 | XII Steadfast Falters |  |
12. XII
A few days after Cary's visit a number of letters and papers reached Elizabeth. Except for an occasional note from Mrs. Andrews, they brought the first news she had had from home since her arrival in France, and she took them and ran to her room with a little throb of excitement.
Seating herself by the table which stood before the window, she spread them out before her. The letters were from Mrs. Crosby, Beatrix Hunnewell, Major Barry, and Fairfax Cary.
Cary's hastily scrawled line, written on the train, she read first. It was very short, and simply stated that he had started for Cape Town, and would see her on his way home. She slipped it back into its envelope, a little smile parting her lips, and picked up
Unconsciously Betty steeled herself. She opened the letter, and at the first words the smiling lips compressed themselves into a straight line. An angry flush spread over her face, and a horrified expression widened her blue eyes. Her face blanched, and she turned the page with a hand that trembled.
"Fairfax Cary!" she gasped. "Never! It's impossible! It's so inconceivable that it's ridiculous!"
The letter had ended with the sentence:
Your uncle and I met him on the train the evening of the murder, and he told us he had just left the Delaneys. His own words are an absolutely conclusive proof. Could any evidence be more convincing?
Elizabeth unfolded a newspaper clipping which her aunt had enclosed, and in great black letters the words jumped at her:
Sister of Well-Known jockey Found Murdered in Sheepshead Bay Hotel — Prominent Lawyer Suspected — Patrick Delaney Dies in Adjoining Room.
Her eyes devoured the column of small type which described how Molly Delaney's body had been discovered early on Saturday morning by the doctor who had come to see Pat. The boy was dead, and Molly was found lying half on the bed, half on the floor of her room, a bullet through her heart. Although the room was in great disorder, apparently nothing had been removed, for money and jewelry lay scattered about, showing that burglary had not been the motive for the crime.
Various clues had been followed, the most conclusive centering around Fairfax Cary, who had been seen by a number of persons hurriedly leaving the hotel. That he had been with the Delaneys was testified by Michael Frost, the hall-boy, who had conducted Cary to Pat Delaney's room shortly after seven o'clock. To make the evidence doubly convincing, a letter from Molly Delaney, written on the afternoon before the murder, and requesting him to call as soon as possible, had been found in Cary's office.
Cary, in the mean time, had disappeared, and no trace of him could be found. It was not thought, however, that he would be able to elude the police for very long, for descriptions of him had been sent broadcast throughout the country, and his apprehension was only a matter of time.
With a gasp of dismay Betty let the paper flutter to the table before her. She rested her elbows on it, and her head dropped into her hands. In spite of the newspaper report, in spite of her aunt's biting words, not even the shadow of a doubt of Cary's innocence entered her mind. It was impossible for her to believe that the man who had left her so recently, whom her father had respected and trusted, could be guilty of this atrocious crime. A hot burst of rage surged over her.
"How could any one connect a man like that with murder? It's wicked! Brutal!" Her hands clenched, and she raised her head defiantly. "It's a lie!"
But how to prove it?
Her eves fell on the other letters which had come in the same mail. She opened the major's first and, glancing hurriedly through the first pages filled with tender reproaches, concentrated her attention on the words that followed:
Fairfax Cary has been implicated in a nasty scandal, out of which I'm doing my best to extricate him. The evidence against him, however, is very strong, and I don't know how we're coming out. Whoever murdered Molly Delaney covered his tracks with incredible cunning, and now that Pat is gone, it seems almost impossible to get at the facts.
Whether or not the boy died before the murder was committed, we have been unable to ascertain. We only know that Cary left the hotel at about half past nine. The question is, was the girl alive when he went away? This only Cary can answer. Can you tell me his whereabouts? I've cabled to his address in Paris, but have had no reply. We need him and all the help we can get.
Won't you please come home?
"Dear Uncle Tod!" thought Betty penitently. "He's a trump! I'm afraid I haven't been very good to him."
She picked up Trixie's note. It was short and to the point: DEAR BETSY:
You must come home at once. We need you to help us to clear Fairfax Cary from this dreadful charge that's been brought against him. We shall expect you to stay with us. As ever, affectionately, TRIXIE.
