MEAGER REVELATIONS
I glanced instinctively across at Mr. Tabor, to see if he had overheard;
but he gave no sign of having done so. He stood with one broad hand
slowly tightening and relaxing over the back of his chair, his eyes
following unwaveringly the slight figure as it paused beyond the
curtains and Lady let them fall into place, then he sat wearily down
again, with a smile that did not smooth the white bristle of his brows.
"That shows how tired Mrs. Tabor is," he said casually. "I never knew
her to confuse the names in that way before."
My first shock changed unreasonably into the feeling of a suspected
conspirator. I was sure that he had not heard; his reference was only to
his wife's calling Lady "Miriam," not to her whispered words; but what
could those words mean? Where was Miriam? And if this house were in
some way divided against itself, on what side was I? Then I became
suddenly conscious of my silence.
"Surely there is nothing at all strange in that," I answered. "For a
mother to call her children by one another's names is the commonest
thing in the world; especially when--" I stopped, wondering whether I
were quite sure that Miriam was dead.
"Yes, natural enough, of course." He spoke absently; then went on as if
answering my thought; "And then, Mrs. Tabor was greatly shaken by our
first daughter's death: so much so that she has never quite recovered
herself physically. Sometimes, even now, she hardly realizes, I think,
that Miriam is not here." He looked down at his hand, then raised his
eyes steadily to mine.
"That was several years ago?" I said, to say something.
"Two years. We have to keep Walter Reid out of her sight, although she
is very fond of him, because his actual words and ways make her
remember." Perhaps it was the effort to convince himself which made him
seem needlessly eager to explain.
"She must be growing stronger though, all the while," I suggested. "And
from now on, we shall have peace from Carucci and all the other
disturbances he brings in his train."
He did not answer, and the discomfort of silence settled heavily down. I
began to hear the clock ticking, and to be half conscious of my own
breathing. Some one crossed the room above us and went quietly down the
upper hall toward the rear of the house. Had that been Miriam's room in
which I found the intruder; and if so, why was it kept uncannily the
same when all the family were striving to guard the mother from
remembrance? Presently Mr. Tabor roused himself with the decision of a
man putting a thought away.
"I meant to ask you about that," he said. "Somehow or other, this black
hand business must stop. I can't have reporters and detectives and
blackmailing Italians lurking about to cause gossip and disturb Mrs.
Tabor, and I won't have it. We've done no more than merely to hold off
the spies, and that necessity in itself was bad enough. But when it
comes to having Carucci break into the house and alarm the family--" He
looked sharply at me. "Have you heard anything further from your
friend?"
"Nothing more than you know; but I ran across Carucci this afternoon,
and I think that incident is closed." I went over the afternoon's
events, adding: "So there's no murder mystery now, no newspaper story,
and unless Sheila is very much mistaken in herself, we've heard the last
of Carucci. That clears the atmosphere pretty thoroughly, doesn't it?"
He did not seem to be much relieved. "Yes if Sheila could or would
really send him away. I don't doubt her loyalty to us, but she's too
fond of her brute of a husband." Then abruptly, after some pondering,
"You answered the telephone for Mrs. Tabor, as I understand. Did you
hear the name, or recognize the voice?"
"No, sir," said I uncomfortably; for it sounded very much as if he were
questioning his wife's word.
"It couldn't have been either of your Italian detectives, for instance?"
"I'm quite sure that it wasn't--that is, as sure as one can be of a
voice over the 'phone. It was entirely different, a cooing, syrupy voice
that seemed to be a woman's."
"Well," he said finally, "Carucci is the storm-center, in any case." He
rose, and pressed the button by the door. "Ask Mrs. Carucci to step down
to my study for a moment," he said to the maid. Then he turned to me.
"Come in here, Crosby, and we'll settle this thing."
Sheila appeared, bubbling with triumph, and volubly eager to recount her
experiences. Antonio would never dare to show the face of him to any of
us again. Indeed, he had promised to take the first ship he could find
and be off to sea, out of mischief. His black hand bother was all
nonsense anyway; he was nothing to be afraid of, more than a black-faced
bogey to frighten children. "An' he'll keep his promise, sir, to me,"
she wound up, "for he knows well what I'll be givin' him if he don't.
He's only waitin' till his week's out, so he can draw his pay; then off
he goes to New York, an' away on the first steamer that'll take him.
'An' good riddance to ye, too,' says I, 'an' if ever ye bring trouble on
my people again, I'll make ye wish ye'd died a bachelor,' I says to
him."
"He's going before that," said Mr. Tabor decidedly. "This is Tuesday;
the _Catalonia_ sails on Thursday, and I'll get him a berth on her.
What's more, I'll see that he takes it. You know where to find him,
Sheila, I suppose?"
"Sure I do, sir. He'll be right where I saw him, workin' on the trolley.
But it's hard on him, sir, losin' his week's pay, and bein' shipped off
like a thief. Leave him find his own ship like a man."
