CHAPTER. XXIII. MOROCCO KATE, ALLY
"Who are you? Who is trailing me? Is that you, LeGrand?"
The challenge came sharply out of the darkness, and Colonel Ashley,who had been following Morocco Kate, plodding along through the sand,stumbling over the hillocks of sedge grass, halted.
"Who's there?" was the insistent demand. "I know some one is followingme. Is it you, LeGrand Blossom? Have you--have you--"
The voice died out in a choking sob. "She's gamer than I thought," musedthe detective. "And, strange as it may seem, I believe she cares." Thenhe answered, almost as gently as to a grieving child:
"It is not LeGrand Blossom. But it is a friend of his, and I want to bea friend to you. Wait a moment."
Then, as he came close to her side and flashed on his face a gleam froman electric torch he always carried, she started back, and cried:
"Colonel Ashley! Heavens!"
"Exactly!" he chuckled. "You didn't expect to see me here, did you?Well, it's all right."
"Then you're not after me for--" She gasped and could not go on. "Thatlast deal was straight. I'm not the one you want."
"Don't get Spotty's habit, and throw up your hands just because yousee me, Kate," went on the colonel soothingly. "I'm not after youprofessionally this time. In fact, if things turn out the way I want, Imay shut my eyes to one or two little phases of your--er--let us callit career. I may ignore one or two little things that, under othercircumstances, might need explaining."
"You mean you want me for a stool pigeon?"
"Something like that, yes."
"And suppose I refuse?"
"That's up to you, Kate. I may be able to get along without you--I don'tsay I can, but I may. However it would mean harder work and a delay, andI don't mind, seeing it's you, saying that I'd like to get back to myfishing. So if you'll come to reason, and tell me what I want to know,it will help you and--Blossom."
"Blossom!" she gasped. "Then you know--"
"I may as well tell you that I was back there--a while ago," and thecolonel nodded vaguely to the splotch of blackness from whence MoroccoKate had rushed with that despairing cry on her lips.
"I'm a friend of LeGrand Blossom's--at least, I am now since I overheardwhat he had to say to you and Miss Webb," went on the detective. "Nowthen, if you'll tell me what I want to know, I'll help him to comeacross--clean, and I'll help you to the extent I mentioned."
Morocco Kate seemed to be considering as she stood in the darkness. Thena long sigh came from her lips, and it was as though she had come to theend of everything.
"I'll tell," she said simply. "What do you want to know? But first, letme say I didn't no more have an idea that Sport Carwell was going to diethan you have. Do you believe that?" she asked fiercely.
"I believe you, Kate. Now let's get down to brass tacks. Who is JeanCarnot, and where can I find him?"
"Oh!" she murmured. "You want him?"
"Very much, I think. Don't you?"
"Yes, I do! I--I would like to tear out his eyes! I'd like to--"
"Now, Kate, be nice! No use losing your temper. That's got you intotrouble more than once. Try to play the lady--you can do it when youhave to. Calling names isn't going to get us anywhere. Just tell mewhere I can find your former husband--or the one you thought was yourhusband--Jean Carnot."
"You're right, Colonel Ashley, I did think him my husband," saidMorocco Kate simply. "And when I found out he had tricked me by a falsemarriage, and wouldn't make it good--well, I just went to the devil andhell--that's all."
"I know it, Kate, and I appreciate your position. I'm not throwing anystones at you. I've seen enough of life to know that none of us can dothat with impunity. Now tell me all you can. And I'll say this--thatafter this is all over, if you want to try and do as Blossom is going todo--come through clean--I'll help you to the best of my ability."
"Will you, Colonel?" the big blonde woman asked eagerly.
"I will--and here's my hand on it!"
He reached out in the darkness, but there was no answering clasp. Thewoman seemed to shrink away. And then she said:
"I don't believe it would be of any use. I guess I'm too far down tocrawl up. But I'll help you all I can."
"Don't give up, Kate!" said the detective gently. "I've seen lots worsethan you--you notice I'm not mincing words--I've seen lots worse thanyou start over again. All I'll say is that I'll give you the chance ifyou want it. There's nothing in this life you're leading. You know theend and the answer as well as I do. You've seen it many a time."
"God help me--I have!" she murmured. "Well, I--I'll think about it."
"And, meanwhile, tell me about this Jean Carnot," went on the colonel."You were married to him?"
"I thought I was."
"What sort of man was he? Come, sit down on this sand dune and tell meall about it. I think I want that man."
