University of Virginia Library

14. XIV

But Major Barry had thrown off his air of depression by the time he and Sturgis reached Cary's cell. He patted Fairfax on the shoulder as he rose to meet them.

"Well," he began cheerily, "luck's against us for the time being, my boy! The powers that be won't listen to any talk of bail."

A quiver passed over the finely chiseled features. Major Barry went on:

"So there's nothing to do but to establish your innocence as quickly as possible. Now, how are we going to do it?"

He and Sturgis sat down on the chairs, and Fairfax dropped down on the cot. Fairfax shrugged his shoulders hopelessly.

"I only know that the girl was alive when I left the hotel. As to conjecturing who killed her, you can do that as well as I."

He pressed his hand wearily against the back of his head.

"Who was with her when you left, Mr. Cary?" asked the lawyer.

"That I can't tell you."

"It may give us the clue that will enable us to exonerate you."

Cary considered for a moment in silence, while the two men searched his face anxiously.

"I prefer not to express an opinion as to who it was," he replied at last, "I didn't see the man or recognize his voice."

"Well," said Sturgis, rising, "I know Major Barry has other matters to discuss with you, so I'll leave you."

He called to a guard who was passing and disappeared into the corridor.

"Now," began the major, drawing his chair closer to Cary, "tell me about Tutney. It was extraordinary your finding him as you did!"

Fairfax came out of the abstraction that had fallen on him and fixed his dark, penetrating eyes on the major's face.

"Yes," he assented, "it was great luck. He had just arrived from Cape Town, and was, I think, as glad to see me as I was to

run across him. He asked me at once about Randolph Crosby's affairs. It seems that he and Mr. Crosby and a number of other men had formed a syndicate to develop this diamond-mine, with an agreement that no one should sell his interest without first giving the other directors a chance to buy it. Shortly after Mr. Crosby's death a large block of the stock was offered at public sale. Tutney, when he heard of it, was naturally a good deal upset, and immediately suspected that the stock was Mr. Crosby's. He evidently felt pretty badly about it, for he realizes what the future of the property will be, and he knew what a mistake it was to sell before its true value was reached. He's a great admirer of Miss Crosby, and I know he felt that if his supposition were correct, and the stock was her father's, that her executor didn't have her best interests at heart."

The major nodded, and remarked ironically:

"He's a man of much perception!"

"He asked me who the trustees were," continued Fairfax; "and when I told him that George Crosby was sole executor, he didn't seem overpleased. He said he thought it was a mistake to entrust a big estate like that to any one man, even though you had unlimited confidence in him. The chances for mistakes in judgment alone were too great."

"Then he thought the property was a large one?" queried the major quickly.

"Yes; he said he knew it was. He scoffed at the idea that Mr. Crosby had made unwise investments. He said any one who knew Randolph Crosby at all knew him for a sagacious business man, keen, and of remarkable acuteness, while at the same time he had an unusual sense of obligation and honor."

"Did you tell him that the entire fortune was gone, and that Crosby's daughter was working to support herself?"

Fairfax nodded.

"I asked him if it were possible, and he said not unless the trustee had mishandled the estate."

"Just as I thought!" The major leaned forward and tapped Fairfax lightly on the knee. "Mark my words, boy, George Crosby and that precious son of his have made away with that child's money! Now, it's going to be my business to find out where and how it has gone." He straightened up. "Betty wants to see you," he concluded abruptly.

Fairfax started. He glanced around the bare cell, at the stone walls, the iron door, and barred window through which a shaft of light slanted and lay in stripes across the cold floor.

"Here?" he breathed, a look of distress coming into his haggard eyes.

"Insists on it, my boy," continued the major briskly. "And, Fairfax, when you've known Betty as long as I have, you'll realize that when she makes up her mind — " He spread out his hands and shook his head helplessly, an indulgent smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "You know what an old fool I am about her — simply can't refuse her anything. I don't have to tell you that I'm not particularly anxious to have her come here. No reflection on you, of course, but — well, it isn't just the thing under the circumstances — you understand?"

He looked a little pleadingly into the younger man's face.

"Of course," Fairfax assented gravely. "I understand perfectly."

