REVEREND NICODEMUS RANKIN FORGETS AND REMEMBERS
By appointment Kirby met Rose at Graham & Osborne's for luncheon. She
was waiting in the tower room for him.
"Where's Esther?" he asked.
Rose mustered a faint smile. "She's eating lunch with a handsomer man."
"You can't throw a stone up Sixteenth Street without hittin' one," he
answered gayly.
They followed the head waitress to a small table for two by a window.
Rose walked with the buoyant rhythm of perfect health. Her friend
noticed, as he had often done before, that she had the grace of
movement which is a corollary to muscles under perfect response.
Seated across the table from her, he marveled once more at the miracle
of her soft skin and the peach bloom of her complexion. Many times she
had known the sting of sleet and the splash of sun on her face. Yet
incredibly her cheeks did not tan nor lose their fineness.
"You haven't told me who this handsomer man is," Kirby suggested.
"Cole Sanborn." She flushed a little, but looked straight at him.
"Have you told him--about Esther?"
"No. But from somethin' he said I think he guesses."
Her eyes softened. "He's awf'ly good to Esther. I can see he likes
her and she likes him. Why couldn't she have met him first? She's so
lovable." Tears brimmed to her eyes. "That's been her ruin. She was
ready to believe any man who said he cared for her. Even when she was
a little bit of a trick when people liked her, she was grateful to them
for it and kinda snuggled up to them. I never saw a more cuddly baby."
"Have you found out anything more yet about--the man?" he asked, his
voice low and gentle.
"No. It's queer how stubborn she can be for all her softness. But she
almost told me last night. I'll find out in a day or two now. Of
course it was your uncle. The note I found was really an admission of
guilt. Your cousins feel that some settlement ought to be made on
Esther out of the estate. I've been trying to decide what would be
fair. Will you think it over and let me know what seems right to you?"
The waitress came, took their order, and departed.
"I'm goin' out to Golden to-day on a queer wild-goose chase," Kirby
said. "A man gave me a hint. He didn't want to tell me the
information out an' out, whatever it is. I don't know why. What he
said was for me to go to Golden an' look over the list of marriage
licenses for the past month or two."
Her eyes flashed an eager question at him. "You don't suppose--it
couldn't be that Esther was married to your uncle secretly and that she
promised not to tell."
"I hadn't thought of that. It might be." His eyes narrowed in
concentration. "And if Jack an' Miss Harriman had just found it out,
that would explain why they called on Uncle James the night he was
killed. Do you want to go to Golden with me?"
She nodded, eagerly. "Oh, I do, Kirby! I believe we'll find out
something there. Shall we go by the interurban?"
"As soon as we're through lunch."
They walked across along Arapahoe Street to the loop and took a Golden
car. It carried them by the viaduct over the Platte River and through
the North Side into the country. They rushed past truck farms and
apple orchards into the rolling fields beyond, where the crops had been
harvested and the land lay in the mellow bath of a summer sun. They
swung round Table Mountain into the little town huddled at the foot of
Lookout.
From the terminus of the line they walked up the steep hill to the
court-house. An automobile, new and of an expensive make, was standing
by the curb. Just as Kirby and Rose reached the machine a young man
ran down the steps of the court-house and stepped into the car. The
man was Jack Cunningham. He took the driver's seat. Beside him was a
veiled young woman in a leather motoring-coat. In spite of the veil
Lane recognized her as Phyllis Harriman.
Cunningham caught sight of his cousin and anger flushed his face.
Without a word he reached for the starter, threw in the clutch, and
gave the engine gas.
The rough rider watched the car move down the hill. "I've made a
mistake," he told his companion. "I told James I was comin' here
to-day. He let Jack know, an' he's beat us to it."
"What harm will that do?" asked Rose. "The information will be there
for us, too, won't it?"
"Mebbe it will. Mebbe it won't. We'll soon find out."
Rose caught her friend's arm as they were passing through the hall.
