"No doubt. You sent for me then merely to say I was dismissed?"

"Yes."

"And you told Coolidge, of course, how I came to be here?"

"Yes."

"And the others? What will they think?"

"Why, that can make no difference. They can be told that you were suddenly called away. Let them suppose we had a quarrel, and that our engagement is broken," and she laughed again, evidently vastly amused at the idea.

"But you, personally?" he insisted.

She sobered instantly, also rising, and facing him.

"Captain West, let us be sensible. I invited you here for a certain purpose. You were employed as much as any of my other servants. Is that a sufficient answer?"

"It certainly is. I will depart at once."

"Thank you. The limousine will be at the door. You will return to the Club, I presume?"

"Temporarily, until other arrangements are made."

He bowed and left her standing there in the shadows, the expression of her face veiled, but there seemed no response, no softening in the rigid att.i.tude of her figure. She did not care; was only interested in his immediate departure. The change had occurred with such abruptness, West was unable as yet to realize its full significance, but, with no attempt to combat her decision, left the room, closing the door behind him. In that moment his mood changed. The dismissal had been so curt, his pride rose in rebellion. Finding s.e.xton in the front hall, he addressed him crisply.

"My bag will be ready in ten minutes."

"Yes, sir; you are going away, sir?"

"Immediately. A call to return to the city at once."

"I am very sorry, sir," he said respectfully, yet in a tone of such earnestness, as to cause West to glance toward him sharply. For an instant it was upon the lips of the younger man to ask a question, but s.e.xton turned away, and it remained unasked. Promptly at the time mentioned came the servant's soft rap on the door.

"I came for the bag, sir."

West handed it over with a glance at the rather expressionless face.

"You said you regretted to see me leave, s.e.xton," he remarked jovially.

"I presume you meant nothing in particular by that remark?"

"Oh, no, sir," standing motionless, bag in hand. "Only you have been very kind, sir, and--and--of course, it is none of my business, but I hope there is no quarrel, sir?"

"Quarrel! With Miss Natalie, you mean? Why should you suspect that?"

"I--I spoke, sir, very thoughtlessly, sir," he stammered. "You will pardon me, sir."

"Yes, but you must have had a reason, s.e.xton?"

"Only that she has seemed very much out of humour, sir, since her trip to town," he explained rather lamely. "I have never known her to be so hard to please, sir. I'm sure something is wrong, but that is no reason why I should say what I did, sir."

CHAPTER X

THE BODY OF A SUICIDE

As the car whirled West down the circling driveway, the only sign of life visible about the house was the motionless figure of s.e.xton on the steps. If either Miss Natalie, or Percival Coolidge, took interest enough in the proceedings to witness his departure, they chose to remain carefully concealed within. His glance searched the front of the mansion vainly; no window revealed an occupant. From behind where the guests were at play, sounded a distant murmur of voices, and laughter, but the house itself expressed only calm indifference. There was no pretence even at speeding the parting guest. He had simply been dismissed, turned out, decently enough, perhaps, considering his status, yet with a certain measure of contempt which rankled nevertheless.

The young man could not altogether reconcile this style of treatment with his preconceived conception of Miss Natalie Coolidge. He had been too deeply impressed by her to easily relinquish his previously formed opinion of her character. This latest action did not at all coincide with her former open friendliness. He had not gone to her as a servant, nor had she in any way treated him as such. What could account for so remarkable a change? Even if she had felt his present usefulness was ended; that she had made a mistake in ever admitting him to her confidence, the dismissal could have been much more pleasantly achieved.

She could still have exhibited friendliness, and an interest in his departure. Her words and manner had been extremely abrupt, and her explanation far from satisfactory.

Perhaps it was the influence of Percival Coolidge which accounted for the sudden change in the girl. This explanation seemed probable. The man had in some way regained her confidence, and then, through trickery, had succeeded in poisoning her mind. There was no doubt he would do this, if possible, and the probability was that he had finally discovered a way.

From the very first, West had felt the antagonism of the other; there had never been any love lost between them. Coolidge disliked him instinctively, and made no effort to conceal his feelings; he resented the intimacy between him and Natalie, naturally enough, and would use every means possible to get the younger man completely out of the house.

No doubt he looked upon him as dangerous. But why? There could only be one answer to this query. His own dishonesty; his secret knowledge of some trickery relative to the funds of the estate. He had convinced the girl of his honesty, but, more than ever, West believed the fellow a rascal. His very helplessness to intervene rendered him the more convinced.

These thoughts flitted through his mind, yet not consecutively, as the car left the grounds, and turned on to the main road, leading citywards.

