Placing the three before him, and compelling them to lock arms, the
officer was about to take up the line of march, when something in the
back pocket of the man's trousers attracted him, the coat being lifted
a trifle over it.
He thrust his hand forward and pulled the pistol from it that Kingsley
had taken from Miss Chandler.
It was the single hope that the man had retained of release, and a low
oath fell from his lips as he realized that it was gone.
"I owe this to you!" he exclaimed to Leonie. "You shall see how well
I know how to liquidate my debts. Is this the honor that you claimed
should be among thieves? I kept my word and you betrayed me; you shall
pay for it with interest."
"Stop your threats and go along quietly, or I'll quiet you," cried
the officer, lifting his club threateningly. "You are a nice party
altogether, you are."
The sergeant's eyes were opened to their widest as the gentleman of
elegant appearance, and the lady in the costume of a reception, entered
his precinct.
"What are this lady and gentleman arrested for?" he inquired sternly of
the officer.
"Absolutely without reason!" exclaimed Kingsley, attempting bravado.
"We were out on a little mission of charity in connection with a family
that has had a terrible affliction befall them to-night, when the
officer arrested us. It is an outrage!"
"What have you to say, officer?"
"Only this, sir: I was on my beat when this boy came running up to me
out of breath and demanded that I go with him to arrest these parties.
I went to see what was wrong, and I found these people under suspicious
circumstances. The boy claimed that the man had a will concealed upon
him that had been hidden for years, and the man claimed that the boy
was a girl in disguise. The house that they were visiting to perform
a charity was the one belonging to Ben Mauprat, who was arrested
to-night, and whose wife jumped out the window later with her child in
her arms, so that there was nobody in the house for them to have gone
there to see."
The sergeant looked dubious, then after a moment of hesitation, he
decided to "hold them for examination!"
It was with perhaps the greatest amount of relief that she had ever
felt in her life that Leonie saw the two conducted to their respective
cells, though she knew that she must follow.
As she was leaving the room, she lifted her eyes pleadingly to those of
the sergeant and exclaimed:
"There is no chance of his escaping with that will, is there? It would
place in his possession a large sum of money that rightfully belongs to
another."
"That will, if one exists, will be deposited with me inside of fifteen
minutes!" he answered.
It had been a night that was to be long remembered by Leonie.
She was thoroughly exhausted in mind and body, and feeling mentally
at rest at last in her cramped apartment, she stretched herself out
wearily upon the hard bench that was the only bed offered, and was soon
sound asleep.
There was a vague wonderment as to what had happened to Liz, and what
she was to do when all the facts that surrounded her had been made
public; but she was too tired for anything under heaven to disturb her,
and after a moment of wakeful dreaming she was in the land of Nod!
* * * * *
"You have heard nothing yet from Neil Lowell?"
The question was addressed by Lynde Pyne to Andrew Pryor as the two
men shook hands on the morning after the event just narrated had taken
place.
"I was about to put the same question to you," returned the elder
man. "I am losing hope. I wonder what could have happened to the boy?
I have given his description to every police station in the city; I
have private detectives at work, I have done everything that lies in
my power, but all to no purpose! The matter is shrouded in as great a
mystery as it was at the beginning. I am about coming to the conclusion
that he has been foully dealt with!"
Pyne started.
"How is that possible?" he asked, half unconscious of having spoken.
"How is it possible!" cried Mr. Pryor with annoyance. "How are half the
horrible things that you read of daily in the papers possible? I don't
know, but one never can tell what may happen, nor what has happened. I
have had the most flaming advertisements in the papers, asking him if
he were safe to at least let me know. Lowell was a great reader of the
papers, and if he had seen it he would surely have answered in some
way. He has never seen it, and he has not because--he is dead!"
Pyne's hand came down upon a glass, knocking it to the floor with an
awful crash.
His face was ghastly.
"Have you any reason for thinking that?" he demanded so hoarsely that
Pryor's attention was attracted from his concern about Leonie to his
friend.
"No, no!" he answered. "Why, what is it, Pyne? You were not acquainted
with Lowell, were you? I did not know that you had ever met him more
than once."
"You are quite right! It is only the horror with which those things
naturally affect me. I can never regard such things, even in
imagination, without feeling faint."
"In your profession I should think you would have overcome such things
entirely!"
"One would think so, but it does not seem to have been the case with
me. I do not believe that I shall ever recover from it. My cousin was
to go to Miss Chandler's to begin her visit there to-day, was she not?"
"I think so; but not until this afternoon. Do you want to see her?"
"If you please. Will you kindly send for her to come here?"
Andrew Pryor was about to put his hand upon the bell to ring, when the
door was suddenly thrown open, and Miss Pyne, with Miss Pryor, entered.
The former held a newspaper in her hand, and both seemed excited to the
last degree. They paused, however, upon seeing Lynde.
"What is it?" he demanded, as neither of them even greeted him. "There
was something that you wished to say, and you have hesitated because I
am here. Can you not tell me, Edith, unless your news is a secret? The
papers do not usually contain secrets that the world may not share,
and from your manner I should say that it is something that you have
learned from them."