"He's not being shipped off. I'm finding a good berth for him, which is
more than he deserves, and you both ought to be grateful. Now listen, I
want you to go to New York with him to-morrow. Take him to your own
place, and don't lose sight of him until he is safe aboard and away. If
he leaves you, notify me at once. I intend to be certain that he has
left the country; do you understand?"
"An' who's to be takin' care av me poor lamb up-stairs all the while?"
Sheila demanded, her brogue broadening, and her hands braced
aggressively against her hips.
Mr. Tabor glanced quickly at me. "We can do that very well, as we have
done. Of course your husband can be sent to prison for blackmail, if I
can't otherwise be rid of him, but for your sake I should rather have
him simply go away. If you are not willing to help, Sheila, you need
only say so."
For a moment I thought she was going to refuse. But after a vain appeal
or two, she gave way rather sullenly, and agreed to leave early in the
morning.
"That's the pity of those people," Mr. Tabor said to me, as he closed
the door after her. "Let the man do or be what he will, the woman he
has possessed will hold of him to the end of her days; he can't quite
lie away her faith or kick away her tenderness. I suppose it's beautiful
in its way, but it gives a foothold to a lot of misery--well, now,
Crosby, the rest is your part. I believe Sheila will keep her word; but
it's against her husband, after all, and I want to make sure. Will you
go to New York, too, and keep an eye on them until Carucci has gone?
It's an unpleasant service to ask, but I can't do it for myself.
And--since your vacation trip would naturally start from New York, it
won't be far out of your way." I looked full at him to be sure that I
understood, but I knew already that he had weighed his words.
"I see," I said slowly. "Is that all, or do you really want me to watch
the Caruccis?"
"Certainly I do, if you will. I'm going to be very frank with you,
Crosby, because you've deserved it. I did feel at one time that your
former trip was managed with a little too much gallantry--that you had
with the best intentions involved us in a melodrama, been the means of
bringing these people down on us. But that wasn't just. Nobody could
have done better in your place; and if any one was to blame, it was
Reid, for allowing you to go at that time of night. Of course, I was
away from home when you started. Well, you've helped us and been loyal
to us, though we had no claim upon you. It all comes down to this: Mrs.
Tabor's health is a cause of great concern to me, and has been for a
long time. I feel that she must be guarded from every possible shock. As
I told you, there is a condition here which we are keeping to ourselves,
which is dangerous to her, and which--you must take my word for it--may
be aggravated by your continual presence. I'm eliminating, so far as I
can, every disturbing element, and you are such an element, through no
fault of yours. I'm not banishing you, I only ask that your visits to us
be no more than occasional. Once in a while, a little later, we shall be
very glad to see you, I hope; but not just now. Is that clear?"
"All but the reason for it," I said, "and I won't ask that."
"I won't make any protestations or apologies," he added very
deliberately. "I think you trust us. And I prove that I trust you more
than you know, in telling you as much as I have."
I suppose that a more sensible man in my place would have done very
differently. On his own confession, Mr. Tabor was telling me only a part
of the truth; accident and warning had combined to make me suspicious of
him; and I knew by my own experience how plausibly he could lie. But
whether it was his age, or his deference, or the fact that he was Lady's
father, all the Don Quixote in me came suddenly to the surface.
"I'll do as you say, sir," I said. "Let me know when I can do anything
more," and I held out my hand.
His own was moist and hot; and I noticed under the stronger light of the
hall, that the veins in his temples were swollen and throbbing and that
he moved listlessly, as though he had been under a great strain. Before
I could think about it, Lady parted the curtains of the living-room.
"What is it?" she asked quickly. "Has anything happened?"
"Only that I am going to New York to see Carucci sail away," I answered,
"and I don't know just when I shall be back." It was plain that Mr.
Tabor had not meant me to say so much; but that was my own affair.
She followed me outside the front door. "That means that you are going
away-- I knew it must come to that." She was twisting nervously at her
chain.
"One word from you, and I won't go."
She shook her head. "No, I want you to--good-by."
"Promise me one thing," I said. "That you'll send me word if you want
me."
"I promise," she answered quietly, "but I shall never have to keep that
promise."
As I went out of the gate, Doctor Reid was coming in, and stopped to
speak to me. His companion stood meanwhile some distance away; but it
was not too dark for me to recognize the big man with the shrill
precision of speech whom I had seen him bring secretly to the house
before.
I set out the next morning in a humor of suspicious disillusion, all my
quixotism turned sour under the dry sun. Put it how I would, I was
playing the part of a spy: if Carucci himself was no better, the honest
Irish eyes of his wife made me vaguely ashamed of my task. Having
nevertheless undertaken it, I must put it through as well as might be.
