a kobold, a pixie----"
"That's enough. They're all tarred with the same brush. And why am Ifavored with this angel visit?"
"So you may answer my question, which you so rudely ignored. Why are youa burglar?"
"But I'm not. Can your ingenuity suggest no explanation of a man'spresence in another man's house at midnight save a burglarious motive? Itook no jewels nor plate away with me."
"So you didn't. But, I admit motives seem scarce. You were not intendinga social call, were you? You didn't come to read the meter or repair theplumbing? You were not seeking a lodging for the night?"
"None of those, Miss Brownie. But, why am I obliged to tell?"
"Because I ask it," and Zizi's pretty powers of coaxing were put to theutmost test.
"I admit that constitutes an obligation, but, I am not going to meetit," and the big man settled back comfortably in his chair and smiledbenignly but a trifle exasperatingly.
"Then,--" and the little brown face became serious, the merry light wentout of the dark eyes, and Zizi said, coldly, "Then I will tell you. Youare a burglar,--you did take valuables from Mr. Crane's house,--at leastthey were valuable to you, though perhaps of small intrinsic worth."
"Whatever _do_ you mean?"
"I mean that you are the accomplice of that woman who calls herself amedium,--that woman who is a fraud, a fake, a miserable charlata
n! Youcame to the house to get some more belongings of Mr. Crane's deadson's,--in order to take them to the Parlato woman and let her tradefurther on an old man's credulity! That's what you were there for!"
Zizi's nerves were at high tension. She thoroughly believed every wordshe said, and she felt that perhaps the best way to make this man own upwas to put the case thus straightforwardly.
Peter Boots looked at her, his expression changing from amazement toamusement and then to sympathy.
"No," he said gently, "I didn't do that. I swear I didn't."
"Then why were you there?"
Uncertain what to say, Peter just sat and looked at her.
And somehow,--by some subtle intelligence or telepathic flash--all of asudden,--Zizi knew!
"Oh," she breathed, her eyes like stars, "oh,--you're Peter Boots!"
Slowly, Peter nodded his head.
"Yes," he said, "I am. Now, what are we going to do about it?"
"Do about it? Why, everything! Oh,--wait a minute,--let me take itin,--let me think what it will mean----"
"To father? Yes, I know."
These two, so lately strangers, were immediately at one. Zizi, with herinstantaneous understanding and quick appreciation saw the wholesituation at once, and realized fully its tragedy.
"It can't be, you know," she cried out; "it mustn't be! Think ofthe----"
"I know," returned Peter, "I've thought."
Instead of being appalled at the knowledge that his secret was out,Peter felt a positive relief, a sudden let-down of his strained nerves,and a queer sensation of confidence in this strange girl's powers to setthings right.
Peter's intuitions were quick and true; Zizi was not only charming, butgave an effect of capability and efficiency that were as balm andcomfort to poor, harassed Peter.
He was willing to nail his colors to her mast; to give his affairs andperplexities into her hands; to abide by her decisions.
And Zizi accepted the tremendous responsibility gravely.
"But it is all too wonderful," she said. "What happened? Where have youbeen?"
"Two broken legs,--compound fractures,--frozenfeet,--gangrene--ugh!--fierce--cut it out!"
"The gangrene!" cried Zizi, horrified.
"Yes, but I didn't mean that. I meant can the description of mysufferings! They'd put the early Christian martyrs to the blush. Theywould indeed! But let's take up the tale from the present moment."
"Oh, wait a minute,--do! Who rescued you? Why haven't you----"
"Lumbermen,--camp, miles from any sort of a lemon. Couldn't get intocommunication. Fiercest winter ever known,--everything cut off fromeverything else. Came home the minute I could,--and,--oh, thunder! how Iwant to know things! Tell me heaps, do! And who are you, anyway?"
"Heavens, what a tale! Yes, I'll tell you everything, but what shall Ifly at first? And--oh, I can't stand the responsibility of your secret!I can't! Why are you keeping it secret? On account of your father?"
"Yes, that's the sole reason. How can I come forward,--the son who issupposed dead,--who is supposed to come back as a spook,--the son whohas had a book written about him----"
"Oh, what a situation! And your father so wrapped up in the wholebusiness,--so positive in his beliefs----"
"And that rascally medium!"
"And those wicked materializations!"
"And the fool Ouija Board!"
