She was still in the living-room when she came to her senses. Sophie
Carey was gone; the Ragans were also gone. Clancy guessed that they were
attending to their mistress. As for herself, she felt the need of no
attention. For her first conscious thought was that the cloud that had
hung over her so steadily for the past week, which had descended so low
that its foggy breath had chilled her heart, was forever lifted.
She was not selfish--merely human. Not to have drawn in her breath in a
great sigh of relief would have indicated that Clancy Deane was too
angelic for this world. And she was not; she was better than an angel
because she was warmly human.
And so her first thought was of herself. But her second was of the woman
up-stairs--the woman who had shown her, in so brief a time, so many
kindnesses, and who now lay stricken. What a dreadful culmination to a
life of humiliation! She closed her eyes a moment, as though to shut out
the horror of it all.
When she opened them, it was to look gravely at the two men in the room.
Randall she looked at first; her eyes swept him coolly, but she was not
cool. She was fighting against something that she did not wish to show
upon her countenance. When she thought that it was under control, she
transferred her grave glance to Vandervent.
As on that day last week when she had fainted in his office he held a
glass of water in his hand. Also, his hand shook, and the water slopped
over the rim of the tumbler.
She was sitting in a chair. She wondered which one of these two men had
carried her there. She wanted to know at once. And so, because she was a
woman, she set herself to find out.
"Mrs. Carey--she's--all right?"
She addressed the question to both. And it was Randall who replied.
"I think so--I hope so. I helped Mrs. Ragan carry her up-stairs, while
Ragan waited--outside."
Clancy shuddered. She knew why Ragan waited outside, and over what he
kept watch. Nevertheless, if Randall had carried Sophie up-stairs,
Vandervent must have deposited herself, Clancy Deane, in this chair. An
unimportant matter, perhaps, but--it had been Vandervent who picked her
up. She looked at Vandervent.
"I--couldn't meet you at the train," she said.
Vandervent colored.
"I--so I see," he said. That his remark was banal meant nothing to
Clancy. She was versed enough in the ways of a man with a maid to be
glad that Vandervent was not too glib of speech with her.
Vandervent set down the glass. He looked at her.
"If you don't care to talk, Miss Deane----"
"I do," said Clancy.
Vandervent glanced toward the window.
"Then----"
"He killed Morris Beiner," said Clancy. Vandervent started. "He
confessed," said Clancy, "and then----"
There was no need to finish. Vandervent nodded. Carey had done the only
possible thing.
"But you--how does it happen you're here?"
Swiftly Clancy told them. Silently they listened, although she could
tell, by his expression, that, time and again, Vandervent wanted to
burst into speech, that only the fact that Carey lay dead in the snow
outside prevented him from characterizing the actions of the man who had
killed Morris Beiner.
"And Garland?" he asked finally.
Clancy shrugged.
"I don't know. He left, as I've told you."
Vandervent's jaws set tightly. Then they parted as he spoke.
"He'll explain it all. He'll be caught," he said.
"Mr.--Mr. Carey said that it was all written down. It's up-stairs," said
Clancy.
Vandervent nodded.
"That simplifies it." He rose and walked uncertainly across the room.
"If we could catch Garland right away and--shut his mouth----"
Clancy knew what he meant. He was thinking of how to protect her from
possible scandal.
"How did you happen to know that I was here?" asked Clancy. After all,
murder was murder and death was death. But love was life, and Clancy was
in love. The most insignificant actions of a loved one are of more
importance, in the first flush of love's discovery, than the fall of
empires.
"We came upon the horse, down by the station. I--I guessed that it must
be yours." Vandervent colored. So did Clancy. He could not have more
clearly confessed that he feared for her; and people frequently love
those for whom they are fearful.
"So Randall and I-- We met in the train----
"Mrs. Carey 'phoned me this afternoon. She--said that she was
frightened," said Randall.
"I see," said Clancy. Despite herself, she could not keep her tone from
being dry. How quickly, and how easily, Randall had returned to Sophie
Carey! Safety first! It was his motto, undoubtedly. And now, of course,
that Mrs. Carey was a widow-- Months from now, Clancy would find that
her attitude toward Randall was slightly acidulous. She'd always be
friendly, but with reservations. And as for Sophie Carey, she'd come to
the final conclusion that she didn't really want Sophie as her dearest
and closest friend. But just now she put from her, ashamed, the slight
feeling of contempt that she had for Randall. After all, there are
degrees in love. Some men will pay a woman's bills but refuse to die for
her. Others would cheerfully die for her rather than pay her bills.
Randall would never feel any ecstasy of devotion. He would love with his
head more than with his heart. He was well out of her scheme of things.