Elizabeth gathered up the papers, dropped
He gave his consent without comment. It was only when he stood by the motor which was to take her back to Paris that he showed what it was costing him to let her go.
"Good-by," he said gently, as he held her hand closely in his big clasp. "Will you come back to us?"
"I want to, and I'll do my best," answered Betty; "but it all depends — "
"If you don't, I'll come to you," he declared, with a look that sent the blood into Betty's face. "This horror must be over soon."
"I hope so," agreed Betty fervently. "Good-by, and thank you again for being so good to me!"
The motor started, and Betty, turning to wave her hand, saw him as he stood before the low building, the sunlight glinting on the gold of his hair and bringing into high relief the outlines of his muscular frame.
"That is a man!" she thought, and a feeling of self-reproach came over her at the thought that she was deserting the post of duty at the time of greatest need. "I will surely come back!" she hastened to assure herself. "Only now it seems as if I must go home!"
Never before had the trip across the Atlantic seemed of such interminable length, and it was almost in a frenzy of impatience that Betty stood on the deck as the steamer passed through the Narrows into New York Harbor and caught the first glimpse of the jagged outlines of the city emerging from the golden October haze. She had cabled Major Barry when to expect her, and as the vessel slipped smoothly into its berth, she scanned the waiting crowd eagerly for the erect figure and jovial face.
When she at last discovered him, in spite of his expression of glad welcome, she saw at once from the anxious look that lurked in his eyes that the situation had not improved. But it was not until they were seated in the Hunnewell motor, which Trixie had sent for her, that Betty asked the question which she had been restraining with difficulty ever since she landed.
"Has the murderer been found?"
Major Barry shook his head gloomily.
"No, I'm sorry to say!"
"And suspicion still rests on — "
The major nodded, and the lips under the close-trimmed mustache tightened.
"It's outrageous!" he asserted savagely. "The evidence is purely circumstantial, but they've piled it up, and piled it up, until really — " He shook his head dubiously.
"Have you engaged a lawyer?" asked Betty.
"Oh, yes, of course, right away — Sturgis and Fellows, capital men, both of them, and we're not leaving a stone unturned; but if I could only get in touch with Cary! Every minute that he's away seems to strengthen the case against him."
"How long will it take him to go to Cape Town and come back?" asked Betty.
The conviction was creeping over her that if it had not been for her Fairfax could have cleared himself long ago.
It may be a couple of months. Everything is so unsettled now that you can't tell how he'll be delayed."
"Is there any chance of his being arrested there?"
The major shrugged his shoulders.
"You can't tell. Sometimes, especially when you don't want them to be, these detectives are deuced clever at finding things out!"
"I wish they'd devote their energies to the situation here!" said Betty.
The motor turned into Fifth Avenue and fell into line with the endless procession of hurrying cars. Betty looked at the familiar scene with the eyes of an alien. The well-known faces framed in the windows of the swiftly passing limousines, smiling and nodding to her in recognition when the traffic paused, gave her a feeling of surprise that she should be remembered after the long interval which had elapsed since she took her part in the drama. It seemed as if she were looking at the spectacle from a great distance, as if it were being presented to her sight through the wrong end of an opera-glass.
The hurrying throngs on the streets passing in and out of the handsome shops, the same intent, strained look on the faces as the swinging doors swallowed or ejected them, forced themselves on her consciousness, and a helpless feeling of futility seized her. So lately removed from the scenes of combat where men with the courage born
"No one seems to care!" she breathed at last with a little catch in her voice.
"It isn't good form to show one's feelings," the major reminded her whimsically, perceiving at once the trend of her thoughts. "But they're really not so heartless. They're most of them doing their bit; only, of course, they must have their good times, too!" he added indulgently.
"Are Uncle George and Aunt Maude in town?"
"I imagine so. I saw your uncle at the club yesterday."
"Did he know I was coming back from France?" An anxious look crept into the blue eyes.
"I told him."
I'm not going back to them!" exclaimed Betty, the fire of battle in her eyes.
The major looked at her with eyes full of tender interest.
"What are you going to do, my child?" he asked softly.