"And that letter from you to Julie--oh, I say!"
"And _I_ say! But, tell me, what can I do? Do you see it as I do? That Imust go away again, disappear forever,--or----"
"Or break your father's heart,-- I mean,--oh, I don't know what I mean!Mr. Peter, I think I'll lose my mind!"
"I've almost lost mine, puzzling over the thing. But I've put the kiboshon that Parlato!"
"Oh, that's why you were there! I got things all wrong, didn't I? Andyou came to your own home----"
"Only because of a terrible attack of homesickness. You see, I stillhave my latch key, and if you hadn't seen me, I should have merely had agood look around, and then silently steal away, without, however,stealing anything else!"
Zizi smiled at her accusation of his burglarious intent, and then satmusing.
"I can't grapple with it," she said, at last. "It's too big. I shalltelegraph for Mr. Wise. He must come back at once and help us."
"Now, look here, Miss Zizi, I'm not lying down on this job myself. I'mnot asking you to carry my burdens or fight my battles. I am very muchable to hoe my own row,--only I fear it's going to be a hard one. I'mgoing to depend on you for help, if I may, but I'll take the helm; PeterBoots leads, he doesn't follow."
Zizi gazed at him, her eyes moist with emotional admiration. This man,this splendid, fine man,--to efface himself to save his father'sreputation,--it was too bad! She couldn't stand it.
"Now, wait," she began; "wouldn't your father,--your mother,--ratherhave you back with them in the flesh,--than to have their pride spared?"
"Answer that yourself," he returned. "I admit that if that question wereput to them, they would doubtless say yes. But that's not the thing. Thepoint is, they're reconciled to my loss, happy in the experiencesthey're having,--delusions though they are,--and contented, evenexultant, in things as they are. Why disturb that happiness, for myselfish reasons? Why not leave them to their Fools' Paradise,--forthat's what it is,--and not take the chance of what might easily be adistressing disillusion?"
"It would indeed be that," Zizi spoke gravely; "I know it would. Butwhat will you do?"
"Go 'way off somewhere,--start fresh,--make a new name and fame formyself and forget----"
"Sacrifice your own identity to your father's reputation?"
"Exactly that,--and, simply, it is my duty."
"And Carlotta Harper?"
Peter jumped.
"Tell me about Carly," he said, speaking thickly. "Is she engaged toShelby?"
"No, she isn't!"
"I heard she was."
"Probably he hinted it, and the report started. He's eternally afterher, but, to my certain knowledge she hasn't yet said yes."
"Oh, my God! Dear little Carly! What can I do?"
"She would go with you,--into a new life----"
"No; don't be absurd! This secret must be kept inviolably. Nor could Imarry her under an assumed name, even if she were willing. Also, she mayhave forgotten me."
"No, she has not. Oh, Mr. Peter, you must come home."
"I can't. But tell me more,--tell me of mother, of Julie,--why, I sent areporter to the house just to get a line on home life,--on presentconditions,--oh, little girl, you don't know what I suffered; it's allso foolish,--so absurd,--the spook stuff, I mean,--yet, as I've learned,it's the very breath of life to my Dad."
"It is; but, look at the thing from another angle. Couldn't you helpunravel the Blair mystery. Here's Mr. Thorpe held for a crime I don'tthink he committed; here's Julie crying her eyes out because of it----"
"Julie! She and Thorpe!"
"Yes, didn't you know that?"
"No; are they engaged?"
"In a way. If Thorpe should be freed Mr. Crane will give his consent. IfThorpe is convicted----"
"He shan't be convicted! He never killed Blair! I'll find out who killedBlair, and then I'll go away after that. I'll help Julie,--why, Thorpewouldn't kill Gilbert, why should he?"
"You've read the case?"
"Yes, and thought how little evidence there was against Thorpe. But, I'mashamed to say, my own affairs rather blotted the matter out. But ifJulie's concerned, that's another matter. I'll free Thorpe,--and I cando it, too!"
"Then it's most certainly your duty, for many reasons. Look here, Mr.Peter, don't let your ideas of duty get over-sentimental regarding yourfather."
"Oh, I don't!" Peter waxed impatient. "But I've mulled over the thing tothe very end, and I know, I _know_ father would be happier left to hisdelusions. Yes, and mother, too. You see, I've read the book, andknowing Dad as I do, I read between the lines, and I see how it would belike stabbing his he
art and draining his life blood to stultify thatbook. No, Zizi, don't tempt me,--indeed, you can't."