"So," continued Vandervent, "inasmuch as there was no one around, we
took the horse and sleigh. I turned in at this drive, intending to leave
Randall. We saw a man run across the snow, stop--we heard the shot. We
ran to him. We couldn't help him. It--it was too late. We came into the
house and sent Ragan out to watch the--to watch him. You and Mrs. Carey
had fainted. I ought to telephone the coroner," he said abruptly. Yet he
made no move toward the telephone. "You see," he went on, "what you've
told me about Garland--if we could find him----"
He stopped short; there were steps upon the veranda outside; and then
the bell rang. Vandervent moved swiftly from the room. Clancy heard him
exclaim in amazement. A moment later, she understood, for Spofford
entered the room, and by the wrist he dragged after him Garland.
"Got one of 'em," he announced triumphantly. "Now--the other guy.
Where's Carey?" he demanded.
"Dead," said Vandervent crisply.
Spofford's mouth opened. He dropped into a chair, loosing his grasp on
Garland.
"Beat me to it!" he said bitterly. "Had him dead to rights--came up here
all alone." He looked up surlily. "Listen here, Mr. Vandervent; I ran
this case down all by myself. You're here, and I suppose you'll grab all
the glory; but I wanta tell you that I'm entitled to my share." His gaze
was truculent now.
"You may have it," said Vandervent quietly.
"Eh? I don't get you," said Spofford. "Where's the string tied to it?"
"Perhaps not any--perhaps just one," was Vandervent's reply.
"Huh!" Spofford grunted noncommittally. "Where is Carey?"
Vandervent pointed out the window.
"Sent for the coroner?" demanded the plain-clothesman.
"Not--yet," admitted Vandervent.
"Why not?"
Vandervent stared at Garland.
"What's this man to do with it?" he asked.
"Material witness," said Spofford.
"But, if Carey left a written confession, you wouldn't need a witness,"
said Vandervent.
"H'm--no," conceded Spofford. "Only--an accessory after the fact--that's
what this guy is----"
Vandervent turned to Randall.
"Take this man outside--and watch him," he ordered.
Garland's mouth opened in a whine.
"I didn't have a thing to do with it," he said. "It's a frame-up."
"Take him out, Randall," ordered Vandervent. Randall obeyed. Of course,
Vandervent was an assistant district-attorney of New York and his
position, though outside his jurisdiction now, was an important one.
Nevertheless, Clancy knew that it was the man whom Randall obeyed, not
the official. It gave her added proof that her judgment of the two men
had been correct. Clancy loved with her head, too, though not so much as
with her heart.
"Spofford," said Vandervent. "I've promised you all the glory--on one
condition. Now tell me how you discovered that Carey was the murderer."
Spofford hesitated for a moment.
"Well, first I got the idea that Miss Deane was the one. When I found
that you and Judge Walbrough was interested in protectin' her, I began
to wonder. I rounded up all the tenants in the Heberworth Building. And
one of them said he had a vague recollection of having seen a man enter
Beiner's office sometime after five o'clock, last Tuesday. He described
the man pretty well. I looked over the tenants. I found that Carey
looked like the man. I got the other tenant to look at Carey. He
couldn't swear to him, but thought he was the one.
"Now Carey'd been skirting the edges of the law for some time. There was
a pretty little scandal brewing about the fake theatrical agency Carey
was running. One or two of the girls that had been in that office had
been talking. Find the woman! That's my motto when a man's been killed.
I looked up those girls! One of them told me of another girl. I went to
see her. She was an old sweetie of Beiner's. Carey had taken her away.
It looked like something, eh? She admitted Carey had quarreled with
Beiner over her. Name of Henty. Promised to keep her out of it if I
could." He drew a long breath.
"That didn't make the man a murderer, but it might tie him up with
Beiner. Somehow, I ain't entirely satisfied with the way that Garland
talks. He's pretty ready to identify Miss Deane, but still-- I keep my
eye on Garland. I watch him pretty closely. Monday, I think I'll have
another talk with Miss Deane. I find out from the place she works that
she's down at Carey's house." He glanced at Clancy. "You'll excuse me,
Miss Deane, if I didn't tip all my mitt to you the other day." He
resumed his story. "I go down to Carey's. Just as I get there, Garland
comes out. He don't see me, but I see him all right. A few minutes later
out comes Carey and a lady that I take to be his wife. Well, I don't
worry about them then. They're too well known to get very far away.
"But Garland was in the house with them. Naturally, I began to do a
whole lot of thinkin'. I ring the bell, on the chance that Miss Deane is
inside. I have a talk with her, and tell her that I'm convinced she
don't have anything to do with the murder. I am, all right. I have a
hunch that maybe she can tell me something if she wants, but I figure I
can wait.
"I leave her and go up to the Heberworth Building. Garland ain't
reported for work. I go up-stairs. I do some quick thinkin'. If I let
any one else in on this, I lose my chance." He glared defiantly at
Vandervent. "It's a big chance," he exclaimed. "I'm gettin' on. I'll
never be a day younger than I am to-day. I don't look forward to
existin' on a measly pension. I want some jack. And the only way I can
get it is by startin' a detective agency. And before I can do that, with
any chance of makin' a clean-up, I got to pull somethin' spectacular.