They had reached the park, and Betty's eyes wandered to the avenue of elms stretching their arms high above the path to clasp those outstretched to them from the other side.
"I don't know, Uncle Tod. I can always go back to France."
"Is France more alluring than home just now?" he asked anxiously.
"Well, not just now," admitted Betty slowly. "When some one who is sacrificing himself to do something for you gets into difficulties himself, you naturally want to do your best to help him out; but when it's all straightened out, why, then I'm going back."
A frown of disappointment appeared between the major's eyes.
"Well, here we are," he remarked as the motor stopped before the broad steps of the Hunnewells' house. "I think I see Trixie at the window."
They passed up the steps and into the hall, and Trixie caught Betty in her arms.
"Oh, Betsy!" she exclaimed, a little break in her voice. "How could you give us such a scare?"
Betty put her arm around the girl, surprised and touched by her exhibition of feeling.
"I never thought it would make such a commotion," she said, while a smile which was almost as bright as of old played over her face.
"Imagine!" exclaimed Trixie. "Didn't you know we would care? Have you heard anything new?" she asked, turning to the major.
"Not a thing," he replied. "I'm going down to see Sturgis now."
"But you'll come back?" asked Betty anxiously.
"Yes, about five o'clock. I may have something more to tell you then"; and be ran briskly down the steps.
"Come to your room," said Beatrix, drawing Betty toward the stairs.
They stopped to speak to Mrs. Hunnewell, who came out of her boudoir to greet Elizabeth. Contrary to Betty's expectations, she gave the girl a warm welcome, and seemed to be delighted to have her with them.
"We've been hearing your praises sung so loudly for the past month," she said, with a teasing glance at Beatrix, " that we're overjoyed to have a visit from you."
Elizabeth looked wonderingly at her, but Beatrix drew her up the stairs without giving her time to reply.
"Betsy's tired to death," she explained to her mother over her shoulder. "And Major Barry's coming back to tea. She simply must rest!"
But when they reached Elizabeth's room Trixie's solicitude for her friend's health seemed to vanish. After having helped Elizabeth to divest herself of her hat and coat, she drew her into her own room and closed the door.
"Betsy," she began abruptly, " is Tony Page in love with you?"
"Tony Page! In love with me!" repeated Betty wonderingly. "Mercy, no! What ever put such an idea into your head?"
"Oh, well, I wanted to be sure this time. He talks incessantly about you — how you saved his life and how brave you are."
Elizabeth laughed softly.
"Ridiculous! Even if I did, that doesn't mean he's in love with me! And as to the
"Is it different now, dear?"
Elizabeth considered for a moment before answering.
"Y-e-s," she hesitated. " I don't want to die now; at least not just yet."
"What changed you, Betsy?"
"I have something to do now — something that I must do!
"And that?"
"I'm determined to clear the names of my father and Fairfax Cary. I may be wrong, but the conviction is with me day and night that when Molly Delaney's murderer is found, the stain on my father's memory will be wiped away."
Trixie came very close to Elizabeth and looked earnestly into her eyes.
"Betsy, who do you think did it?"
"I don't know, Trixie; I haven't the faintest idea. But one thing I do know — I know it wasn't Fairfax Cary!"
Beatrix nodded.
"I know that, too," she agreed softly.
Elizabeth looked at her intently.
"Trixie," she said quickly, putting a hand through Trixie's arm and drawing her to the lounge, "will you forgive me if I ask you something?"
"Why, of course, Betsy, ask anything you like. I haven't anything to hide — at least not yet!
The bright color deepened under the cream of Trixie's skin, and unconsciously her eyes strayed to a large photograph that stood on her dressing-table. Betty's eyes followed hers, and she looked into Tony Page's smiling face. For the first time since her father's death her vivid smile played over her face.
"I think, on the whole" — the flutelike cadence of her laugh rang through the room — "I'll wait till then before I ask you!"
"Why, Betsy!" began Beatrix, startled at the change in the girl beside her. "What do you mean?"
Oh, nothing," replied Betty happily. Only it's heavenly being here with you, Trix!"
"I know it's heavenly having you!"
Trixie leaned over and kissed her warmly.
| XII Steadfast Falters | |