"No more than I do," she said fiercely. "He left me as he would an oldcoat he couldn't use any more! He cast me aside, trampled on me, left melike a sick dog! Oh, God--"
For a moment she could not go on. But she calmed herself and resumed.Then, by degrees, she told the whole, sordid story. It was commonenough--the colonel had listened to many like it before. And when it wasfinished, brokenly and in tears, he put forth his hand on the shoulderof Morocco Kate and said:
"Now, Kate, let's get down to business. Are you willing to help mefinish this up?"
"I'll do all I can, Colonel Ashley. But I don't see how we're going tofind this devil of a Jean."
"Leave that to me. Now where can I find you when I want you--in a hurry,mind. I may want you in a great hurry. Where can I find you?"
"I'm stopping in the village. I'll arrange to be within call for thenext few days. Will it take long?"
"No, not very. If I can I'll clean it all up tomorrow. Things arebeginning to clear up. And now allow me the pleasure of walking backto town with you. It's getting late and beginning to rain. I have anumbrella, and you haven't."
And through the rain which began to fall, as though it might washaway some of the sordid sin that had been told of in the darkness, thestrangely different couple walked through the dark night, Morocco Kateas an ally of Colonel Ashley.
The clean, fresh sun was shining in through the windows of ColonelAshley's room at The Haven when he awakened the next morning. Ashe sprang up and made ready for his bath he called toward the nextapartment:
"Are you up, Jack?"
"Just getting. Any rush?"
"Well, I think this may be our busy day, and again it may not. Bettertumble out."
"Just as you say. How you feeling, Colonel?"
"Never better. I feel just like fishing, and you--"
"'Nough said. I'm with you."
And then, as he started toward his bath, the colonel saw a dirty slip ofpaper under the door of his room.
"Ha!" he ejaculated. "Another printed message. The writer is gettingimpatient. I think it's time to act."
And he read:
"Why does not the great detective arrest the poisoner of her father? Ifhe will look behind the book case he will find something that will proveeverything--the poison book and--something else."
The printed scrawl was signed: "Justice."
"Well, 'Justice,' I'll do as you say, for once," said the colonelsoftly, and there was a grim smile on his face.
And so it came about that after his bath and a breakfast Colonel Ashley,winking mysteriously to Jack Young, indicated to his helper that he waswanted in the library.
"What is it?" asked Jack, when they were alone in the room. "A newclew?"
"No, just a blind trail, but I want to clean it up. Help me move outsome of the bookcases."
"Good night! Some job! Are you looking for a secret passage, or is therea body concealed here?" and Jack laughed as he took hold of some of theheavy furniture and helped the colonel move it.
Not until they had lifted out the third massive case of volumes wastheir search successful. There was a little thud, as
though somethinghad fallen to the floor, and, looking, the colonel said:
"I have it."
He reached in and brought out a thin volume. Its title page wasinscribed "The Poisonous Plants of New Jersey."
Something was in the book--something more bulky than a mere marker; and,opening the slender volume at page 4, a spray of dried leaves and somethin, whitish roots were disclosed.
"Somebody trying to press wild flowers?" asked Jack. "Why all thistrouble for that? Hum! Doesn't smell like violets," he added, as hepicked up the spray of leaves and roots.
"No, it doesn't," agreed the colonel. "But if you are not a littlecareful in handling it you'll be a fit subject for a bunch ofviolets--tied with crepe."
"You mean--"
Jack was startled, and he dropped the dried leaves on the library floor.
"A specimen of the water hemlock," went on the colonel. "One of thedeadliest poisons of the plant world. And as we don't want any one elseto suffer the fate of Socrates, I'll put this away."
He looked at the compound leaves, the dried flowers, small, but growingin the characteristic large umbels, and at the cluster of fleshy roots,though now pressed flat, and noted the hollow stems of the plant itself.The bunch of what had been verdure once had made a greenish, yellowstain in the book, which, as the colonel noted, was from the localpublic library, and bore the catalogue number 58 C. H.--161*.
"Well, maybe you see through it, but I don't," confessed Jack. "Now,what's the next move?"
"Get these book cases back where they belong."
This was done, and then the colonel, sitting down to rest, for the laborwas not slight, went on:
"You are sure that the French chauffeur has been told that The Haven isto be closed, and that he will be no longer required here, nor in thecity? That he must leave at once though his month is not up?"
"Oh, yes, I heard Miss Viola tell him that herself. She told me shedidn't see why you wanted that done, but as you had charge of the casethe house would be closed, even if they had to open it again, for theystay here until late in the fall, you know.
"Yes, I know. Then you are sure Forette thinks they are all going awayand that he will have to go, too?"
"Oh, yes, he's all packed. Been paid off, too, I believe, for he wassporting a roll of bills."
