THE DEATH CLUTCH
MIRIAM did not stay long in her bedroom after leaving Guy Trenholm
in the hall of Abbott's Lodge talking to Corbin. She had thought at
first of lying down for a little while, but she was too restless. A
walk would quiet her nerves, and, if Mrs. Nash had a good night, she
might have an opportunity of relaxing and thereby gain some rest before
morning.
It took Miriam only a few minutes to put on her coat and hat again and,
not bothering to take gloves, she went down the staircase. Mrs. Nash's
door was closed as she passed it and she wondered if Guy Trenholm was
still with her patient. She would have given much to have been present
at the interview. Her thoughts veered back to Trenholm. She must see
him before he left. There was something she must tell him, an idea
which had come to her. Should she stay in? Miriam wavered. If she
waited it would be too late to go out. Ah, she had it! Martha would
give Trenholm a message for her.
Knowing that Martha usually sat in a window nook just between the
pantry and the dining room, Miriam went in that direction but paused
near the dining room table at sight of Betty Carter standing in the
doorway leading to the sunparlor. She doubted if Betty had heard her
approach, for the young girl's attention was riveted on Alan Mason, who
lay asleep in one of the long wicker lounging chairs standing directly
at the entrance to the dining room.
Alan's comely features were free of the haggard lines which had aged
him in the past few days, and his graceful pose in the abandon of sleep
resembled that of a tired boy after a day of play. Evidently his dreams
were happy, for a smile trembled on his lips and he murmured softly,
"Betty!"
Betty Carter's eyes were dimmed with tears and Miriam, glancing at her,
read the carefully guarded secret of her heart. Alan Mason, and not his
dead cousin, was the man she loved. With a swift, graceful movement
Betty stooped down and kissed him on the forehead with a touch so
delicate that it did not awaken the sleeping man. Then, with a gesture
of utter despair, she dropped on her knees in front of a chair and
buried her face in her arms.
Miriam stole softly away, her desire to see Martha forgotten in the
scene she had inadvertently witnessed. It had all happened in a second
of time. There had been no opportunity for her to withdraw, but Miriam
felt self-reproached. Walking rapidly, head down, hands in pockets, she
took no note of her direction, save that she was on a footpath leading
away from Abbott's Lodge, and she honestly tried to banish Betty and
Alan from her thoughts. But one idea persisted and would not down. If
Betty loved Alan, why had she married Paul on Monday night?
A high wind had sprung up and Miriam had forgotten to use hatpins. The
next second she was bareheaded. Her hat, a chic affair of the mushroom
variety, sailed gracefully ahead of her around a curve and then another
and stronger gust of wind carried it into a field on her left. With a
disgusted ejaculation over her stupidity in omitting the pins, Miriam
followed her hat as best she could. She had just retrieved it and
slapped it vigorously on her head, regardless of the angle, when she
espied a couple of cows in the corner of the field. Miriam stopped not
on the order of her going and when she halted she had reached the edge
of a wood. Having a good bump of locality, she recognized, after a
careful glance around, the wood as the one she and Trenholm had walked
through when returning from Hills Bridge.
It was growing dark and Miriam faced in the direction she judged
Abbott's Lodge to be and hurried along the path. In making the next
turn she paused abruptly. To her left lay the graveyard which she had
remarked upon to Trenholm. Its air of desolation was emphasized by the
fading light, and Miriam did not plan to linger as she had done when
Trenholm was with her. But her intention to hurry past the old Mason
burying plot was checked at sight of a man kneeling by a grave and
digging in it with a trowel. Miriam stopped short as the man looked up.
The recognition was mutual.
Corbin rose stiffly to his knees and, bending over, brushed off some
dirt and dry leaves which clung to his trousers.
"How come ye here, Miss?" he demanded suspiciously.
Miriam's first impulse was to decline to answer, but Corbin had stepped
back from the grave and stood almost directly in front of her, blocking
the footpath.
"I am out for a walk," she replied, "and by chance came this way."
"It's lonesome like, for a lady." Corbin hitched himself a trifle
closer, a beam of admiration in his watery eyes, which Miriam found
more objectionable than a glare of rage.
"What are _you_ doing here, Corbin?" she asked, coolly taking the
situation into her hands. "What interests you in these old graves?"
Corbin shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "Getting some ivy,"
he explained. "I wanted to plant some around the garage."
"So you rob a grave--"
Corbin's complexion turned an even more unhealthy color.
"Oh, the old suicide won't miss it," he said coarsely, and hastily
changed the subject. "Funny, weren't it, that Mr. Paul should ha' left
in his will this here graveyard to Mr. Alan, 'cause it belonged to
his ancestors, and never given him nothin' else, 'cept five hundred
dollars."
Miriam was not following closely Corbin's jumbled accounts of the
provisions of Paul's will, which Mr. Corcoran had explained to Martha
and to him at the close of the reading of the will.
"Who lies in this suicide's grave?" she asked suddenly, and the
question took Corbin by surprise.
"Mr. Alan's grandfather."
"And his name?" with a persistence which surprised herself as well as
Corbin.
"'Cordin' to the headstone his name was Mason, too." Talking to an
extremely pretty woman was a novel sensation and Corbin was commencing
to enjoy himself. "There's a saying in these parts that he stole some
money when he was 'zecutor to a friend's will and killed heself when
found out. The niggers buried him, as you see. Mr. Alan ain't got much
call to be proud of his gran'-dad."
"But I don't think he will approve of your digging into his grave,"
Miriam stated quietly, "for ivy."
Corbin's lips curled back viciously over his yellow teeth. "He ain't
goin' to hear of it," his voice grew low and menacing. "Not from you,
anyway."
"Why not?"
He came a step nearer and his breath was unpleasantly close. "I gave
the bloodstained sheet to Sheriff Trenholm," he whispered.