"Well, then, come back to the murder case. Have you any suspect otherthan Thorpe?"
"Why, sometimes, I think I have. But it's a serious thing to accuse,without evidence. Now, I think I can get evidence, but mainly fromMadame Parlato. You see, she has been bribed by a powerfulinfluence,--she is absolutely under orders from some one, and it isbecause of that she is so frightened for fear of exposure. I think inthe ordinary _seance_ with my father, where my spirit--ugh!--appears andtalks guff and rubbish, the medium is more fool than knave. But when thespirit gives information concerning the murderer,--and wronginformation,--it's criminal work itself, and ought to be shown up."
"Showing up the medium would expose the falsity of your father's book,even without your reappearance."
"I've thought of that, but there's duty there, too. If I can free MacThorpe from unjust accusations, and incidentally, I'm thinking ofJulie,--it's in all ways my duty to do so,--even if----"
"Even if it makes your father a butt for ridicule."
"Yes, even that. All things are matters of comparison. Thorpe's life, oreven Thorpe's name mustn't be sacrificed to father's feelings. I maysacrifice my own future, even my own life if I choose, but not that ofanother."
"Are you sure Mr. Thorpe is innocent?"
"As sure as shooting! But you must tell me all the details of yourinvestigations. I've studied the newspaper reports, but I want youraccounts, too. When can you get Wise back here? Send for him at once,will you? He can't get anything on Blair out there. Blair's life wasblameless. I know it as I know my own. Why, Zizi, you don't realize,--I've lived with my family and my friends for a whole long lot of years.I'm no newcomer, except regarding the last six months. You can't tell meof Blair's character, or Thorpe's either. Now, what I want to puzzle outis whether I can do my part in producing the real murderer, withoutrevealing my presence here and without even showing my hand in thematter."
"You might appear as your own spook."
"I've thought of that, and it offers wide possibilities. But it isn'tfair to mother and Dad. Let the medium fool them, if she will, it's notfor their own son to fool them, too! No, I can't do that."
"You might appear to the--the criminal."
"And give him the scare of his life! Yes, I might do that. But I'm notyet sure he is the criminal,--I'm basing my suspicion on generalities,not any specific evidence."
"Tell me his name."
"Not yet. Let's plan a little first. You see, I've arranged a fake_seance_ with Madame Parlato. If I rearrange it a bit, it may serve ourpurpose. I'll postpone it until Mr. Wise can get back, and then we'llsee what we shall see!"
CHAPTER XVIII
The Confession
Peter Boots arranged and rearranged his plans for the _seance_ manytimes.
Though still living under the name of Louis Bartram, he had cast asidefear of having his real identity discovered, pretty sure, now, that itmust come sooner or later.
His present concern was with the discovery of Blair's murderer, andthereby the freeing of his sister's fiance. These accomplished he wouldconsider the case of his own restored identity, if it were not by thattime a foregone conclusion.
Pennington Wise came back from the West, and was let into the secret.
His amazement was beyond all bounds when Zizi took him over to theBrooklyn hotel and he met Peter Crane.
"This thing has never been equaled in my experience," he declared. "Andno one but Zizi could have found you out, unless you chose to makeyourself known. Now, we must move warily,--your quarry may get away."
"You know whom I suspect?" asked Peter in astonishment.
"Of course I do, and I've had the same suspect from the beginning. But Icouldn't get a shred of evidence,--haven't any yet,-- I say, Mr. Crane,suppose you confide in me fully. You'll have no cause to regret it."
So Peter Boots and Pennington Wise and Zizi had a long confab, in whichall cards were laid on the table, and all details of the plan settled.
Wise agreed that it would be a fearful blow to Benjamin Crane's pride,but he held that the author of the book about Peter would receive noblame and the fame of the affair would be world-wide, which would makeup for the blow to the author's vanity.
Peter was not convinced of this, but agreed to go ahead as Wisesuggested. Indeed, he had no choice, for it now rested on his statementswhether an innocent man was tried for crime or not.
The medium was completely suborned. She was instructed that if sheobeyed orders implicitly and succeeded in fulfilling the desires of hernew employers, she would be paid a large sum of money, and enabled toleave the country secretly and safety.
