"To-day," she replied; "just to-day, and----" But here she suddenly stopped, and the man saw a startled look flash over her face. "But of course," she resumed, hastily, "these things never come to us at the time we first realize their presence. They are a growth, it is said, and it takes time for them to make themselves known."

In spirit, Bat Scanlon felt himself sinking to the level of the afternoon. "Sacrifice ... to a.s.sure the security of one who was unhappy and in trouble." What did that mean? Nora had been in that position; young Burton, according to the theory of Ashton-Kirk, had made just such a sacrifice. Nora had been in a state of great agitation; she had visited the prisoner just before his confession of guilt; and now she was quieted, she was smiling and grateful!

The big man got up and walked the floor. She followed him with her great, brown eyes.

"Bat," she said, "you are nervous. And, now that I look at you, you are pinched and not of a good color." She lifted herself up upon one elbow, and continued, accusingly: "You have been worrying! Confess!"

"I have," said he. "This matter of Burton's death has fastened itself upon me tight; I can't shake it off."

"But," she said, "why should that be, unless"--and she paused while she looked at him searchingly--"it is because of me?"

"It _is_ because of you," replied Scanlon, "for Burton was no kind of a fellow for me to worry about; things will go much better without him."

"But," and she looked at him, steadfastly, "if that is the case, then I should be much happier as it is. So why should you worry and grow pale and not be able to sit quietly and talk to me?"

He was about to begin some sort of an answer to this; at the moment he was standing in a position which gave him a view of the street through one of the windows. His glance wandered in that direction, his mind occupied in forming a set of phrases which would be sufficiently evasive. But suddenly the gaze became fixed. A man stood upon the opposite side of the street looking toward Nora's house; the street lights were in his face and gleamed upon a pair of large metal-rimmed spectacles; one hand was furtively gesturing as though in signals to some one down below. The man was the Swiss, Bohlmier.

CHAPTER XVIII

NORA GOES TO STANWICK

Through the upheaving in his mind, Bat Scanlon managed to squeeze a reply to Nora's question which held some traces of plausibility.

"A fellow always feels upset by things like this," said he. "Most of the time there is no reason for it, but that seems to make no difference. He feels that way just the same."

He left the window and returned to his chair. There had been many things in his mind when he resolved to pay this visit, things which were direct and the answers to which must be illuminating. But they were all gone now. Her att.i.tude, her words, had made them impossible. They talked of many things during the next half hour--that is, Nora talked. What Scanlon said he could never afterward remember. But there was one thing which always brought the fact of the conversation sharply to his mind--and that was his conjectures as to the man in the street below.

Why was he there? and to whom was he signaling?

These thoughts finally became so insistent that Bat arose.

"I must be going," he said, rather lamely. "There are a few things I must do to-night."

"Oh, and I thought you'd come for a nice long visit," she said. Her tone was reproachful; but at the same time Scanlon could not help but notice that the glance which she gave the briskly ticking clock was one of relief.

He stood looking down at her; finally her eyes lifted to his and the expression she met was very grave and very honest.

"Nora," said he, "I've always been for you. You know that, don't you?

And I always will be for you. So if there is ever trouble--any at all--you know where to come."

She arose. Nora was a tall woman, but she had to lift her face so that her eyes might meet his. She laid both hands upon his breast and when she spoke there was just the least tremble in her voice.

"I know," she said. "Dear old Bat, I know. Haven't I always called on you when I needed help, and you were near enough to hear? You are the most loyal friend a woman could have; I have been grateful for you, Bat, and I have prayed for you, many times."

"No!" said Scanlon. "No; have you though, Nora? Well, what do you know about that?"

When he went down the stairs he had a lump in his throat, and there was a tendency to blink drops from his lashes--Bat would have denied indignantly that they were tears--which amazed him. In the lower hall he met the maid.

"Isn't there a way out beside the front door?" he asked.

"Oh, yes; there is a door which opens onto a yard beside the old carriage house," said the girl.

"I'll go out that way," said Bat.

Surprised, but making no comment, the maid led the way. Scanlon pa.s.sed through a door into the yard and then through a gate which opened upon a small, quiet street.

"Thank you!" said he. And when the gate had been closed and the maid vanished, he started down the street; in a few moments he had rounded the corner; then a dozen yards brought him to the thoroughfare on which Nora's house stood. Cautiously, he peered from a sheltering doorway.

Yes, there was the figure of the Swiss in the same position as before; and as Scanlon looked he saw a tall, stoop-shouldered man cross the street and stop at Bohlmier's side.

"Big Slim," said Bat. "That's who the sign was being pa.s.sed to a while ago."

He watched the two men while they engaged in earnest conversation; then they started off, and he followed them. However, they did not go far; at the intersection of a small street they paused and then disappeared.

Something in their manner of doing this told Bat their intention.

"They are going to lie low just around the corner," he said. "Waiting for something, I think."

He was but a dozen yards from Nora's house at this moment; and at an ornamental iron gate, of the period just after the Civil War, stood an aged colored man, very black, very highly collared and with much of the dignity of a servant of the old time. Bat paused and said with the carelessness of a casual stroller:

"Nice old street you have here, uncle."

There was the proper amount of confidence in the big athlete's manner, and his voice had that subtle shade of authority which carried the remark in its proper groove. For these ancient servitors are to be approached in only one way if results are to be had.

"Yas, suh," replied the black man at the gate, "yas, suh! It is a nice ol' street, suh. Not whut it was yeahs ago when I fust come here, no suh. But nice and quiet. And 'spectable."

"Of course," said Bat "Sure enough, entirely respectable!" He watched and saw that the two did not reappear at the street corner; a feeling of doubt was in his mind; he had no means of knowing if his conjectures as to their movements were true. However, if they had gone, very well! If they had not--well, he would be there and would know. "Yes," he went on, "a fine old block. Not many like it left."

"No, suh. Dey's mos' all gone. Lots o' po' folks f'om fur-off places crowdin' in, suh. An' dey jes' natch'ly push into de ol' streets. Ol'

houses am like ol' families, suh. Dey's mighty scarce. Indeed dey is!"

Apparently Bat had chanced upon a favorite topic; like many of the old families, of whom he spoke so regretfully, the ancient man-servant cherished the days of the past. This Bat felt to be rather fortunate; it would provide a subject for conversation while he stood waiting in the shadow of the trees which ran along in front of the houses.

"A new section will grow up," he suggested. "And new families will proceed to grow old in them, and make them, also, respectable."

But the old darkey refused to consider this.

"No, suh, 'tain't possible. Dey'll never be like de ol' folks--not jes'

like 'em. Yo' can't make quality, boss, no, suh."

Bat was still engaged in talk with the ancient darkey a quarter of an hour later when he saw the door of Nora Cavanaugh's house open, and a woman emerge. Though she was enveloped in a long coat and furs, there was no mistaking the air, the free, splendid carriage. It was Nora.

With a glance up and down the street, she descended the steps and made her way north. As she pa.s.sed the corner, Scanlon's eyes were fixed upon the one opposite her; with a tingling of the blood he saw the two men bob out with furtive eagerness; and, in a few moments, they were following her. He at once said good-night to the old servant and fell in their wake.

Nora walked rapidly; within ten minutes, from the fixedness of her direction, Bat guessed her destination.

"The railroad station," he said. "The railroad station, as sure as you live."