CHAPTER XVIII
The Veil is Lifted
In a moment we were hurrying along the street, in the direction thenotary had pointed out to us. Martigny was already out of sight, andwe had need of haste. My head was in a whirl. So Frances Holladay wasnot really the daughter of the dead millionaire! The thought compelleda complete readjustment of my point of view. Of course, she waslegally his daughter; equally of course, this new development couldmake no difference in my companion's feeling for her. Nothing, then,was really changed. She must go back with us; she must take up the oldlife----But I had no time to reason it all out.
We had reached the beach again, and we turned along it in thedirection of the cliffs. Far ahead, I saw a man hurrying in the samedirection--I could guess at what agony and danger to himself. Thepath began to ascend, and we panted up it to the grassy down, whichseemed to stretch for miles and miles to the northward. Right beforeus was a little wood, in the midst of which I caught a glimpse of afarmhouse.
We ran toward it, through a gate, and up the path to the door. It wasclosed, but we heard from within a man's excited voice--a resonantvoice which I knew well. I tried the door; it yielded, and we steppedinto the hall. The voice came from the room at the right. It was notime for hesitation--we sprang to the door and entered.
Martigny was standing in the middle of the floor, fairly foaming atthe mouth, shrieking out commands and imprecations at two women whocowered in the farther corner. The elder one I knew at a glance--theyounger--my heart leaped as I looked at her--was it Miss Holladay? No,yet strangely like.
He saw their startled eyes turn past him to us, and swung sharplyround. For an instant he stood poised like a serpent about to strike,then I saw his eyes fix in a frightful stare, his face turned livid,and with a strangled cry, he fell back and down. Together we liftedhim to the low window-seat, pursuers and pursued alike, loosened hiscollar, chafed his hands, bathed his temples, did everything we couldthink of doing; but he lay there staring at the ceiling with clenchedteeth. At last Royce bent and laid his ear against his breast. Then hearose and turned gently to the women.
"It is no use," he said. "He is dead."
I looked to see them wince under the blow; but they did not. Theyounger woman went slowly to the window and stood there sobbingquietly; the other's face lit up with a positive blaze of joy.
"So," she exclaimed, in that low, vibrant voice I so well remembered,"so he is dead! That treacherous, cruel heart has burst at last!"
Royce gazed at her a moment in astonishment. She looked not at him,but at the dead man on the window-seat, her hands clasping andunclasping.
"Madame Alix," he said, at last, "you know our errand--we must carryit out."
She bowed her head.
"I know it, monsieur," she answered. "But for him, there would havebeen no such errand. As it is, I will help you all I can. Cecile," shecalled to the woman at the window, "go and bring your sister to thesegentlemen."
The younger woman dried her eyes and left the room. We waited in tensesilence, our eyes on the door. We heard the sound of footsteps on thestair; a moment, and she was on the threshold.
She came in slowly, listlessly--it gave me a shock to see the pallorof her face. Then she glanced up and saw Royce standing there; shedrew in her breath with a quick gasp, a great wave of color sweptover her cheeks and brow, a great light sprang into her eyes.
"Oh, John!" she cried, and swayed toward him.
He had her in his arms, against his heart, and the glad tears sprangto my eyes as I looked at them. I glanced at the elder woman, and sawthat her eyes were shining and her lips quivering.
"And I have come to take you away, my love," he was saying.
"Oh, yes; take me away," she sobbed, "before the other comes."
She stopped, her eyes on the window-seat, where "the other" lay, andthe color died out of her cheeks again.
"He, at least, has paid the penalty," said Royce. "He can trouble youno more, my love."
She was sobbing helplessly upon his shoulder, but as the momentspassed she grew more calm, and at last stood upright from him. Theyounger woman had come back into the room, and was watching hercuriously, with no trace of emotion.
"Come, let us go," said the girl. "We must take the first boat home."
But Royce held back.
"There has been a crime committed," he said slowly. "We must see thatit is punished."
"A crime? Oh, yes; but I forgive them, dear."
"The crime against yourself you may forgive; but there was anothercrime--murder----"
"There was no murder!" burst in Cecile Alix. "I swear it to you,monsieur. Do you understand? There was no murder!"
I saw Miss Holladay wince at the other's voice, and Royce saw it, too.
"I must get her to the inn," he said. "This is more than she canbear--I fear she will break down utterly. Do you stay and get thestory, Lester. Then we'll decide what it is best to do."
He led her away, out of the house and down the path, not once lookingback. I watched them till the trees hid them, and then turned to thewomen.
"Now," I said, "I shall be happy to hear the story."