For, after all, she was doing no more than the great army of "mediums"all over the world, and if she achieved good at last, they wished noharm to come to her.
"Moreover," as Peter said, "she was a great comfort to my parents in myabsence, and when they know of my presence, they'll have no further usefor Madame!"
The _seance_ was staged in the Crane home.
It was a simple matter for Madame Parlato to persuade Benjamin Crane toallow her to hold a session there, promising him a probablematerialization of his son, if allowed to attempt it in the scenesfamiliar to Peter Boots.
It was pathetic to see the hope and joy on the faces of Peter's fatherand mother as they were offered this experience. Gladly they acceptedthe proposition, and when the medium further advised them to invite afew friends, they willingly did so.
It was not announced that materialization was expected,--Madame Parlatopreferred it should not be, she said; so the friends were merely askedto a _seance_.
After all, Zizi, who had charge of the invitations informed them,interest must be falling off, for no one was coming except Miss Harper,who would also bring Mr. Shelby.
However, with the Crane household, that made quite a group, and asDetective Weston had heard about it, and asked to be present he also hada seat, in the rear of the room.
There was no air of secrecy, the waiting audience were receptive,hopeful or skeptical as their natures prompted.
Shelby and Carlotta whispered to each other that they were glad to seea specimen of the genius that had hoaxed so able a mind as BenjaminCrane's. Julie was out of sorts and sad, for she disliked the wholesubject, and pitied her father and mother for their absorption in it.
At last Madame Parlato appeared.
She was an impressive looking woman, tall, slender, and with thetraditional long green eyes and red hair. Her face was very white, butshe was calm and well-poised, and seemed to feel a great sense ofresponsibility.
She had not been informed of Peter's identity, but she knew him to beacquainted with the man whom she still considered dead, and she knewthat Mr. Bartram was to impersonate Peter Crane.
She asked the eight people present to sit in a circle and join hands,allowing herself to make one of them.
Weston flatly refused to do this, saying he preferred to sit alone atthe back of the room. He did so, and took his place near the door of thesmall library of Mr. Crane's, the session being held in the large livingroom.
The medium requested that the lights be shut entirely off, saying thatsufficient illumination would come in from the street to prevent totaldarkness.
This proved to be true, and the dim light was just enough for them todistinguish one another's forms but not faces.
"Poppycock," whispered Shelby to Carlotta, as he held her hand.
Zizi, who sat on Shelby's other side, heard it and answered,"Absolutely."
Then the usual things happened. The medium went into a trance state, andthe regular proceedings took place.
She gave messages to Mr. Crane, purporting to be from his dead son. Shegave messages to Julie and to Peter's mother, all vapid and meaninglessand mentally scoffed at by all present, except the two elderlylisteners.
At last the medium said, "I am weary,--weary,--I would sleep. The spiritof Peter Crane himself wou
ld speak to you."
"Will you?" eagerly asked Benjamin Crane, "will you speak yourself,Peter?"
"Yes, father," came a reply, and everybody started.
Surely that was Peter's own voice! Not loud, almost a whisper, but withthe unmistakable cadence and tone of Peter, himself.
"That's Peter!" cried Julie, excitedly, "oh, father, is it?"
"Hush, dear," her father said, himself greatly agitated. "One must bevery calm and quiet on these occasions. Peter Boots, will you talk withus?"
"Gladly, Dad," came the voice again,--seeming to emanate from behindDetective Western's chair,--as indeed it did.
"Then tell us of yourself, my boy."
Mrs. Crane said no word, but sat, her hand in that of her husband, fullof faith in the genuineness of it all, and ready to listen and believe.
"I am very happy here, father," Peter's voice declared,--and Zizi bither lip to keep from smiling at the hackneyed phrase uttered by mortaltongue!
"You sound so real, Peter," Julie said, bluntly. "Is it always likethis?"
For Julie had never attended a _seance_ before.
"No, sister," the voice said, speaking more clearly with every word;"this is an unusual occasion. Perhaps,--perhaps the medium can bringabout materialization to-night."
"Oh, don't," Julie cried out, "I'm scared!"
"Don't be frightened, Julie," Peter said, his voice faint again, "Iwon't hurt you."
The well-remembered gentleness reassured Julie, and she held tight toher parents' hands and listened.
"I have a message for each of you," the voice went on; "or you may eachask me a question, as you prefer."