"And he is to see Mazi--when?"
"This evening."
"Very good. Now I don't want you to let him out of your sight. Stick tohim like a life insurance agent on the trail of a prospect. Don't lethim suspect, of course, but follow him when he goes to see the prettylittle French girl to-night, and stay within call."
"Very good. Is that all?"
"For now, yes."
"What are you going to do, Colonel?"
"Me? I'm going fishing. I haven't thrown a line in over a week, and I'mafraid I'll forget how. Yes, I'm going fishing, but I'll see you sometime to-night."
And a little later Shag was electrified by his master's call:
"Get things ready!"
"Good lan' ob massy, Colonel, sah! Are we suah gwine fishin'?"
"That's what we are, Shag. Lively, boy!"
"I'se runnin', sah, dat's whut I'se doin'! I'se runnin'!" And Shag'shands fairly trembled with eagerness, while the colonel, opening alittle green book, read:
"Of recreation there is none So free as fishing is alone; All other pastimes do no less Than mind and body both possess; My hand alone my work can do, So I can fish and study too!"
"Old Isaac never wrote a truer word than that!" chuckled the colonel."And now for a little studying."
And presently he was beside a quiet stream.
Luck was with the colonel and Shag that day, for when they returned toThe Haven the creel carried by the colored man squeaked at its willowcorners, for it bore a goodly mess of fish.
"Oh, Colonel, I've been so anxious to see you!" exclaimed Viola, whenthe detective greeted her after he had directed Shag to take the fish tothe kitchen.
"Sorry I delayed so long afield," he answered with a gallant bow. "Butthe sport was too good to leave. What is it, my dear? Has anythinghappened?" Her face was anxious.
"Well, not exactly happened," she answered; "but I don't know whatit means. And it seems so terrible! Look. I just discovered this--orrather, it was handed to me by one of the maids a little while ago," andshe held out the postal from the library, telling of the overdue book.
"Well?" asked the colonel, though he could guess what was coming.
"Why, I haven't drawn a book from the library here for a long time,"went on Viola. "I did once or twice, but that was when the library wasfirst opened, some years ago. This postal is dated a week ago, but themaid just gave it to me."
"Very likely it was mislaid."
"That's what I supposed. But I went at once to the library, and I foundthat the book had been taken out on my card. And, oh, Colonel Ashley, itis a book on--poisons!"
"I know it, my dear."
"You know it! And did you think--"
"Now don't get excited. Come, I'll show you the very book. It's beenhere for some time, and I've known all about it. In fact I have a copyof it that I got from New York. There isn't anything to be worriedabout."
"But a book on poisons--poisonous plants it is, as I found out at thelibrary--and poor father was killed by some mysterious poison! Oh--"
She was rapidly verging on an attack of hysterics, and the colonel ledher gently to the dining room whence, in a little while, she emerged,pale, but otherwise self-possessed.
"Then you really want Aunt Mary and me to go away?" she asked.
"Yes, for a day or so. Make it appear that the house is closed for theseason. You dismissed Forette, didn't you, as I suggested?"
"Yes, and paid him in full. I never want to see him again. He's been soinsolent of late--he'd hardly do a thing I asked him. And he looked atme in such a queer, leering, impudent way."
"Don't worry about that, my dear. Everything will soon be all right."
"And will--will Harry be cleared?"
The colonel did not have time to answer, for Miss Mary Carwell appearedjust then, lamenting the many matters that must be attended to on theclosing of the house for even a short time. The colonel left her andViola to talk it over by themselves.
On slowly moving pinions, a lone osprey beat its way against aquartering south-east wind to the dead tree where the little birdswaited impatiently in the nest, giving vent to curious, whistlingsounds. Slowly the osprey flew, for it had played in great luck thatday, and had swooped down on a fish that would make a meal for him andhis mate and the little ones. The fish was not yet dead, but every nowand then would contort its length in an effort to escape from the talonswhich were thrust deeper and deeper into it, making bright spots ofblood on the scaly sides.
And a man, walking through the sand, looked up, and in the last rays ofthe setting sun saw the drops of blood on the sides of the fish.
"A good kill, old man! A good kill!" he said aloud, and as though theosprey could hear him. "A mighty good kill!"
When it was dark a procession of figures began to wend its way over thelonely moor and among the sand dunes to where a tiny cottage nestled ina lonely spot on the beach. From the cottage a cheerful light shone, andnow and then a pretty girl went to the door to look out. Seeing nothing,she went back and sat beside a table, on which gleamed a lamp.
By the light of it a woman was knitting, her needles flying in and outof the wool. The girl took up some sewing, but laid it down again andagain, to go to the door and peer out.