"It was that man yonder who was the cause of it all," began themother, clasping her hands tightly in her lap to keep them still."Four years ago he came from Paris here to spend the summer--he wasver' ill--his heart. We had been living happily, my daughter and I,but for the one anxiety of her not marrying. He met her and proposedmarriage. He was ver' good--he asked no dowry, and, besides, mydaughter was twenty-five years old--past her first youth. But sheattracted him, and they were married. He took her back to Paris, wherehe had a little theater, a hall of the dance--but he grew worse again,and came back here. It was then that he found out that I had anotherdaughter, whom I had given to a rich American. I was ver' poor,monsieur," she added piteously. "My man had died--"
"Yes, madame, I know," I said, touched by her emotion. Plainly she wastelling the truth.
"So he wrote to friends in Amerique, and made questions about MonsieurHolladay. He learned--oh, he learned that he was ver' rich--what youcall a man of millions--and that his daughter--my daughter,monsieur--was living still. From that moment, he was like a manpossessed. At once he formed his plan, building I know not what hopesupon it. He drilled us for two years in speaking the English; he tookus for six months to Londres that we might better learn. Day after daywe took our lessons there--always and always English. Cecile learnedver' well, monsieur; but I not so well, as you can see--I was tooold. Then, at last we reached New York, and my daughter--thisone--was sent to see Monsieur Holladay, while I was directed that Iwrite to Celeste--to Mademoiselle Holladay. She came that ver'afternoon," she continued, "and I told her that it was I who was hermother. He was with me, and displayed to her the papers of adoption.She could not but be convinced. He talked to her as an angel--oh, hecould seem one when he chose!--he told her that I was in poverty--hemade her to weep, which was what he desired. She promised to bring usmoney; she was ver' good; my heart went out to her. Then, just as shehad arisen to start homeward, in Celeste came, crying, sobbing,stained with blood."
She shuddered and clasped her hands before her eyes.
"But you have said it was not murder, madame," I said to the youngerwoman.
"Nor was it!" she cried. "Let me tell you, monsieur. I reached thegreat building, which my husband had already pointed out to me; Iwent up in the lift; I entered the office, but saw no one. I went onthrough an open door and saw an old man sitting at a desk. I inquiredif Mr. Holladay was there. The old man glanced at me and bowed towardanother door. I saw it was a private office and entered it. The doorswung shut behind me. There was another old man sitting at a desk,sharpening a pencil."
"'Is it you, Frances?' he asked.
"'No,' I said, stepping before him. 'It is her sister, MonsieurHolladay!'
"He stared up at me with such a look of dismay and anger on his facethat I was fairly frightened; then, in the same instant, before Icould draw breath, before
I could say another word, his face grewpurple, monsieur, and he fell forward on his desk, on his hand, on theknife, which was clasped in it. I tried to check the blood, but couldnot, it poured forth in such a stream. I knew not what to do; I wasdistracted, and in a frenzy, I left the place and hurried to ourlodgings. That is the truth, monsieur; believe me."
"I do believe you," I said; and she turned again to the window to hideher tears.
"It was then," went on her mother, "that that man yonder had anotherinspiration. Before it had been only--what you call--blackmail--a fewthousands, perhaps a pension; now it was something more--he wasplaying for a greater stake. I do not know all that he planned. Hefound Celeste suspected of having killed her father; he must get herreleased at any cost; so he wrote a note----"
"Yes," I cried. "Yes, of course; I see. Miss Holladay under arrest wasbeyond his reach."
"Yes," she nodded, "so he wrote a note--oh, you should have seen himin those days! He was like some furious wild beast. But after she wasset free, Celeste did not come to us as she had promise'. We saw thatshe suspected us, that she wish' to have nothing more to do with us;so Victor commanded that I write another letter, imploring her,offering to explain." She stopped a moment to control herself. "Ah,when I think of it! She came, monsieur. We took from her her gown andput it on Cecile. She never left the place again until the carriagestopped to take her to the boat. As for us--we were his slaves--heguided each step--he seemed to think of everything--to be prepared foreverything--he planned and planned."
There was no need that she should tell me more--the whole plot laybare before me--simple enough, now that I understood it, and carriedout with what consummate finish!
"One thing more," I said. "The gold."
She drew a key from her pocket and gave it to me.
"It is in a box upstairs," she said. "This is the key. We have nottouched it."
I took the key and followed her to the floor above. The box, of heavyoak bound with iron, with steamship and express labels fresh upon it,stood in one corner. I unlocked it and threw back the lid. Packageupon package lay in it, just as they had come from the sub-treasury. Ilocked the box again, and put the key in my pocket.
"Of course," I said, as I turned to go, "I can only repeat your storyto my companion. He and Miss Holladay will decide what steps to take.But I am sure they will be merciful."
They bowed without replying, and I went out along the path between thetrees, leaving them alone with their dead.
And it was of the dead I thought last and most sorrowfully: a man ofcharacter, of force, of fascination. How I could have liked him!