"Kirby, do you suppose your cousins really know Esther was married to
your uncle? Do you think they can be trying to keep it quiet so she
can't claim the estate?"
He stopped in his stride. James had deprecated the idea of his coming
to Golden and had ridiculed the possibility of his unearthing any
information of value. Yet he must have called up Jack as soon as he
had left the office. And Jack had hurried to the town within the hour.
It might be that. Rose had hit on the reason for the hostility he felt
on the part of both cousins to his activities. There was something
they did not want brought to the light of day. What more potent reason
could there be for concealment than their desire to keep the fortune of
the millionaire in their own hands?
"I shouldn't wonder if you haven't rung the bull's-eye, pardner," he
told her. "We ought to know right soon now."
The clerk in the recorder's office smiled when Kirby said he wanted to
look through the license register. He swung the book round toward them.
"Help yourself. What's the big idea? Another young fellow was in
lookin' at the licenses only a minute ago."
The clerk moved over to another desk where he was typewriting. His
back was turned toward them. Kirby turned the pages of the book. He
and Rose looked them over together. They covered the record for three
months without finding anything of interest. Patiently they went over
the leaves again.
Kirby stepped over to the clerk. "Do you happen to remember whether
you made out any license application for a man named Cunningham any
time in the past two months?" he asked.
"For a marriage license?"
"Yes."
"Don't think I have. Can't remember the name. I was on my vacation
two weeks. Maybe it was then. Can't you find it in the book?"
"No."
"Know the date?"
Kirby shook his head.
The voice of Rose, high with excitement, came from across the room.
"Looky here."
Her finger ran down the book, close to the binding. A page had been
cut out with a sharp penknife, so deftly that they had passed it twice
without noticing.
"Who did that?" demanded the clerk angrily.
"Probably the young man who was just in here. His name is Jack
Cunningham," Lane answered.
"What in time did he want to do that for? If he wanted it why didn't
he take a copy? The boss'll give me Hail Columbia. That's what a
fellow gets for being accommodating."
"He did it so that we wouldn't see it. Is there any other record kept
of the marriages?"
"Sure there is. The preachers and the judges who perform marriages
have to turn back to us the certificate within thirty days and we make
a record of it."
"Can I see that book?"
"I'll do the lookin'," the clerk said shortly. "Whose marriage is it?
And what date?"
Lane gave such information as he could. The clerk mellowed when Rose
told him it was very important to her, as officials have a way of doing
when charming young women smile at them. But he found no record of any
marriage of which they knew either of the contracting parties.
"Once in a while some preacher forgets to turn in his certificate," the
clerk said as he closed the book. "Old Rankin is the worst that way.
He forgets. You might look him up."
Kirby slipped the clerk a dollar and turned away. Rankin was a forlorn
hope, but he and Rose walked out to a little house in the suburbs where
the preacher lived.
He was a friendly, white-haired old gentleman, and he made them very
much at home under the impression they had come to get married. A
slight deafness was in part responsible for this mistake.
"May I see the license?" he asked after Kirby had introduced himself
and Rose.
For a moment the cattleman was puzzled. His eye went to Rose, seeking
information. A wave of color was sweeping into her soft cheeks. Then
Lane knew why, and the hot blood mounted into his own. His gaze
hurriedly and in embarrassment fled from Miss McLean's face.
"You don't quite understand," he explained to the Reverend Nicodemus
Rankin. "We've come only to--to inquire about some one you married--or
rather to find out if you did marry him. His name is Cunningham. We
have reason to think he was married a month or two ago. But we're not
sure."
The old man stroked his silken white hair. At times his mind was a
little hazy. There were moments when a slight fog seemed to descend
upon it. His memory in recent years had been quite treacherous. Not
long since he had forgotten to attend a funeral at which he was to
conduct the services.
"I dare say I did marry your friend. A good many young people come to
me. The license clerk at the court is very kind. He sends them here."