"He is not coming yet, Mazi?" asked the woman in French.
"No, mamma, but he will. He said he would. Oh, I am so happy with him! Ilove him so! He is all life to me!"
"May you ever feel like that!" murmured the older woman.
Soon after that, the first of the figures in the procession reached thelittle cottage. The girl flew to the door, crying:
"Jean! Jean! What made you so late?"
"I
could not help it, sweetheart. I but waited to get the last of mywages. Now I am paid, and we shall go on our honeymoon!"
"Oh, Jean! I am so happy!"
"And I, too, Mazi!" and the man drew the girl to him, a strange lightshining in his eyes.
They sat down just outside the little cottage, where the gleam from thelamp would not reflect on them too strongly, and talked of many things.Of old things that are ever new, and of new things that are destined tobe old.
The second figure of the procession that seemed to make the lonelycottage on the moor a rendezvous that evening, was not far behind thatof the lover. It was a figure of a man in a natty blue serge suit. Apanama hat of expensive make sat jauntily on top of his head on whichcurled close, heavy black hair.
"I wonder if the colonel is coming?" mused Jack Young, as he stoppedto let Jean Forette hurry on a little in advance. Then a backward glancetold him that two other figures were joining the procession. Theselast two--a man and a woman--walked more slowly, and they did not talk,except now and then to pass a few words.
"Then the marriage was legal, after all?" the woman asked.
"Yes, Kate, it was," answered Colonel Ashley. "You are his lawful wife."
"And he only told me I wasn't, so as to shame me--to make me leave him,and render me desperate?"
"That, and for other reasons. But the fact remains that you are hiswife."
"And this other ceremony--this other woman?"
"No legal wife at all."
"I am sorry for her."
"Yes, she is but a girl. If I had known in time I might have stopped it.But it is too late now. Is he there, Jack?" he asked, as he joined theman in the panama hat.
"Yes, sitting outside with Mazi. Going to close in?"
"Might as well. Watch him carefully. He's desperate, and--"
"I know--full of dope. Well I'm ready for him."
And so the trio--the last of the procession, if we except Fate--wentcloser to the cottage whence so cheerfully gleamed the light.
"Who is there? What do you want?"
It was the snarling voice of Jean Forette, late chauffeur for theCarwells, challenging.
"Who is it?" he cried.
The three figures came on.
Suddenly there was a blinding flash, and the gleam from a powerfulelectric torch shone in the faces of Jack Young, Morocco Kate andColonel Ashley.
There was a gasp of surprise and terror from the man beside Mazi--theman who had thrust out the torch to see who it was advancing and closingin on him through the darkness.
"Ah!" sneered the Frenchman, recovering his self-possession. "It is myfriend the officer. Ah, I am glad to see you--but just now--not!" and heseemed to spit out the words.
"Maybe not. I can't always come when I'm expected, nor where I'mwanted," said Colonel Ashley coolly. "Now, my friend--Jack!" he criedsharply.
"I've got him, Colonel," was the cool answer, and there was a cry ofagony from the chauffeur as his wrist was turned, almost to the breakingpoint, while there dropped from his paralyzed hand a magazine pistol,thudding to the sand at his feet.
"Go on, Colonel," said Jack, who had slipped off to one side, out of thefocus of the glaring light, just in time to prevent Jean Forette fromusing the weapon he had quickly taken from a side pocket. "Go on, closein. I've drawn his stinger."
"Messieurs, what does this mean?" demanded the girl beside Jean. "Whoare you? What do you want? Ah, it is you--and you!" and she turned firstto Colonel Ashley and then to Jack Young. "You who have talked so kindlyto me--who have asked me so much about--about my husband! It is you whocome like thieves and assassins! Speak to them, Jean! Tell them to go!"
The Frenchman was breathing heavily, for Jack had a merciless grip onhim.
"Speak to them, Jean!" implored the girl, while her mother, standing inthe door with her knitting, looked wonderingly on. "Why do they come totake you like a traitor?"
"It--it's all a mistake!" panted the chauffeur.
"You've got me wrong, messieurs. I--I didn't do it. It was all anaccident. He--I--Oh, my God! You!" and he started back as Morocco Katestepped toward him, pulling from her face the veil that had covered itwhen the glaring light showed. Jack Young now held the electric torch.
"You!" he murmured hoarsely.
"Yes, I!" she cried. "The woman you kicked out like a sick dog!I've found you at last, and now I'll make you suffer all I did andmore--you--devil!"
"Softly, Kate, softly!" murmured the colonel. But she did not heed him.
