CHAPTER XIII

DISCLOSURES

After some minutes of miserable waiting on my part, the storm spent itself; she sat upright again, dried her eyes upon a bit of handkerchief, and spoke--quite calmly, but terribly in earnest.

"Mr. Swift, I know what your inference is--that Uncle Alfred must be in some way involved--but you don't know all the significance of the flash of understanding that so overwhelmed me. The idea that there could ever have been a love affair between Aunt Clara and Mr. Page is astounding enough"--she glanced at the card--"eighteen fifty-seven: why, she was only a mere slip of a girl then; much younger than I am now!"

It was patent that the revelation had startled and thrilled her; however, there was a more insistent, underlying trouble struggling for expression.

"But--Mr. Swift--do you think that this wheat deal has hurt Uncle Alfred financially?"

Poor child! One could not smile at the simplicity of such a question.

I now thought I knew the foundation of this new fear that was gripping at her heart. But I didn't--not entirely; there was another surprise in store for me.

"It is very likely," I soberly made answer.

For all I knew to the contrary, his entire fortune might have been wiped out in the crash; he might have been beggared, stripped utterly; although, since he had not engineered the corner single-handed, he would be obliged to meet only his proportion of the total loss, whatever that might be. An outsider might only guess.

"It is not charitable to think or speak ill of the dead," she was saying, "but, oh! what a cruel, pitiless man Mr. Page was. Think of the long years of persecution Uncle Alfred has had to endure."

But I was regarding the matter from quite a different point of view. I was thinking rather of that broken wheat corner as the culminating stroke of an implacable enemy; of the probability that the rifled safe contained more love-tokens similar to the card--so many more, in fact, that the thief did not miss the one he had lost. I was thinking that the warfare between the two men had its inception much farther back in the past than anybody had ever imagined, and that it was no longer strange why Page had wrested the ruby from his rival. One must consider Fluette's pa.s.sion for collecting rare gems to appreciate to the full the consummate malice of that coup.

This disturbed pondering, however, carried me round in a circle. If there had been love-tokens in the safe from Clara Cooper, Alfred Fluette was the only man living who would have any interest in getting them from Page. Again, if Page's hatred of Fluette was so intense that he would part with a fortune merely to deprive his rival of a coveted jewel, would he give this same jewel to a nephew for whom he entertained no liking, knowing that the jewel was destined for his enemy, simply upon that nephew's demand? Why, the bare grouping of the facts discredited Maillot's story; he was left in a worse plight than before.

I trust it is at least clear how heterogeneous were the elements of this crime.

And then--to start swinging round the circle once more--if Alfred Fluette was entirely blameless of Felix Page's murder, the tragedy could not have occurred at a more unfortunate time for him.

Considering all the circ.u.mstances, it would be no great strain upon the credulity to picture Fluette, driven to desperation, ridding himself of the foe that had hounded him to ruin.

There was nothing else for me to do except follow all these avenues to the end; but whichever was the right one, that end must be bitter. I met the piteous look in Genevieve Cooper's eyes, and my heart sank.

I have often been told that when I want it to be my countenance is illegible; a.s.suredly, at this moment it was not my desire that she should glimpse the tumult of thought and emotion to which I was a prey; but I have reasons, numberless as the sands of the sea, for knowing that it never was indecipherable to the bright blue eyes now searching it so earnestly.

All at once Miss Cooper was on her feet, the shadow of a great dread darkening her countenance; her voice trembled like the voice of a little child that is afraid. Her next words supplied more definite knowledge respecting her uncle's financial condition.

"I told you that both my parents died when I was an infant, Mr. Swift; they did not leave me entirely penniless. Uncle Alfred is the guardian of my estate--my personal guardian, too--and he--my G.o.d, I can't say it!"

"Perhaps," said I, gently, "I can surmise what you can't bring yourself to put into words: is it that he may be unable to strictly account for his trust?"

She winced at the question, and sank back into her chair.

"No--that's not it--not exactly," she said, With manifest effort. "But it is almost as bad.

"I was of age the fifth of last month--December--and on that day Uncle Alfred came to me in great distress. He told me that he was expecting any day--almost any hour--that a demand would be made upon him for an enormous sum of money; a demand that he would have to meet promptly or go down in utter ruin. He told me that his own affairs were in such shape that he could n't raise near the amount of the demand, and that he would be obliged to eke it out with my patrimony.