"The man's name was Cunningham--James Cunningham," Kirby prompted.
"Cunningham--Cunningham! Seems to me I did marry a man by that name.
Come to think of it I'm sure I did. To a beautiful young woman," the
old preacher said.
"Do you recall her name? I mean her maiden name," Rose said,
excitement drumming in her veins.
"No-o. I don't seem quite to remember it. But she was a charming
young woman--very attractive, I might say. My wife and daughter
mentioned it afterward."
"May I ask if Mrs. Rankin and your daughter are at present in the
house?" asked Lane.
"Unfortunately, no. They have gone to spend a few days visiting in
Idaho Springs. If they were here they could reënforce any gaps in my
memory, which is not all it once was." The Reverend Nicodemus smiled
apologetically.
"Was her name Esther McLean?" asked Rose eagerly.
The old parson brought his mind back to the subject with a visible
effort. "Oh, yes! The young lady who was married to your friend--"
He paused, at a loss for the name.
"--Cunningham," Kirby supplied.
"Quite so--Cunningham. Well, it might have been McLeod. I--I rather
think it did sound like that."
"McLean. Miss Esther McLean," corrected the cattleman patiently.
"The fact is I'm not sure about the young lady's name. Mother and
Ellen would know. I'm sorry they're not here. They talked afterward
about how pleasant the young lady was."
"Was she fair or dark?"
The old preacher smiled at Rose benevolently. "I really don't know.
I'm afraid, my dear young woman, that I'm a very unreliable witness."
"You don't recollect any details. For instance, how did they come and
did they bring witnesses with them?"
"Yes. I was working in the garden--weeding the strawberry-patch, I
think. They came in an automobile alone. Wife and daughter were the
witnesses."
"Do you know when Mrs. Rankin and your daughter will be home?"
"By next Tuesday, at the latest. Perhaps you can call again. I trust
there was nothing irregular about the marriage."
"Not so far as we know. We were anxious about the young lady. She is
a friend of ours," Kirby said. "By the way, the certificate of the
marriage is not on record at the court-house. Are you sure you
returned it to the clerk?"
"Bless my soul, did I forget that again?" exclaimed the Reverend
Nicodemus. "I'll have my daughter look for the paper as soon as she
returns."
"You couldn't find it now, I suppose," Lane suggested.
The old gentleman searched rather helplessly among the papers
overflowing his desk. He did not succeed in finding what he looked for.
Kirby and Rose walked back to the court-house. They had omitted to
arrange with the license clerk to forward a copy of the marriage
certificate when it was filed.
The rough rider left the required fee with the clerk and a bank note to
keep his memory jogged up.
"Soon as Mrs. Rankin comes home, will you call her up and remind her
about lookin' for the certificate?" he asked.
"Sure I will. I've got to have it, anyhow, for the records. And say,
what's the name of that fresh guy who came in here and cut the page
from the register? I'm going after him right, believe you me."
Kirby gave his cousin's name and address. He had no animosity whatever
toward him, but he thought it just as well to keep Jack's mind occupied
with troubles of his own during the next few days. Very likely then he
would not get in his way so much.
They were no sooner clear of the court-house than Rose burst out with
what was in her mind.
"It's just as I thought. Your uncle married Esther and got her to keep
quiet about the marriage for some reason. Your cousins are trying to
destroy the evidence so that the estate won't all go to her. I'll bet
we get an offer of a compromise right away."
"Mebbe." Kirby's mind was not quite satisfied. Somehow, this affair
did not seem to fit in with what he knew of his uncle. Cunningham had
been always bold and audacious in his actions, a law to himself. Yet
if he were going to marry the stenographer he had wronged, he might do
it secretly to conceal the date on account of the unborn child.
The eyes of Rose gleamed with determination. Her jaw set. "I'm gonna
get the whole story out of Esther soon as I get back to town," she said
doggedly.
But she did not--nor for many days after.