"Well, she's coming, just the same. Says she has something of the utmost importance to tell you."

"When will she come?" Cary asked huskily.

"This afternoon, about three."

Cary took a turn up and down the cell and stopped before the major.

"Has what she is going to tell me got anything to do with Dr. Townsend?"

His voice sounded harsh and strained.

"Don't know, I'm sure."

The major looked sympathetically at him. He did not add that Betty had said that she intended shortly to return to France.

"If that's what she's coming to tell him, he'll know it soon enough," he thought pityingly. "I know what the poor boy's going through, and suspense, hard as it is to bear, is better than despair."

He patted Fairfax on the shoulder and bade him good-by, promising to return after luncheon.

If Elizabeth experienced any feelings of trepidation as she left the warm sunshine and entered the ominous chill of the massive gray building, Major Barry, who was watching her closely, failed to detect it.

Even when the door was unlocked and they entered the long passage where tier upon tier of cells looked down upon them, each with its tragic-faced inmate tense with suppressed revolt or huddled in passive lethargy, she retained her expression of calm.

The guard stopped before a door and inserted the key. It opened, and Betty stepped into the cell. The door clanged back into place and the lock clicked.

Fairfax rose and turned quickly toward her. His face was very white, but there still clung to him his air of proud reserve, and the dark eyes looked out fearless and unashamed from under the straight brows.

Betty came quickly to him and held out her hand. He hesitated for a moment, and then, taking it, held it closely in his.

"It was very good of you to come," he said in a hushed voice.

Betty laughed a little tremulously.

"Now we're quits!" she exclaimed. That's what I said to you in the hospital!"

A semblance of a smile parted the sensitive lips. He indicated the chair beside which they stood. After Betty had seated herself, he sank once more on the cot and fixed his eyes on the shifting bars of light.

Betty pressed her hands tightly together in her lap, and a lump rose in her throat. Her eyes rested pitifully on the bowed, dark head. She swallowed hard; then, rising suddenly, she ran to the cot, seated herself beside him, and put her arm around his neck.

"Oh, my dear, my dear!" she whispered brokenly, laying her cheek against his. "I didn't tell you the truth that time in France. I do care, Fairfax. I love you, dear!"

A tremor passed over Fairfax. He clenched his hands until the knuckles showed white.

"Don't!" he breathed hoarsely. "Don't, for God's sake!"

"Don't what?" Betty drew back, and her great eyes, pansy-black in the uncertain light, rested on the white, averted face.

"You don't realize what you're doing!"

Betty looked relieved.

"Oh, yes, I do," she asserted. "I realize perfectly what I'm doing. I'm telling the man I honor above everything on earth that I love him. It's high time that he knew, for I've suddenly discovered that I've loved him for a very long time — much longer than I had any idea of!"

Cary got up suddenly and, walking with quick, nervous steps to the door of his cell, placed his hands on the grating. He shook it slightly; then he turned back to Betty, who had taken a step after him.

"It's real!" he whispered huskily. "Sometimes I think it must be a dream, and I have actually to go and feel the locked door before I can believe it. "But now," he went on, the look of pain deepening in his eyes, "those bars have begun to press in on me closer and closer, until I can feel them on my forehead. I know in time they'll reach my soul, and then I shall never be able to wipe away the taint!"

He strode past her and, sinking once more on the cot, buried his face in his hands.

"Fairfax!" Betty ran to him, sat down beside him, and put her arm around his shoulder. "You mustn't have such dreadful thoughts! Nothing can taint your soul but sin, and, darling, your friends know how far that is from you!"

Again a tremor passed over him.

"You don't know, no one knows until he's been locked in, what it means to be caged in a place like this, with the knowledge that no power on your part can get you out! It's hideous, horrible!" he whispered hoarsely. "The iron eats into your soul!"

Betty laid her hand on his head and drew it gently to her until it rested on her shoulder. Stooping over, she pressed her lips to his forehead.

"Darling," she whispered, "I love you!"

A great sob shook Fairfax. He raised himself and drew resolutely away.