"You--you spawn of hell!" she cried. "It was you who sent me down whereI am--where not a decent woman will look at me and a decent man won'tspeak to me. You did it--you left me to rot in my shame so you couldfind some one else--some one younger and prettier to fondle and kissand--Oh, God!"
She sank in a shuddering heap on the sand at the feet of the man who hadbroken her body and spirit, and lay there, sobbing out her anger.
"Let her stay there a little," said the colonel softly. "She'll feelbetter after this outburst."
"Jean! Jean! What is it all about?" begged the girl who still maintainedher place beside him. "Oh, speak to me! Tell me! Who is she?" and shepointed to the huddled figure on the sand.
"I'll tell you who she is," said Colonel Ashley. "She is the legal wifeof Jean Carnot, alias Jean Forette, and--"
A scream from Mazi stopped him.
"Tell me it isn't true, Jean! Tell me it isn't true!" begged the girl.
Jean Carnot did not speak.
"He knows it is true," said the colonel. "And now, my French autofriend, I've come to take you into custody on a charge of--"
"I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" cried the man. "I swear I didn'tdo it. I was going to throw the glass away but he grabbed it from me,and--"
"I arrest you on a charge of bigamy," went on the calm voice of ColonelAshley. And then, as he saw Mazi stagger as though about to fall, headded:
"All right, Jack. I'll take care of her. You put the bracelets on him.And see that they're good and tight. We don't want him slipping outand getting married again. He doesn't have much regard for bonds of anysort, matrimonial or legal."
And then he lifted poor, little Mazi up and carried her into thecottage, while Morocco Kate got slowly to her feet and sat down on thebench in the darkest shadows, sobbing.
CHAPTER XXIV. STILL WATERS
"The records show that Henri Margot, alias Jean Carnot alias JeanForette was married to Isabel Pelubit in Paris on March 17, four yearsago, and that she died under suspicious circumstances three monthslater, leaving her husband all of a snug little fortune she possessed.
"All lies, monsieur--all lies! I do not believe anything you tell me!"
"Well, that's very foolish of you, Mazi, for you can easily prove foryourself everything I tell you, and it will be better for you, in theend, if you do believe."
"I do not. But go on with--more lies!" She shrugged her shoulderscontemptuously.
Colonel Ashley leafed over a sheaf of papers he had spread out on thetable in front of him. He and Mazi sat in a room in police headquartersin Lakeside. It was the day following the procession to the cottage onthe moor.
"The records show," went on the detective, "that Henri Margot wasarrested in Paris, charged with having poisoned his wife so that hemight spend on another woman the money she possessed. But he was notconvicted, chiefly because the chemists could not agree on the kind ofpoison that had caused death."
"All lies--I do not believe," said Mazi, stolidly.
"Um!" mused the colonel. "Well, Mazi, you're more stubborn than Ithought. But it doesn't make any difference to me, you know. I'm paidfor all this. Now let's see--what's next? Oh, yes. Then the recordsshow that Henri, or Jean, whichever you choose to call him, came to thiscountry. He fell in love with a pretty girl--she wasn't as pretty asyou, Mazi, I'll say that--but he fell in love with her and marriedher--or pretended to. However, it was a fake ceremony, and she couldn'tprove anything when he had spent all her money and tossed her aside. Sothere wasn
't anything we could do to him that time."
"More lies," said Mazi, calmly--or at least with the appearance ofcalmness.
"The records show," went on the inexorable voice of Colonel Ashley,"that next Jean Carnot, as he called himself then, became infatuatedwith a pretty girl--and this time I'll say she was just about as prettyas you, Mazi--and her name was Annie Tighe. She was an Irish girl, andshe insisted on being married by a priest, so there wasn't any fakingthere. Jean was properly married at least."
"What do I care for all these lies?" sneered the girl, impatientlytapping her foot on the floor. "Why do you bore me? I am not interested!I should like to see Jean. Ha! Where have you put him?"
"You'll see him soon enough, Mazi. I've got just a few more recordsto show you, and then I'm done. Now we come to the time when, after hefound he couldn't get out of a legal marriage, Jean put his foot in it,so to speak. He was tied right, this time, so he took refuge in a liewhen he wanted to shake off the bonds of matrimony, as my friend JackYoung would say. He told his wife--and she was his wife, and is yet--hetold her the ceremony was a fake, that the priest was a false one, inhis pay."
"All lies! What do I care?" sneered Mazi, again shrugging her shoulders.
"Well, now let's get along. After our friend Jean found he was tired ofhis wife he shamed her into leaving him and she went--well, that isn'tpleasant to dwell on, either. Except that he's the villain responsiblefor her going to the dogs. He sent her there just as he would have sentyou, Mazi, except for what has happened."