"I'll ask," Julie exclaimed; "Peter, dear Peter Boots, tell me that Macnever killed Gilbert. I know it, yet I want you to say so. They told meyou didn't know, and that you were misinformed and all that. You doknow, don't you, Peter?"
"Yes, Julie, I know. And Mac didn't kill Gilbert at all. But I know whodid. Shall I tell?"
"Yes," cried out several in chorus.
And then, from out the dark shadows behind Weston's chair, there slowlyappeared a dark, cloaked form. A black-draped, hooded figure, that movedslowly toward them. A tall, big figure that seemed to loom out of thedarkness, and then the hood fell back a little, a white ghostly faceappeared dimly and a slowly raised hand pointed to Kit Shelby.
"Thou art the man!" came in low, accusing tones, and they wereunmistakably Peter's.
Julie shrieked, and the accused man gave a strange, guttural sound,expressive of abject fear, and as the tall figure drew nearer, he roseto flee from its avenging shape.
Shelby didn't go far, for his progress was stopped by the burly form ofDetective Weston, who advised him to sit down.
"Confess!" went on the figure that seemed to be Peter, and with wildeyes, fairly starting from their sockets at the sight, Shelby cried out,"I did, oh, Peter, I did!" and then he fell in a convulsion of frightand terror.
And then, Peter Boots himself switched on the lights, threw off his longcloak, and turned to take his mother in his arms.
"My boy, my boy!" she said, knowing intuitively and instantaneouslythat it was her son, alive and found.
Benjamin Crane was a picture of utter perplexity. Unable to accept theobvious, he tried for a moment to believe in a marvelous"materialization," but Peter came to him, smiling and holding out aneager hand.
"Welcome me home, Dad," he said, a quiver in his strong voice. "I knowwhat a shock it is, but brace up and meet it,-- I'm here, and very muchalive. In fact, I never have been dead at all."
"Peter,--Peter," his father muttered, and fearing ill effects, Zizi camequickly to his side.
"Yes, Mr. Crane," she said in her brisk little way. "Peter Boots, homeagain. Never mind the spook stuff now. Cut it out,--forget it,--let himtell us of his adventures."
And now Carly came toward Peter.
One glance passed between them, and she was in his arms, a smiling,sweet Carly, who kissed him right before everybody, and saidtriumphantly, "I knew you'd come back!"
"Of course," said Peter, happily holding her to him. "I had to, thegypsies prophesied it, you know. They didn't mean come back as a sillyold spirit, they meant come back in the flesh, and here I am. Kit, oldman, I'm sorry."
And there was infinite sorrow and pity in the face that Peter turned onShelby, who was still trembling and mouthing in a vain effort to speak.
"Get his confession," said Wise, lest when the shock wore off Shelbymight dare deny it all.
But he couldn't speak, and out of very pity, Peter said, "I'll tell thedetails, and Shelby can nod assent."
"Go ahead," said Weston, his eye on his prisoner.
"I'll not tell of my experiences now, only to say there is no blame tobe attached to Shelby or to Blair or to the guide for my accident. Ifell in the snow, and somehow so managed to double my half-frozen legsunder me that the silly things both broke. I floundered in the driftsbut couldn't get up, nor could I make the boys hear my shouts, for thewind was against me. Well, I was picked up--after many hours--by somelumbermen and my tale of woe thereafter would fill a set of books. Butnever mind that now, I got home just as soon as I possibly could, havingbeen absolutely unable to get a letter here any sooner than I could comemyself. I came back to find that Dad, supposing me dead, had written abook,--oh, my eye! Dad, how you did butter me! Well, then I was up astump to know whether to make my joyous presence known and spill thebeans entirely or whether to sneak off, disappear forever and leave Dadto his laurel and bay."
"Peter! how could you dream of such a thing!" Benjamin Crane was himselfnow. "I'd a million times rather have you back than to have written allthe books in the world!"
"But, father, think what people will say! I understand your book is readand discussed from pole to pole----"
"And it may be hooted at from pole to pole for all I care! Oh, Peter!Peter Boots! Good old chap!"
Peter's blue eyes beamed. The thing that had worried him most had turnedout all right. Moreover, Carly seemed still kindly disposed toward him.
Remained only the dreadful business of Shelby and that must be putthrough.
"Then," Peter resumed, "I came home, and found old Gilbert Blair wasdead. Murdered. And Mac Thorpe arrested for the crime.