"I don't know whether or not the demand has ever been made; I don't know whether or not he has used any of my fortune--it isn't much; but he is welcome to every penny of it, for he has always been good and kind and generous. I have never asked him for an accounting, nor has he volunteered one. I simply don't know what to think. If he is in such desperate straits it is inevitable that his name will be linked with this crime. Poor Belle! Poor Aunt Clara!"

I could not dispute the reasonableness of her conclusion; her own mind had already linked the man with the crime. But what was the nature of the demand he was expecting? Her disclosure was mystifying. It was not probable that he had antic.i.p.ated failure for his Board of Trade operations at such an early date.

"It was a foolish step, my coming here to see you," Miss Cooper complained heartbrokenly; "it places me in a bitterly cruel position.

Knowing what I do now, if I remain silent I may be to blame for Belle suffering through Royal's unjust accusation; if I speak I will be treacherous to the very hearth that has fostered me."

I am glad that my chief's cold, unfeeling eye did not rest upon me at that moment. Her distress was mine. And I could not turn aside from the way which was opening so plainly before me.

Here, now, I had two motives for the murder: Fluette's mad desire for the ruby and, since the ashes of old romance had been so ruthlessly stirred, the most powerful of all human motives--jealousy.

It was possible, too, that a third person had been in the house last night; but if so, one of the two men had lied. The bit of candle found by me on the rear stairs had adhered to somebody's shoe while still plastic; if either Burke or Maillot had used these stairs at or about the time of the murder, then both had studiously kept the fact from me.

It was possible that one of the two could have made fast the front door behind a fugitive, without the other's knowledge; Burke, for example, before he summoned Maillot.

But my chief concern now was for this sorely distressed girl. She had told but the bare truth; her position could scarcely be more cruel.

Her eyes followed me with an expression of such tragic helplessness that I knew the issue was left for me to decide. I sprang up and commenced walking the floor. It was a long time before I could make up my mind just what to say, and during my troubled cogitation there was not an interruption, not a sound, from her.

By and by I paused, and stood looking down into the wistful face.

"Miss Cooper," I began, "it seems that you trust me, and, believe me, I 'm keenly sensible of the responsibility. I shall ask nothing of you which I think you can't freely perform; nothing that is not for the best interests of all concerned--all for whom you care, I mean."

She interrupted me.

"Sit down--here where you were before; it will not seem so much like your talking to me from a distance."

I obeyed. The chairs were quite close together.

"It seems to me," I went on, "that we should continue in the direction that has been pointed out for us; follow the light, however dim. There is a mystery here, and we are just now only skimming the surface of it; let's plunge below and see if we can't bring up at least a part of the truth.

"It is hard to believe that Alfred Fluette has been instrumental in Felix Page's death, even indirectly, but harder, more unjust to him, to pause without dissipating the cloud we have unexpectedly cast over him.

The temptation to scrutinize his conduct and bearing is irresistible.

Is it not better to lay bare all the facts, than to leave matters in the equivocal condition they now are?"

"You mean," she murmured brokenly, "you mean that--now--after what has happened between us--the duty of pressing forward at whatever cost is far more imperative than any other obligation that I may be under; that the innocent must not be sacrificed to shield the guilty."

That was precisely what I meant, but I lacked the courage to tell her.

"My dear Miss Cooper!" I said, in a voice as tremulous with emotion as her own.

"I trust you," she said simply.

I knew not what to say; her faith in me was manifestly so boundless that I was humbled to the earth. And yesterday we were ignorant of each other's very existence! Stressful circ.u.mstance can level the conventions with amazing swiftness.

"You are trembling," she whispered presently. "I am making what would be a commonplace matter very difficult for you."

"No--no!" I protested. "I feel for you; I can't tell you how much."

"Don't think of me," she again whispered, her look averted.

"I can think of nothing else," said I. My teeth suddenly clenched, and I bent toward her.

"I'll not allow this thing!" I undertoned in a savage outburst, recognizing the futility of my anger even as I spoke. "I shall not allow you to become further involved in this thing. Whatever the cost, _I_ shall shield _you_."