"I should deserve to be kicked if I took what your pity and gratitude are prompting you to give!" he said. "No; I love you too dearly to allow you to sacrifice yourself for a man who has passed through an ordeal like this!"

Once more the dark head sank into his hands.

"Fairfax, that's absurd! You wanted to marry me when a stain rested on my name — "

"That's very different," he broke in. "The discredit in no way reflected on you."

"And if it had, would it have prevented you from loving me?"

"Never!" The word was sharp and decisive.

"Well," exclaimed Betty, with a little laugh of triumph, "then that's settled!"

"What's settled?"

"That we're to be married!"

"Miss Crosby, don't you understand — "

"Don't call me Miss Crosby!" interrupted Betty imperiously. "And as to understanding, why" — her voice softened — "the big fact remains that we love each other, dear, and after that nothing matters. Dear heart, you do love me, don't you?"

Fairfax groaned and pressed his hands closer over his eyes.

"You're the most difficult man I ever proposed to," remarked Betty, with a tremulous little laugh. "Well, if you won't be nice, I'm going to ask you a question. Who was in the room with Molly Delaney that night when you were talking to Pat?"

Fairfax did not answer.

"Answer me, Fairfax!"

"I don't know. At least, I'm not sure."

"But you have a strong suspicion?"

"You can't implicate a man in a crime like this on a suspicion."

"But if that suspicion led to a correct solution?"

"It might not, and then it would bring unnecessary pain to innocent people. I know too much about that to be willing to inflict it on others," he concluded bitterly.

Betty sat for a moment wrapped in thought.

"If we could only get at the motive," she said, half to herself, "it might be a clue! Why should any one want to kill the girl? Do you know any reason?"

Fairfax moved restlessly.

"It's hard to tell," he answered evasively. "With people like that there are so many reasons. It might have been jealousy, fear of exposure, any one of half a dozen things."

"Well, I sha'n't rest night or day till I find out." Betty rose as the guard inserted his key in the lock. "I'll see you again soon."

"Did you learn anything?" asked Major Barry anxiously, when she joined him in the waiting-room.

Betty shook her head dejectedly.

"He absolutely refuses to tell who it was. Uncle Tod, I want to go down to Sheepshead Bay and look through those rooms. I'm convinced that there must be something there that will give us a clue."

"But, my dear child, the detectives have searched them thoroughly."

"Yes, I know," Betty assented obstinately. "But it may be the only chance of saving him!"

She was very pale, but her chin was firm and resolute.

"I'll try to arrange it, but I'm afraid there isn't much hope. Where are you going now?"

"To the Crosbys'. I want to tell them of my engagement to Fairfax."

"What?"

The major stopped in the crowded street along which they were walking on their way to the Elevated train and looked aghast at the girl's calm face.

"Why, Uncle Tod," she exclaimed, "you don't mean to tell me you didn't know?"

"Know! Know what?"

"Why, that we love each other!"

"I knew that Cary loved you, and I suspected that you cared for him; but really, Betty, I hardly think that — at present, if I were you — I would — "

"You hardly think that now's the time for me to tell the world of my belief in Fairfax's innocence?" she said defiantly. "You'll have to forgive me for differing with you. I can't imagine any time more appropriate!"

The major looked at her with a gleam of admiration in his eyes. The color had mounted in her cheeks, and her eyes shone bright under the level brows.

"Of course, my dear," he answered in a conciliatory voice, "we all believe that Fairfax is innocent. Tell me, how does Cary feel about it?"

The dimple under Betty's eye came into play, and she broke into a little laugh.

"Oh, he says he won't marry me!"

The major looked relieved.

"He means, of course, not till this mess is straightened out."

They crossed the street and passed up the steps to the Elevated. When they were seated in the train Betty answered.

"I don't know what he means," she said. "I only know that I'm going to marry him as soon as possible."

"Well, you modern girls certainly know your own minds!" remarked the major. "Now, in my day if was customary — "

"To wait until we were asked?" interposed Betty merrily. "Well, things have changed, Uncle Tod; now it's the other way round. You men don't realize it, but it's

really the women who do the proposing. We let the men think the old custom is still in force. It makes them happier, and doesn't alter the fact!"