AN IRRUPTION FROM THE WORLD
At all times Pen was an early riser but next morning she was up with
the sun. While she was dressing, her collie Dougall set up a great
barking in the back yard. At night he was kept fastened in his kennel
there to keep watch that no fox or 'possum came after the poultry. Pen
knew that it could not be one of those marauders now because it was
broad day and there was no alarm amongst the chickens. So she paid no
attention. Doug, like the best of dogs, sometimes raised a false alarm.
Night was too far away to wait for. Secure in the feeling of their
solitude Pen planned to carry Don Counsell what he needed and get back
to the house before anyone stirred. Her father arose like clockwork at
six and Aunt Maria turned up in the kitchen yawning about that hour, or
later. It was a queer thing to visit a man at five o'clock in the
morning--but for humanity's sake! He would be asleep in his tent and
would never know she had been there until he awoke and found what she
had left. Pen's heart gave a queer little jump at the thought of being
able to look at him sleeping without any necessity of veiling her eyes.
She billowed softly down the great stairway--it was a treat to stand at
the bottom and see Pen come down with her toes pointing--and scampered
into the pantry. From a high shelf she got down an old primus stove
which had not been used in a long time, and cleaned it and filled it
with oil. Then she made up a basket of bread, butter, cream, eggs,
strawberries, etc., and started out of the house.
Some instinct of caution impelled her to put her things down on a chest
in the hall, while she gave a preliminary peep out of doors. She was
greatly taken aback to discover another young gentleman of the world
sitting on the porch playing with one of her innumerable kittens. He
sprang up, and snatching off his cap, bade her good morning.
Pen could only stare and stammer. "Why ... who ... how." Finally she
managed to blurt out: "Where did you come from?"
His air was ingratiating--a shade too ingratiating perhaps. "Rowed
over from the Island," he explained. "I arrived there about three and
had a snooze on the seat of my car. As soon as it began to get light I
hunted about until I found a skiff with oars in it, and came on over.
I suppose there'll be a row when the owner finds it gone, but I'll
square myself with him later. I knew your house by the cupola."
Pen lacked a key to all this. She looked her further questions.
"I'm on the ---- newspaper," he went on cheerfully. "Claude Banner is
my name. Last night somebody telephoned from the Island that Don
Counsell had been here all day yesterday, so I got a car at once and
started. Lost my way a couple of times. I aimed to come here direct
by road, but the hills in the woods were washed so badly I had to turn
around and go to the Island."
"Mr. Counsell has gone," said Pen. "You have had your journey for
nothing."
"Not at all!" he said with his assured and agreeable smile. "It's your
story that I came after."
Pen looked at him with a kind of horror. This possibility had not
occurred to her. She withdrew into herself. "I have no story to
tell," she said coldly.
He was not at all abashed. "My paper was the only one got the tip last
night, and I've got to get my story over the phone in time for the
evening edition. You have a phone here I see. The wires were the
first things I looked for. It'll be a rare scoop. There'll be a mob
down later."
Pen shivered inwardly and looked down. She was much confused, things
were so different from what one imagined. Only last night she had said
to herself: "If I could get hold of the men who write for newspapers
I'd make them be fair to Don." (She already called him Don in her
thoughts.) Well, here was her chance, but the brash young Danner
antagonized her so she could scarcely be civil to him. She struggled
with her feelings.
"You'll have to excuse me. I don't consider that the public has any
interest in me ... or any right to intrude upon my privacy! I hate to
read that sort of story in the newspapers ... But of course that's not
your fault ... I'm willing to answer any proper questions, but I must
not be quoted. There must be no descriptions of me or of my home!"
The young man's face fell. "But I've got to tell my story," he
protested. "It'll be the scoop of the year. If I don't tell all about
you the others will. I can appreciate your feelings, but the others
are hard-boiled guys I assure you. But you'll like what I write about
you when you see it. Everybody does."
Pen smiled wryly. "I don't know ... You'll have breakfast with us?"
"Oh no!" he said.
"You must. There's no place else for you to go. And you've been up
all night."
He saw that she did not like him, and he appreciated her invincible
hospitality. "Say, I wish I wasn't here on a story!" he said
impulsively.