"You mean he is not my husband?"
"Not in the least."
"I do not believe you. It is all lies. These women are but jealous.Proceed."
"That's about all there is to it, Mazi, except to show you the letterfrom your own priest, who confirms the fact that the priest who marriedJean Carnot and Annie Tighe was legally authorized to do so, both by thelaws of his own church and those of New York State, where the ceremonytook place. You will believe Father Capoti, won't you?" and he laidbeside the girl a letter which she read eagerly.
This time she said nothing about lies, but her face turned deadly pale.
"And this is the last exhibit," went on the colonel, as he laid aphotograph before Mazi. It showed a man and a girl, evidently in theirwedding finery, and the face of the man was that of Jean Forette, andthat of the girl was of the woman who had groveled on the sand at thefeet of the chauffeur the night before,--Morocco Kate.
"Look on the back," suggested the detective, and when Mazi turned thephotograph over she read:
"The happiest day of my life--Jean Carnot."
"If you happen to have any love letters from him--and I guess you have,"went on the colonel, "you might compare the writing and--"
"I have no need, monsieur," was the low answer. "I--God help me.--Ibelieve now! Oh, the liar! If I could see him now--"
"I rather thought you'd want to," murmured the colonel. "Bring him in!"he called.
The door opened, and, handcuffed to a stalwart officer, in slunk Jean ofthe many names.
Mazi sprang to her feet, her face livid. She would have leaped at theprisoner, but the colonel held her back. But he could not hold back theflood of voluble French that poured from her lips.
"Liar! Dog!" she hissed at him. "And so you have deceived me as youdeceived others! You lied--and I thought he lied!" and she motioned tothe colonel. "Oh, what a silly fool I've been! But now my eyes are open!I see! I see!"
With a quick gesture, before the colonel could stop her, she tore inhalf the picture that had swept away all her doubts.
"Mustn't do that!" chided the colonel, as he picked up the pieces whichshe was about to grind under her feet. "I'll need that at the trial."
"You--you beast!" whispered the girl, but the whisper seemed louder thana shout would have been. "You beast! No longer will I lie for you. Whyyou wanted me to, I do not know. Yes, I do! It was so that you mightbe with some one else when you should have been with me. Listen, all ofyou!" she cried, as she flung her arms wide. "No longer will I shieldhim. He told me to say that he was with me when that golf man--MonsieurCarwell died--before he died--but he was not. No more will I lie foryou, Jean of the many names! You were not with me! I did not even seeyou that day. Bah! You were kissing some other fool maybe! Oh, my God!I--I--"
And the colonel gently laid the trembling, shrieking girl down on abench, while the eyes of the shrinking figure of Jean the chauffeurfollowed every movement.
He raised his free hand, and seemed to be struggling to loosen hiscollar that appeared to choke him. For a moment the attention of ColonelAshley was turned toward Mazi, who was sobbing frantically. Then, whenhe saw that she was becoming quieter, he turned to the prisoner.
"You heard all that went on, I know," said the detective. "That's why Iput you in the next room."
"Yes, I heard," was the calm answer. "But what of it? You can provenothing only that women are fools. I shall hire a good lawyer and--poof!What would you have--a man must live. Bigamy, it is not such a seriouscharge."
"Oh, no, there are worse," said the colonel calmly. "You're going tohear one presently. She told me just what I wanted to know, as I thoughtshe would if I could get her roused up enough against you. So, youweren't riding, as you said, with her the day Mr. Carwell came to hisend. I never thought you were, Jean of the many names. And now, officer,if you'll take him back and lock him up, I guess this will be about allto-day."
"But I want to get bail!" exclaimed the prisoner. "I have a right to bebailed. My lawyer says so."
"There isn't any bail in your case," said the detective.
"Pooh! Nonsense! Bigamy, it is not such a serious charge."
"Oh, didn't I tell you? I meant to," said the colonel gently. "You'reunder another accusation now. Jean Forette, to call you by your latestalias, you're under arrest, charged with the murder, by poison, ofHorace Carwell, and I think we'll come pretty near convicting you by thetestimony of Mazi. Ah, would you--not quite!"
He struck down the hand the prisoner had raised to his mouth, and thererolled over the floor a little capsule. The top came off and a whitepowder spilled out.
"Don't step on it!" warned the colonel as several other officers came into assist in handling the prisoner, who was struggling violently."It's probably the same poison, mixed with French dope, that killed Mr.Carwell. Jean had it hidden in the collar band of his shirt ready foremergencies. But you shan't cheat the chair, Jean of the many names!"