"I know Thorpe, and I know he never did it. And I wondered. Then I readin father's book about that old tobacco pouch of mine being'materialized.' So I knew there was trickery afoot. For I had handedthat pouch to Kit only a short time before I fell down. And he hadn'thanded it back. So, that accounted for its presence in the possession ofthe medium, though it didn't necessarily incriminate Shelby. He mighthave lost it or had it stolen from him.
"But, next I went to the Picture Show of 'Labrador Luck.' That, or atleast the plot, the backbone of it, was Blair's and mine. Together wedoped it out, sitting by our camp fire up there in the wilds, old Kitdozing near by. He talked with us about it now and then, but his planswere different from ours. All for a monster, spectacular productionwhich he has achieved, while Blair and I planned a little light comedyaffair. But the plot, the great theme of the thing, was Blair's,--and Idenounce Kit Shelby as the murderer of Gilbert Blair for the purpose ofusing that plot alone and in his own way! Another motive lay in the factof his admiration for Carlotta Harper, whom, he thought, Blair was aboutto marry.
"And, if these do not seem to you, Mr. Weston and Mr. Wise, sufficientmotive for murder, I will inform you that Blair had discovered Shelby'svisits to the medium, Parlato, and had learned that it was he who wasresponsible for the tobacco pouch, the handkerchief and that forgedletter. Blair discovered or suspected all this, and went to the mediumand forced her to admit he was correct.
"Wherefore, Shelby had to be exposed and ruined, or--had to closeBlair's lips forever. He chose the latter course. The method was by apoisoned soda mint, as has been suspected, and this I know, becauseShelby and I talked over methods of murder, when we were discussingdetective stories, and he detailed to me the very plan that I am sure heused himself, t
hat of putting one poisoned pellet in a bottle of plainones, and letting the result happen when it might. His argument was,that the murderer would be far from the scene at the time death tookplace. These statements I submit, and if Christopher Shelby can deny orrefute them, none will be more glad than I."
Shelly maintained a sullen silence, refusing to look at Peter at all.
But Weston adjured him to reply to the accusations with eitherconfession or denial, and he muttered: "Of course it's all true. I gotin deeper and deeper and there was no way out but to do for Blair. Ibegan giving the medium things just for fun,--the whole matter seemed tome such rubbish, and I never dreamed Mr. Crane would take it soseriously. Then when he did, and when Blair found out I had primed themedium, and when I wanted his play and he wouldn't let me have it, andwhen I wanted his girl,--and when he declared he would expose the mediumbusiness,--I fell for the temptation. That's all."
He lapsed again into utter dejection and Weston led him away before heshould collapse utterly.
"Now, Julie, you can have your Mac," Peter went on, smiling at hissister. "It's too late to-night----"
"Not a bit of it," declared Penny Wise, "come along, Miss Crane, I'lltake you to him, and let you tell him yourself, and I shouldn't besurprised if he came back with you."
The two went off joyfully, leaving Peter to be lionized and petted byhis adoring people.
Madame Parlato had long since disappeared, being allowed to get awayunmolested because of the help she had been.
Then Peter and his parents had a talk, while Carlotta just sat andlooked at the group, knowing her turn would come. Zizi, too, like alittle _dea ex machina_, sat, gloating over the outcome of it all.
Benjamin Crane utterly refused to listen to a word of regret at hisdiscredited book,--he only laughed happily and declared it was a joke onhimself, and he didn't care what the result might be or what loss hemight suffer in reputation or in pocketbook.
Mrs. Crane said little but she held tight to the hand of her boy, andlost herself in an oblivion of happiness.
And then, turning to Carlotta, Peter said, "And you thought I'd nevercome back?"
"Peter," Carly said, "I'm an expert Ouija Boarder. I have the reputationof making the Board say whatever I want it to. But my own theory is,that the little pointer always goes straight to the message that theperformer wants. And whenever I tried it alone, and asked it if you'dcome back to me,--it said you would."
Peter smiled at her, a little quizzically.
"I don't know, Carly, whether you're making that up or whether you meanit, but it doesn't matter, I did come back,--and I came back toyou,--and for you. Which, being interpreted, means, that when you'reready to go home, I'll walk along with you. I'll have time to see thefamily here to-morrow."
Whereupon Carly smiled happily, and they two "walked along."
THE END
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