To follow the pair about would be futile, since I must presently be seen
and recognized; but I conceived that merely by making sure of them at
intervals during the next forty-eight hours I should be fulfilling my
mission. I saw them safely on the train, and established myself in
another car; and when we reached the Grand Central, I made straight for
the scene of my midnight adventure. It was no less ugly by day than by
night, and if possible even more malodorous. Push-carts vended
unimaginable sweetmeats along the curb to a floating population of
besmeared and screaming children; bleared slatterns, flabbily
overflowing their bulging garments, jabbered in window and doorway; and
the squat and dingy little saloon on the corner leered beerily at all. I
waited half an hour before the Caruccis appeared. Then I made for a
telephone in a state of disgusted relief, and called up Maclean.
"So you're in town now for a while," he said, in answer to my expurgated
account of myself. "Well, I tell you how it is, Laurie, I'm pretty busy
to-day. Let's have your number, an' I'll call you up later when I'm
loose. You'll hang out at the Club, won't you?"
"I thought you wanted to see me about something."
"Oh, _that_. That wasn't anythin'-- Why, yes, I'll lunch with you if
you're in such a hurry, but I'll have to beat it right afterwards,
'cause I've got an assignment this afternoon."
At the Club, he plunged immediately into the irrelevant subject.
"Say, I've got to slide out after grub, an' go on a spook-hunt. There's
this gang of Psychics or Spiritualists or whatever they are, up the line
here, you see? And I'm coverin' one of their seances. Hamlet's old
grandfather comes in an' rough-houses the furniture, an' Little Eva says
a lot more than her prayers, an' you sit in a circle holdin' hands to
get a line on the higher life. Don't you want to come along? You'll get
some thrillin' moments."
"Is it a fake, then?" I asked.
"Oh, they're all fakes, I guess. All I ever ran across, anyway. But this
death-fancier's the real squeeze--only raises the graveyard in private
an' don't take any money, an' a whole lot of big doctors an' psychology
profs are nutty about her, you see? It's the big show, the original New
York company. You better come."
"All right," I said, "bring on your mysteries. I always thought there
was something in that business, really; and here's a good chance. But
look here, Mac, I want you to tell me what you heard from Carucci."
"Tell you the truth," said Maclean, "I'm a little bit afraid there may
be something in spookery, myself. That's why I'd just as soon have you
along."
"It won't do, old fellow," said I; "let's have the dago story."
Maclean fidgeted and glowered at the table. "It's like this, Laurie, you
see? Those folks are friends of yours, an' this yarn of the guinea's is
just a dirty bit of scandal, that's all over an' done with. An' I told
you I didn't believe it anyhow. I hadn't ought to have said anythin' to
you in the first place; and I'd rather not say anythin' about it now
unless you want. 'Tain't anythin'."
"Mac, I've gone so far with the Tabors that I need to know all I can. If
it's a lie, why all right. If it's true, why you can trust me and so can
they. I wasn't born last week."
"Well," Mac grunted after a pause, "I'd better tell you, I guess, than
let you go it blind--here you are. You know that Doctor Reid that's in
with the Tabors?" He lowered his voice, leaning across the table.
"Accordin' to the dago, he got mixed up with some woman abroad, an'
married her. Then he leaves her, an' comes back, an' maybe he thinks
she's dead. So he marries the Tabor girl, you see? Then the family get
wise about the other woman, an' there's an awful row, an' finally they
fix it up among them to move away, an' let on that Reid an' the daughter
ain't married at all, not until this other woman dies, you see? An'
that's what they're all keepin' so quiet about. Mind you, I don't
believe it, myself."
"Why, it's impossible," I said. "It doesn't fit together. Miriam Tabor
died a year after Reid married her, and why should they--"
"Sure, that's just it. Sure. I told you it was all over, an' anyhow it
couldn't be so." He looked at his watch, and I noticed that the monogram
on the back was cut in a quaint, antique fashion. "Come ahead--we've
just got time."
I found his eyes and held them. "One minute, Mac. You're keeping back
the point, so that I won't understand the story. It's no use."
"No, I ain't--honest--it's all over--well, damn it, Carucci says the
Tabor girl didn't die. He says that's only the fake they put up, an'
she's alive an' around the same as ever."
For a moment the words did not mean anything. I was groping madly among
a mass of reminiscences, the noises in the house, the room with the
presence in it, into which Carucci had broken, the tangled
half-confidences of the family. Then the picture of Lady twisting
nervously at the slender chain came uppermost in imagination, and
through the eddying fog of my mind the whole nightmare leaped forth in a
flash of horrible clearness, a score of interwoven circumstances
outlining it as with threads of fire: the wedding-ring worn hidden at
her breast, her raising of unaccountable barriers, her hopelessness, the
family's fear of publicity and growing anxiety over my intimate presence
among them, the cloud upon Mrs. Tabor, her aversion to Reid and the
elaborate explanation of her slip in calling her daughter Miriam--I
leaned my forehead on my hands.
Maclean had me by the shoulder: "Brace up, man," he muttered; "here,
drink your drink. You'll have everybody looking at you."