They led the Frenchman away, struggling and screaming that he wasinnocent, that it was all a mistake. By turns he prayed and blasphemedhorribly.
"That's the way they usually do when they can't get a shot of theirdope," said the jail physician, after he had visited the prisoner andgiven him a big dose of bromide. "He'll be a wreck from now on. He'srotten with some French drug, the like of which I've never seen usedbefore."
The coroner's jury had been called together again. Once more the sordidevidence was gone over, but this time there was more of it, and it hadto do with a story told weepingly on the stand by Mazi, and corroboratedby Colonel Ashley.
And a little later, when the jury filed in, it was to report:
"We find that Horace Carwell came to his death through poisonadministered by Jean Carnot, alias Jean Forette, with intent to kill."
And a little later, when the grand jury had indicted him, the man'snerve failed him completely, because his supply of drug was kept fromhim and he babbled the truth like a child, weeping.
He had stolen two hundred dollars from the pocketbook of Mr. Carwellthe day before the championship golf game, and, the crime having beendetected by Viola's father, the chauffeur had been given twenty-fourhours in which to return the money or be exposed. He was in financialstraits, and, as developed later, had stolen elsewhere, so that hefeared arrest and exposure and was at his wit's end. He had spent muchof the money on Mazi, whom he induced to go through a secret marriageceremony with him.
Then Jean, like a cornered rat, and crazy from th
e drug he had filledhimself with, conceived the idea of poisoning Mr. Carwell. That wouldprevent arrest and exposure, he reasoned.
The chauffeur found his opportunity when he was ordered to stop thebig red, white and blue car at a roadhouse just prior to the game. Mr.Carwell was thirsty, and in bad humor, and ordered the chauffeur tobring out some champagne. It was into this that Jean slipped the poison,mixed with some of his own drug which he knew would retard the action ofthe deadly stuff for some time. And it worked just as he had expected,dropping Mr. Carwell in his tracks about two hours later, as he made thestroke that won the game.
"But how did a chauffeur know so much about poison and dope as to beable to mix a dose that would fool the chemists?" asked Jack Young ofhis chief, a little later.
"Jean's father was a French chemist, and a clever one. It was therethat Jean learned to mix the powder dope he took, and he learned muchof other drugs. I suspect, though I can't prove it, that he poisoned hisfirst wife. A devil all the way through," answered the colonel.
"But what did Bartlett and Mr. Carwell quarrel about so seriously thatBartlett wouldn't tell?"
"It was about Morocco Kate. Harry learned that she had sold Mr. Carwella set of books, and, knowing her reputation, he feared she might havecompromised Mr. Carwell because of his sporting instincts. So Harrybegged Viola's father to come out plainly and repudiate the bookcontract. But Mr. Carwell was stiff about it, and told Harry to mind hisown business. That was all. Naturally, after Harry found that MoroccoKate really was mixed up in the case--though innocently enough--hedidn't want to tell what the quarrel was about for fear of bringing outa scandal. As a matter of fact there never was any shadow of one."
"And the mysterious notes to you about Viola having a poison book?"
"All sent by Jean, of course, to throw suspicion on her. I heard itrumored, in more than one quarter, that Viola strongly disapproved ofher father's sporty life, and it was said she had stated that she wouldrather see him dead than disgraced. Which was natural enough. I've saidthat myself many a time about friends.
"Jean found Miss Carwell's library card, and took out the poison book inher name, afterward anonymously sending me word about it. I admit that,for a moment, I was staggered, but it was only for a moment. Here iswhat I found in his room."
Colonel Ashley held out a piece of paper. There was no writing onit, but it bore the indentations, identical with one of the penciled,printed notes.
"He wrote it on a pad," said the colonel, "and tore off the top sheet.But he used a hard pencil, and the impression went through. Just one ofthe few mistakes he made."
"Fine work on your part, Colonel."
"As for Captain Poland, the money transactions did look a bit queer,but we've since found the receipt and it's all right. A new clerk inCarwell's office had mislaid it. It wasn't Blossom's fault, either. He'sa weak chap, but not morally bad. The worst thing he did was to fall forMorocco Kate. But better men than he have done the same thing. However,they won't again."
"Why, she hasn't--"
"Oh, no; nothing as rash as that. She's going to take a new route,that's all. She's a natural born saleswoman, and I've gotten her a placewith a big firm that owes me some favors."
"And did Blossom come through 'clean' as he said he would?"