They were still skirting the Coolidge estate, although the house behind was concealed by shrubbery. The road descending into a ravine spanned by a concrete bridge, and a rather dense growth of trees shut out the surrounding landscape. Nothing moving was in sight. Suddenly, just as they cleared the bridge, and began to mount the opposite grade, there came a sharp report, sounding so close at hand the chauffeur clamped on his brake, and glanced anxiously over the side of the car.

"Blow-out, wasn't it, sir?"

"No," said West shortly, staring himself out into the thicket of trees at their left. "It was a shot fired over there; a revolver I should say.

Wait a second, Sanders, until I see what has happened."

It was largely curiosity which led him to leave the car. The very conviction that it was a revolver which had been discharged brought a desire to learn the cause of the shot. The sound of either a rifle or a shot-gun in that lonely spot would have been instantly dismissed as natural enough, but a pistol was different. That was no place for such a weapon. It somehow had a grimly sinister sound. Led forward by a dim path, he plunged down the sharp incline of the hill, and pressed his way through the thick fringe of trees beyond. Behind these ran a wire fence, guarding a stretch of meadow, the high, uncut gra.s.s waving in the wind.

Nothing was in sight except this ripening field of clover sweeping upward to the summit of an encircling ridge. The silence was profound; the loneliness absolute.

It was this fact which startled West from curiosity into suspicion.

Surely there had been a shot fired--a revolver shot--almost on the very spot where he stood. He could not doubt the evidence of his own ears. Yet who had fired? For what purpose? and how had the party disappeared so completely during that narrow margin of time? There was no place where a man could hide unless he lay flat in the clover; and what occasion would any one have to thus seek concealment? Even if the shooter knew of the pa.s.sing automobile, or heard his approach through the trees, there could be no reasonable cause for concealment. Determined now to learn exactly what had happened, West pressed his pa.s.sage forward through the vines of the fence, and emerged into the field beyond. A half dozen yards and he found the clover trampled, as though a man had pa.s.sed that way. The trail led into a shallow depression, past a rather large boulder, near which the trampling of the gra.s.s was even more plainly revealed, as though the stranger had remained here for some time, had even seated himself, and then, abruptly ended a few yards away. Evidently the fellow had turned back at this point, and retraced his steps.

West, now thoroughly puzzled, and already convinced that some mystery hovered over the place, began to circle through the untrampled clover, but without any defined purpose. All at once, at the lower end of the gully he came, unexpectedly, upon another trail, this one well marked, apparently frequently used, which led straight across the field, and terminated at a small gate leading through the wire fence. Evidently here was a short cut to the road, well known to the servants on the estate, and possibly others. The discovery, however, told nothing further than this, and contenting himself with another glance about the unchanged field of rustling clover, West proceeded along the course of the path, intending to thus rejoin the automobile, waiting his return behind the trees.

Within a few steps of the gate, which was closed, he came to a sudden, horrified pause, staring ahead at a strange something huddled in the path. It was a shapeless thing, bearing no resemblance to a human being, until he advanced closer; then he recognized the form of a man, curled up as a dog sleeps, face down hidden by his arm, and limbs drawn up, as if in a sudden spasm of agony. A hat was in the path beyond, where it had fallen, and a revolver lay glittering in the sunlight a few feet away.

There was nothing familiar about either figure or clothing, yet unquestionably there lay the body of a suicide. The single shot they had heard, the tell-tale revolver close to the dead man's hand, were clear evidence of what had occurred.

The unexpectedness of this discovery, the peculiar position of the dead man, the loneliness of that deserted field in which he lay, shocked West and, for a moment left him strangely hesitant. Who was the man? What could have led up to the pitiful tragedy? Yet he advanced step by step nearer to the hideous object in the path. The man had been shot directly behind the right ear, killed instantly, no doubt, as the deadly bullet crashed through the brain. West lifted the arm which concealed the face, already shrinking from the suspicion, which had begun to a.s.sail him. Then he knew who the dead man was--Percival Coolidge.

CHAPTER XI

SUSPICION VERIFIED

Affairs progressed far too rapidly for some hours for West to reflect seriously over this experience. He could only act swiftly, answer questions, and do all in his power to a.s.sist others. The real meaning of the tragedy he made no effort to solve; for the time being, at least, he must leave that to others.

He stood guard beside the body until servants came and bore it to the house, but made no effort to follow. Instead he gave his address to s.e.xton, and continued his journey into the city. After what had pa.s.sed between them he had no desire to again encounter Miss Natalie; and under these circ.u.mstances, actually shrank from meeting her. Just what this man's death might mean to the girl he could not safely conjecture, yet deep down in his own heart, he felt convinced that this act of self-destruction would later prove to be a confession of guilt. Yet, be that as it may, he was already definitely ruled out of the matter. Not, unless she personally sent for him, could he ever venture to go to her again in any capacity. To his mind this decision was final.