"You are quite right, Lynde," she answered, laying her hand
affectionately upon his shoulder. "I did learn my news from the papers,
but it is something that will hurt you most seriously. So much so that
I am afraid to tell you. But of course there can be no truth in it. You
must take consolation in that, dear."
He had grown ghastly again. He endeavored to speak, but the horror that
was upon him seemed to paralyze utterance.
He took the paper from her, and in silence she pointed to the article
that had caused her such consternation.
The headlines were sensational, describing as they did the arrest of
Miss Evelyn Chandler, the daughter of one of the wealthiest citizens of
the metropolis, in company with Luis Kingsley, of Wall Street fame, in
a disreputable place.
Edith Pyne had read no further than that; but calling the attention of
Miss Pryor to it, they had hurried with it to Mr. Pryor's study.
The paper dropped from Lynde's hand and fluttered to the floor.
He seemed to understand that some dreadful thing had happened, that
there could be no mistake, and though Leonie's name was not mentioned
in those first lines, he seemed to know intuitively that they related
to her.
He sat down in a chair very suddenly, and Edith kneeled beside him.
"You must not take those horrible words as literally true," she
exclaimed, gently. "You know so well how many mistakes these papers
make. Do not look like that, Lynde! You frighten me!"
"Do not distress yourself about me, dear," he said, gently. "There is
nothing wrong. Read the article to me, please. I do not seem able to
see quite distinctly."
Still kneeling there beside him, she read it to the end. About the
arrest in the deserted house of Ben Mauprat, about the sensational
demand of the boy for the arrest of the man with the will, of the
counter-charge of disguised sex made by the man, of the march to the
station-house, of the costumes of the party, of how the "boy" had given
his name as Leonie Cuyler Pyne----
Suddenly Miss Pyne's face was lifted, ghastly as Lynde's own.
"What does that mean?" she demanded, huskily.
"Never mind. Read on!" he commanded, hoarsely.
Then the papers found were described and copied, the will acting as a
kind of supplement.
There was not a word spoken in that room for the space of five minutes
when the reading had ceased.
Mr. Pryor was the first to break the stillness that had grown uncanny.
"Let me be the first to congratulate you, Lynde," he said, his kind old
voice shaken with emotion. "You have gained your fortune at last, and
if it has cost you a wife, the loss is the greater gain of the two."
"It is not true!" cried Lynde, hoarsely. "There is not a word of it
that can be true. There was never any such will made. My uncle died,
believing me guilty of the acts of which my cousin accused me, and
Roger Pyne was never married in his life. Do you think that he could
have had a wife and I not know it! Why, it would have been----"
He broke off suddenly, remembering the comments that had been made upon
the resemblance between Edith and Leonie upon that night that they had
sat side by side at the table.
It seemed to offer a certain proof of the truth of the story that
startled him.
He arose hastily and picked up his hat.
"Where are you going?" Edith asked, timidly, something in his
expression frightening her.
"To the station-house where these people are said to be. I must know
the truth."
Then, after the hesitation of a moment, he turned to Mr. Pryor,
remarking:
"Do not distress yourself further about Neil Lowell until I see you
again. If the article contained in that paper is true I can take you to
him within the hour."
"What do you mean?"
"I cannot tell you now. There is a mysterious something that makes me
horribly afraid that I shall find it all too true, but until my return
I can say nothing!"
"Why cannot I accompany you? You surely know that you can trust me!"
"With all my heart! Come, if you will."
Lynde bent his head and kissed his cousin. With an impulse that she
could scarcely understand she reached up and placed her arms about his
neck.
"Something tells me that you will not find it false, dear," she said,
gently, "and, notwithstanding the sorrow that it will bring upon that
unfortunate woman, I cannot regret it. But if it should prove true, I
feel convinced that that woman will try to hold you to the promise that
you have made her by pleading the cause of her love. Promise me that
you will not listen to her, Lynde!"
He kissed her again and sighed.
"You must not ask me to promise until I know what I am doing, for I
have never broken one in my life, dear."
He loosened her arms from his neck, thinking, with something like a
choking sensation, of the one that he had already given and wondering
if anything would happen to release him from it before it was eternally
too late.
Resolutely he put the thought from his mind and turned again to Andrew
Pryor.
"Are you ready?" he asked, the anxiety in his voice increasing.
"Yes. You may be sure that it is all true, Lynde, and that you are the
heir to your uncle's fortune at last."
"You seem to have forgotten, all of you, that if this story is true,
that will can make small difference to me, as my uncle left a daughter
of whose existence he died in ignorance. The money will be even
less mine than it was before. Do not think that I grudge it to the
unfortunate girl, for that is the only part of the story that offers me
any pleasure at all."
The consternation of the group was even greater than before, but not
waiting for comment, Lynde placed his hand upon Mr. Pryor's arm and
hurried him from the room.
"There is one hope!" exclaimed Edith to Miss Pryor when the men had
gone. "If Miss Chandler knows that there is no chance for Lynde to get
the money she will not hold him to that miserable engagement, perhaps,
for I feel convinced from his manner that if she should he would still
marry her!"