"Well, you never win a bet without riskin' some money. I'm standin' in
the hall outside Carey's office. Nobody's lookin'. I ain't been pinchin'
guys all my life without pickin' up a trick or two. It takes me ten
seconds to open that door and close it behind me.
"It may put me in the pen, burglarizin' Carey's office, but--it may put
him in the chair. So I don't delay. He sure was flooey in the dome--this
guy Carey. Booze has certainly wrecked his common sense. For I find
papers around that show that him and Beiner been tied up in several
little deals. I even find letters from Beiner threatenin' Carey unless
he comes through with some coin. Motive, eh? I'll say so." He chuckled
complacently. "But I find more than that. I find a bunch of keys. And
one of them unlocks the door to Beiner's office. I've got opportunity
now--motive and opportunity. Also a witness who _thinks_ he saw Carey at
the door of Beiner's office.
"It ain't everything, but--I got to Garland's house. I learn from his
landlady that Garland's packed a bag, paid his rent and skipped. That
was yesterday. To-day I did a bit of scoutin' around and find out that
the Careys own a country place up here. Of course, that don't prove
they've gone there in the middle of a winter like this, but I telephone
their house. A servant answers. I ask for Mr. Carey. The servant says
that he's out. I hang up the 'phone. I knew that Carey's up there. And I
just decide to come up and get him. In the road outside I meet
Garland--and grab him."
"Have you a warrant?" asked Vandervent.
"I'll say I have," grinned Spofford. "But it ain't no use. He beat me to
it." He looked ghoulishly regretful that he didn't have a live prisoner
instead of a dead man. And not regretful that death had occurred, but
that it had interfered with his plans. "And now--that little condition?"
he asked.
"Carey has confessed," said Vandervent. "A written confession. Suppose
that I hand you that confession?"
"Well?" Spofford didn't understand.
"Garland, I take it, has committed blackmail."
"_And_ been accessory after the fact, Mr. Vandervent," said Spofford.
Vandervent nodded.
"Of course. Only, if Garland testifies, he may mention Miss Deane. In
which case I shall feel compelled to maintain that it was I who traced
the murderer, who won from him his confession."
"You can't prove it," blustered Spofford.
"Think not?" Vandervent smiled.
Spofford's forehead wrinkled in thought. "The idea, of course, is that
you want Miss Deane's name left completely out of this affair," he said.
"You grasp it completely," smiled Vandervent.
"Well, worse guys than Garland are takin' the air when they feel like
it," said Spofford.
"He's a scoundrel," said Vandervent, "but if punishing him means
smirching Miss Deane's name, he'd better go free."
Spofford rose to his feet.
"You'd better 'phone the coroner," he said.
Vandervent shook his head.
"You're the genius who discovered the murderer. You do the telephoning,
Spofford."
Spofford grinned.
"Much obliged, Mr. Vandervent. There won't be a yip outa me." He bowed
toward Clancy. "It ain't hard for me to agree to something that saves a
lady like you from bein' annoyed, Miss Deane. I may have sounded nasty,
but it means something to me--this advertisin' I'll get."
He left the room before Clancy could answer. But she spoke to
Vandervent.
"Have you the right to let a man like Garland go free?" she asked.
"Certainly not," he replied. "But there are occasions when one considers
the greater good."
It was no time for Clancy to be hypersensitive about Vandervent's honor.
He'd have been something less than a man if he had not made his bargain
with Spofford. Yet, to Clancy, it seemed that he had done the most
wonderful thing in the world.
There are women who would place a meticulous point of honor above love,
but Clancy Deane had never been one of those bloodless persons intended
for the cloister. Perhaps her eyes showed her gratitude. For Vandervent
stepped nearer.
But the speech that Clancy believed trembled on the tip of his tongue
was not uttered then. For Spofford reëntered the room.
"I've got the coroner, Mr. Vandervent. He'll be over in five minutes."
"What about Garland?" demanded Vandervent.
"There's a train for New York at midnight. I took the cuffs off him, and
he'll be on that train. He'll keep his mouth shut. Leastwise, if he does
talk, no one'll believe him. He's a hop-head, that guy. But not so far
gone but that he may not come back. The fear of God is in him to-night,
sir. Maybe he'll straighten up." He shuffled his feet. "Please, sir, I
think Miss Deane ought to be gettin' out of sight. The coroner'll ask
questions, and the fewer lies need be told him----"
"Mrs. Carey? May she talk?" asked Vandervent.
Spofford shook his head.
"We'll keep him away from her until to-morrow. By that time, I'll have
her coached--Miss Deane won't be in it, sir."
"Fair enough," said Vandervent.
Spofford moved toward the door. But, suddenly, Clancy didn't wish to be
alone with Vandervent. She wanted time, as a woman always does. And so,
because Vandervent must remain and see the coroner, Clancy drove home to
the anxious Mrs. Walbrough alone. Physically alone, but in spirit
accompanied by the roseate dreams of youth.