"He did, and he didn't. It seems that a year or so ago he inheritedeleven thousand dollars. He invested half of the money in copper andmade quite a little on the deal. Then, a short while before Carwelldied, he got Blossom to lend him some money, which he was to pay backinside of a month or two. When Carwell's death occurred, Blossom wasin financial difficulties on account of the demands of Morocco Kate. Hecould not get hold of the money he had invested, nor could he get holdof the money he had loaned Carwell. In his quandary he took certainsecurities belonging to Carwell and hypothecated them, expecting, lateron, to make good as soon as he got some of his own money back. Of coursethe whole transaction was a rather shady one, and yet I still believethe young fellow wanted to be honest."
"How does he stand now?"
"Oh, he has managed to get hold of some of his money, and with that gotback the Carwell securities. And, of course, the Carwell estate willhave to settle with him later on, and Viola and Miss Mary Carwell aregoing to keep him in his present position.
"He and Minnie Webb are to be married very soon--which reminds me that Ihave an invitation for you."
"For me?"
"Yes. It's to the wedding of Viola and Harry Bartlett. The affairis going to be very quiet, so you can come without worrying about adress-suit, which I know you hate as much as I do."
"I should say so!"
"And did Bartlett's uncle really mulct Mr. Carwell in that insurancedeal?"
"Well, that's according to how you look at the ins and outs of modernhigh finance. It was a case of skin or be skinned, and I guess Harry'suncle skinned first and beat Mr. Carwell to it. It was six of one and ahalf dozen of the other. The deal would have been legitimate either wayit swung, but it made Mr. Carwell sore for a time, and that, morethan anything else, made him quarrel with Harry when Morocco Kate wasmentioned."
The letters in the secret drawer, which had so worried Viola, proved tobe very simple, after all. They referred to a certain local committee,organized for an international financial deal which Mr. Carwell wasendeavoring to swing with Captain Poland. The latter thought, because ofhis intimate association with Viola's father, that the latter might usehis influence in the captain's love affair. But that was not to be. SoViola's worry was for naught in this respect.
And so the golf course mystery was cleared up, though even to the end,when he had paid the penalty for his crime, the chauffeur would notreveal the nature of the poison he had mixed with the dope which hadmade him a wreck.
Beside the still water, that ran in a deep eddy where the stream curvedunder the trees, Colonel Ashley sat fishing. Beside him on the grass alittle boy, with black, curling hair, and deep, brown eyes, sat clickinga spare reel. Off to one side, in the shade, a colored man snored.
"Hey, Unk Bob!" lisped the little boy. "Don't Shag make an awful funnynoise?"
"He certainly does, Gerry! He certainly does!"
"Just 'ike a saw bitin' wood."
"That's it, Gerry! I'll have to speak to Shag about it. But now, Gerry,my boy, you must keep still while Unk Bob catches a big fish."
"Ess, I keep still. But you tell me a 'tory after?"
"Yes, I'll tell you a story."
"Will you tell me how you was a fissin', an' a big white ball comed an',zipp! knocked ze fiss off your hook? Will you tell me dat fiss 'tory?"
"Yes, Gerry, I'll tell you that if you'll be quiet now."
And Shag's snores mingled with the gentle whisper of the water and thesighing of the wind in the willows.
And then, when the creel had been emptied and Colonel Robert Lee Ashleysat on the porch with Gerry Ashley Bartlett snugly curled in his lapand told the story of the golf ball and the fish, while Shag cleaned thefish fresh from the brook, two figures stood in the door of the house.
"Look, Harry!" softly said the woman's voice. "Isn't that a picture?"
"It is, indeed, my dear. Gerry adores the colonel."
"No wonder. I do myself. Oh, by the way, Harry, I had a letter fromCaptain Poland today."
"Did you? Where is he now?" asked Harry Bartlett, as his eyes turnedlovingly from the figure of his little son in the colonel's lap to thatof his wife beside him.
"In the Philippines. He says he thinks he'll settle there. He was sopleased that we named the Boy after him."
"Was he?" and then, as his wife went over to steal up behind her littleson and clasp her hands over his eyes, the man, standing alone on theporch, murmured:
"Poor Gerry!" And it was of the lonely man in the Philippines he wasspeaking.
In the silent shadows Colonel Robert Lee Ashley fished again. This timehe was alone, save for the omnipresent Shag. And as the latter netted afish, and slipped it into the grass-lined creel, he spoke and s
aid:
"Mr. Young, he done ast me to-day when we gwine back t' de city. Hedone say dere's a big case waitin' fo' you, Colonel, sah. When is we-allgwine back?"
"Never, Shag!"
"Nevah, Colonel, sah?"
"No. I'm going to spend all the rest of my life fishing. I've resignedfrom the detective business! I'll never take another case Never!"
And Shag chuckled silently as he closed the creel.
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