"So do I," said Pen. "I must ask you to wait here until I get things
started in the house."
"But my story?"
"I'll be back shortly."
Pen went in and put away the things in her basket with a heavy heart.
No chance now of seeing Don until night. All day he would be watching
for her. In the course of time Aunt Maria turned up and breakfast was
set in train.
The "interview" that followed was hardly a success. So few of Danner's
questions came under the head of what Pen called "proper" questions.
And the way he kept sizing her up out of the corners of his eyes made
her stiffer and stiffer. She wished not to be stiff; she wished to win
Danner to Don's side. But she soon discovered that it was hopeless;
that the young reporter's sole business was to cater to the public
taste. The sly look that appeared in Danner's eyes when she casually
expressed a doubt of Don's guilt soon put her off that line. Meanwhile
she was suffering horribly at the thought of having their poverty
exposed in the newspapers. Obviously Banner missed nothing; the
rotting porch, the patched screens, that ridiculous barricade around
her sprouting dahlias.
Pendleton Broome presently came downstairs and Danner got along much
better with him. The reporter knew just how to set up the little man
in his own esteem. Pendleton admired the newspapers and his greatest
pleasure was to see his name in print. So far he had only won to the
correspondence columns. Pendleton encouraged, adopted a throaty voice
and a magisterial air that caused poor Pen to squirm afresh, thinking
of the fun the clever young man could have with her father.
During breakfast Pen was obliged to hear the story of the previous
day's happenings told and retold with much irrelevant detail. Danner
exerted himself to please her; he was not a bad sort of fellow; but Pen
thinking of the other breakfasting on cold victuals and water, resented
every swallow of hot coffee that he took.
"When I first read the story in the paper," thus Pendleton, "the fellow
was still in the house. He was talking to my daughter in the
drawing-room--a very gentlemanly, attractive sort of fellow you
understand..."
"So I understand," said Danner, glancing sidelong at Pen.
"But there was something in his eye...!"
Pen could not stand for this. "Why, father," she protested with as
good-natured and offhand a smile as she could muster, "be fair! You
never discovered that 'something' until you read the paper."
"You are wrong, my dear. From the first I was aware of a curious
prejudice against him. But of course I could not let it show while he
was our guest."
Pen smiling at whatever cost, let it go.
"Where was I?" asked Pendleton.
Danner prompted: "He was in the drawing-room."
"Oh yes! For the moment I was at a loss. Frightfully awkward
situation. By the time I had resolved on a course of action he had
left the house _without bidding me good-night!_"
"Without bidding you good-night!" echoed Danner.
"Without bidding me good-night!"
Danner turned to Pen. "Why do you suppose he didn't say good-night to
your father?"
"I don't know," said Pen carelessly. "I suppose he forgot."
"Perhaps he had a glimpse of the newspaper?"
"He couldn't see my father from where he was."
"Did he seem agitated?"
"Not in the least."
"What did you do then?" Danner asked Pendleton.
"My first plan was to get the lighthouse keeper to help me apprehend
the fellow. But as I was setting out from the house my daughter had a
sudden attack..."
Danner had the grace not to look at Pen, but she was aware of his sharp
spring to attention.
"And as I was obliged to go to the Island for the doctor I decided to
let him help me. But when we got back the fellow had struck his tent
and pushed off."
"That taken in connection with his failure to bid you good-night..."
suggested Danner.
"Exactly!" said Pendleton.
Pen felt she would scream if she were obliged to listen to any more of
this. Making believe to discover an errand in the kitchen, she left
the room.
When she came back Danner asked with hypocritical solicitude: "Are you
quite well again this morning?"
"Perfectly," said Pen.
Useless to expect anything from Danner. Though he was clearly sensible
to Pen's charm, the story was everything to him, and his nostrils were
quivering now on the scent of a story much more dramatic than he had
expected.
Pendleton went on: "Doctor Hance is coming back in a motor-boat this
morning, and we will search the bay shore.... We have an idea of the
direction he took," he added mysteriously.
"Wish you luck," said Danner. "We had a message from New York last
night that a reward of five thousand dollars had been offered for
Counsell's capture."
He looked at Pen as he said it. She kept her eyes down, and rested her
hands on the edge of the table that they might not shake.
"What!" cried Pendleton. "Well! ... that lets me out then. No
business for a gentleman, of course."
Pen's sore heart warmed gratefully towards her father.
"Who offers the reward?" Pen asked quietly. (Poor Pen! She suspected
that her parade of indifference would never deceive the sharp-eyed
reporter. What she ought to have shown was a frank, natural interest
in the matter. But that was beyond her powers of dissimulation.)
"Ernest Riever, the well-known millionaire," said Danner. "An intimate
friend of the murdered man, I believe."
When they finished breakfast several motor-boats were seen coming
across from the Island. Danner made haste to get his story over the
phone. This was an ordeal for Pen. The connection was bad, and Danner
had to shout his "human interest" stuff at the top of his lungs. Pen
went to her room and shut the door, and buried her head in the pillows.
Still she could hear the horrible sentences that outraged every feeling
of privacy she had. After that she gave up all pretense of trying to
be agreeable to Danner.
The first comers from the Island were volunteer searchers. News of the
reward had been telephoned down from Baltimore. They came to Broome's
Point with the instinct of picking up the trail where it started,
forgetting that water holds no tracks. One spot around the shores was
as good as another to begin the search. Dr. Hance was not among them.
Possibly the reward had put him off too. Others who had not the
initiative to institute a search, merely came to hang around and stare
and ask foolish questions. A little later Captain Spinney brought over
a whole party of reporters from Washington, Baltimore and Philadelphia.
These gentlemen undertook to interview Pen in a body. She liked them
less than young Danner. She referred them to her father, and fled to
her room.
Pendleton, enthroned on the porch, the center of interest for the
crowd, was in his element. He graciously accepted the reporters'
excellent cigars, and little by little, without realizing it,
embroidered on his tale. In an expansive moment he asked them to lunch
en masse, and then in terror went to Pen to tell her what he had done.
She merely nodded. "There's enough for one meal. But we'll run short
at supper."
She gave the necessary orders for the meal, but declined to appear
herself. Not until she knew the men were all gathered around the table
did she venture to come down the back stairs and see to some of the
things that had been left undone that distracted morning. Then she
shut herself up again.
During the afternoon an automobile with a broken spring managed to win
through by the road. It brought a load of New York reporters. These
in asking their way had spread the news along the Neck, and the poor
whites who lived there hidden in the woods began to straggle in in
ox-carts, to share in the excitement.
Reporters made themselves at home all over the lower floor of the big
house, even in the kitchen where they chaffed Aunt Maria and questioned
her adroitly. This was a source of great uneasiness to Pen. She was
divided between anxiety and indignation. There was something old
English in Pen. Thus to have her castle invaded was the greatest
outrage she could conceive of. But what could she do? She experienced
a sickening loss of identity.
She could not stay in her room all the time. Whenever she went
downstairs it was to be waylaid by one or half a dozen inquisitors who
according to their natures tried to cajole her or to entrap her into
answering their questions. Meanwhile the natives pressed their faces
against the windows and stared in. Finally Pen sought her father.
"How long have I got to submit to this?" she demanded.
"To what, my dear?" he asked, sparring for time.
"To having my house overrun by strangers!"
"Patience, my child. They're not doing any real harm."
"But our house, _our_ house? Have we no rights in it?"
"I know, I know. But what can I do?"
"Request them to leave. They can at least wait outside the fence."
"But my dear!" said Pendleton aghast. "We've got to stand in well with
the Press. Suppose they were to give the impression in their stories
that we were concealing this fellow!" This was accompanied by his
furtive glance of suspicion.
Pen thought in dismay: "One of them has put that idea into his head!"
She said no more, but marched indignantly back to her room.
Worse trials were in store for her. About five, from her window she
saw a new party of men come in by the drive. Even at the distance she
could see that they differed subtly from the reporters, stupider
looking men who carried themselves with the arrogance of conscious
rectitude. After awhile Aunt Maria came to the door of her room, the
whites of her eyes showing.
"Miss Penny, honey," she gasped. "Yo' Paw say, please to come
downstairs."
"What's the matter, Aunt Maria?"
"Detecatifs, honey!" said Aunt Maria in an awe-struck whisper.
"Detecatifs fum Noo Yawk!"
Without bestirring herself at all, Pen changed her dress and went
slowly downstairs. As soon as she entered the drawing-room she
regretted her dilatoriness, for they already had Aunt Maria on the
carpet, and the old negress was sweating in agitation. Pen instantly
conceived a violent dislike of her inquisitor. He was a bull-necked,
ageing man with pendulous cheeks and dull, irascible blue eyes. He
lolled in a chair by the window, with an arm over the back, and his
fingers interlaced. He nodded to Pen and curtly requested her to be
seated.
Pen flared up inwardly. ("Asking me to sit down in my own house!") In
order to show that she was still mistress there, she moved calmly about
the room, setting things in order. They had presumed to shove her
center table over to the fireplace to give themselves room. She shoved
it back. The chief with an annoyed glance resumed his questioning of
the scared negress.
The room was full of people. There were four lesser officers grouped
around the chief's chair. The reporters were gathered in a group under
the arch that led to the back drawing-room. Pen soon learned that
there was an excellent working agreement between these two parties, the
reporters dependent on the detectives for news, and the detectives
dependent on the reporters for public recognition of their efforts.
Over by the other front window sat Pendleton, leaning back in an old
swivel chair, trying to appear at his ease.
Aunt Maria was saying: "Soon as Mist' Pendleton go out Ah undress Miss
Penny and put her in baid. She done drap right off lak a kitten."
"Then what did you do?" the man asked in the rasping voice inquisitors
affect.
"Me? Ah didn't do nuffin, suh. Ah jes sot."
"Did you go to sleep too?"
"Ah reckon Ah did."
"How long did you sleep?"
"'Deed I caint tell. I aint know nuffin else till Miss Penny wake me
up again."
"So she woke you up?"
Aunt Maria perceived that she had made a slip. "Yessuh! Yessuh!" she
stammered. "Miss Penny done want a drink of watah."
"How did she wake you?"
Again Aunt Maria's tongue slipped. "She done shook mah ahm."
"So she was out of bed?"
"No suh! No suh!" cried Aunt Maria in a panic. "I misrecollect that.
She jes hollered at me."
It would have been patent to a child that Aunt Maria was lying. The
scene was intolerable to Pen's pride.
"Aunt Maria, tell the truth," she said sharply.
The poor old negress turned a face of complete dismay to her mistress.
What was she to make of this? In her confusion she was unable to get
anything else out.
To Pen the chief detective said harshly: "Please be silent, Miss. You
will have a chance to tell your story in a minute."
Pen's eyes blazed. "You are not to suppose that you are entrapping me
or my servant!" she said hotly. "I have no objection to your knowing
that I went down to the beach last night and warned Mr. Counsell that
he was liable to arrest!"
It had the effect of a bombshell there in the room. For a second all
the men stared at Pen open-mouthed. Then of one accord the reporters
made a rush out into the hall where the telephone was. He who first
laid hand on it was allowed to get his call in first. Pen was too
angry now to be terrified by further publicity. Their precipitancy
merely disgusted her. Was there no such thing as human dignity?
Pendleton Broome's swivel chair had come forward with a snap. He
looked clownish. He was the only one really surprised by Pen's
disclosure. What astonished the others was that she should have
admitted it. For a fleeting instant Pen felt sorry for the little man,
but she had too much on her mind for the feeling to linger. The
detective was not surprised, but he had counted on dragging out the
admission, and it annoyed him excessively to have it flung in his face.
He affected to be consulting with his subordinates while he recovered
himself.
"You had better question me," Pen said. "Aunt Maria knows nothing
more."
"Allow me to be the judge of that," he said sarcastically.
Pen shrugged. He went on questioning the negress, but she was reduced
to a gibbering state. In the end he had to let her go. Aunt Maria
hung in the hall, just around the corner of the door, listening with
stretched ears. The reporters straggled back into the room.
Pen and the detective faced each other. The man cleared his throat and
settled his collar, gave attention to his finger nails, and glanced
carelessly out of the window--all time-honored devices to break up the
composure of one's opponent. Pen merely looked at him. Suddenly he
rasped at her:
"So you assisted this murderer to escape?"
"Don't speak to me like that," said Pen quietly, with heightened color.
"He is not yet proved a murderer." Meanwhile her inner voice was
saying despairingly: "You should not antagonize him! You should not
antagonize him!" But it was impossible for her to act otherwise
towards this great, stupid bully.
He smiled disagreeably; nevertheless he modified his tone. "What did
you do it for?" he asked.
"He had had dinner and supper with us," said Pen. "I differed with my
father as to its being our duty to inform against him."
"Where did he go from here?"
"I don't know."
"What! It was a bright moonlight night. Didn't you have interest
enough to watch which way he went after having warned him?"
"He paddled straight out from the shore. I didn't wait. The
motor-boat was coming back."
"Why didn't they see your tracks in the sand?"
"I walked at the edge of the water."
"What did you want to deceive your father for?"
"I beg your pardon," said Pen with her chin up. "That is between my
father and me."
The detective abandoned this line of questioning. "Didn't Counsell
tell you where he was going?" he demanded.
"No."
"Didn't you talk down on the beach?"
"Certainly."
"What about?"
"I had to tell him what was in the newspaper."
"Didn't he know already?"
"He did not."
The detective looked around at his subordinates with a leer, and they
all laughed. Instead of disconcerting Pen it had the effect of
stiffening her. She looked at one after another so steadily that their
eyes suddenly found business elsewhere.
The chief said suddenly with the air of one springing a disagreeable
surprise: "Had you ever seen Counsell before yesterday?"
"Never," said Pen.
"Are you sure of that?"
Pen merely looked at him.
"Answer my question, please!"
"I have already answered it."
"Do you expect me to believe that you undertook to save a total
stranger from the law?"
"I have stated the facts."
The detective sprang to his feet and shook a violent forefinger at
Pen--the old trick of the inquisitor. "You have seen this man before!"
"Don't shout at me," said Pen coolly. "I am not a criminal."
"As to that we'll see," he said ominously. "Did you ever hear of
accessory after the fact."
"Well, if I am a criminal," said Pen, "I don't have to testify against
myself."
"Don't argue with me if you please," he said. "Just answer my
questions."
"Answer me a question if you please," said Pen clearly.
He stared. He was not accustomed to having the tables turned like this.
Before he could explode Pen asked her question: "You are from New York,
aren't you?"
"What of it?"
"What are your rights in Maryland?"
His face turned ugly. "You'll see!" He addressed one of his men.
"Keesing, you have heard this young woman's admissions. There's a
justice of the peace over on the Island. Go to him and make the
necessary affidavit to secure a warrant for her arrest."
The man left the room. Pen believed this to be a bluff, and scornfully
smiled. Her father was impressed though. He wilted down in his chair,
and put out an imploring hand towards his daughter. He was incapable
of speaking.
"Do you want anything else of me?" Pen coolly asked her questioner.
Seeing that his threat had failed of effect, the detective judged it
prudent not to prolong this scene. "That is all for the present," he
said loftily. "You will please not leave the house."
"Thank you," said Pen, "but until I am arrested I shall do just what I
am accustomed to do."
She left the room with her head up and went on up the stairs. She was
not at all pleased with herself though. That inner voice said
remorselessly: "You have only angered him without doing Don any good."
To be sure, she had seen sympathy in the eyes of some of the reporters,
but they could not say anything of course that might endanger their
working agreement with the detectives. At the thought of danger to
herself Pen smiled. She was in the frame of mind that welcomes
persecution. But her heart was full of terror for Don. She had not
foreseen that the place would be overrun like this. He was so near!
And the detective's order to remain in the house suggested that they
suspected he might still be on the place.
On her knees at her front window she watched the men leave the house in
a body. Some shrubbery cut off her view of the gate, and she could not
tell which way they turned after passing through it. Fortunately but
an hour or two of daylight remained.