Miriam stared at him, open-eyed. "The bloodstained sheet!" she echoed.
"What are you talking about?"
"The sheet off Mr. Paul's bed after he was murdered," with a slow,
knowing wink, which sent the hot blood to her cheeks. Her color ebbed
as quickly as it had come, leaving her deadly pale. "The sheriff was
mighty curious to know if I had shown you where to get clean linen for
the bed when you fust come. Don't worry," observing her expression and
misinterpreting it. "I didn't give him no direct answer."
"What!" Corbin drew back at the force of her exclamation. "Why didn't
you tell him _at once_ that you showed me the linen closet?"
He leered at her. "There wasn't any call for me to give you
away--then"--he supplemented.
Miriam missed the last word. Her eyes were blazing with indignation.
"And so you let Mr. Trenholm infer--"
"What he pleased--yes, Miss!"
Miriam's small hands were clenched. "You contemptible cur!" she cried,
and would have added more but wrath choked her utterance.
"Here, Miss, don't you be so handy with misnamin' me," protested
Corbin. "I've got feelin's like other fellows and I done ye a good
turn."
"By concealing the truth!" scornfully. "You are not only a knave,
Corbin, but a fool!"
"Am I?" Corbin's slow smile sent a shiver down her back in spite of her
hot anger. "Come, Miss, there ain't no use o' you an' me fussin'. I'll
stand yer friend, if ye'll just give me a little snow"--he came nearer
and brushed her shoulder with his hand--"just a little snow."
Miriam stared at Corbin. Was the man demented? Her eyes left his face
and fell on his hand as he stood stroking her coat. It was a remarkably
small hand for a man, well-shaped, the long, creeping fingers stained
with soil from the grave. The seal ring on his third finger caught on a
button as she sprang back.
"Don't touch me!"
Corbin paid not the slightest attention to her command. His eyes aflame
with desire, he stepped after Miriam and caught her hand, fawning upon
her--
"You're a nurse, Miss," he whined. "Gimme a deck to-night." He saw her
expression of dawning comprehension and clung to her hand more tightly
than before.
Miriam wrenched her hand free. At last she understood--Corbin was a
cocaine addict. For the first time she felt a twinge of fear as her
glance swept the lonely countryside. Of all the demoralizing drugs,
cocaine was the worst--whisky raised to its nth power was pap compared
to it.
"I have none, Corbin," she said, hiding her abhorrence of the man under
a brusque manner. "We nurses are no longer permitted to keep a supply
of narcotics on hand."
"Doctor Roberts will let ye have a shot," eagerly. "Ye need never tell
him it's for me."
"Go to him yourself."
Corbin stared at her for a long moment, his bloodshot eyes taking in
her beauty appraisingly. The collar of her coat had turned back and he
caught a glimpse of a gold chain. Martha had told him of rubies which
she had seen around the nurse's neck.
"I'll take care o' Roberts," he said thickly. "But me an' you are goin'
to come to an understandin' right now. Hand over that gold chain. Ye
won't!--then, by God--"
Miriam had read the look in his eyes in time to spring aside and avoid
his clutching fingers. Far more agile than her adversary, she eluded
his attempt to trip her and, fear lending wings to her feet, she raced
madly toward Abbott's Lodge.
Corbin's heart hammered and thumped as he strove to overtake her. He
was in no physical trim and, as Miriam left the footpath and took to
the fields, he sank down by the roadside, panting from his exertions.
As he rested his brain cleared and he cursed aloud as he realized the
folly of his act. In his mad craving for cocaine he had betrayed his
precious secret to Miriam. And she would tell. Corbin ground his teeth
in rage, then his face cleared. Only Miriam knew--so far. When he got
up and limped toward Abbott's Lodge, his lips wrinkled in a low and
vicious smile.
Finally convinced that she had outdistanced Corbin, Miriam dropped back
to a walk. Considerably shaken by the fright he had given her, it took
her some little time to stop looking over her shoulder to see if the
caretaker was still following her. Then her thoughts switched around
to Guy Trenholm and the bloodstained sheet, and her recent terror was
forgotten. Had Corbin, by his evasive answers to the sheriff's question
about the sheet, made Trenholm believe that she was implicated in Paul
Abbott's murder? She recalled vividly his persistent questions at his
bungalow that afternoon as to whether or not she had recognized Paul
as the American soldier to whom her uncle had intrusted the Paltoff
diamond.
Could it be that Trenholm suspected her of having recognized Paul and
seized the opportunity of being alone with her patient to kill him and
recover the Paltoff diamond?
The thought was torment! Miriam brushed her hair back from her
forehead. She was suddenly blinded by tears, and paused in uncertainty,
unable to go on. In that moment she realized what Guy Trenholm
had grown to be to her. Love--had she given her love to a man
unasked--unsought? Her face flamed scarlet. Had romance come into her
life only to be bitter-sweet? She bowed her head in her hands and the
old, familiar prayer, which had sustained her through the horrors
of war and Russian revolution, again passed her lips: "God, give me
strength!"
When Miriam approached the entrance of Abbott's Lodge she was once more
calm and collected. As she stepped inside the house she was met by
Martha.
"You are wanted upstairs in Mr. Paul's old bedroom," the housekeeper
stated. "They are waitin' for ye," and giving Miriam no chance to find
out who "they" were, she retreated to her kitchen, in time to meet her
husband slinking in the back door.
Considerably mystified by the message, Miriam went first to her
bedroom, tossed off her hat and coat, and then paused long enough to
arrange her hair deftly, which had escaped from her hair net when her
hat blew off. Miriam had not been in Paul's old bedroom since her
interview with Trenholm the night after the murder. The door had always
been closed and, never having tried to enter it, she was not aware
that, by the sheriff's orders, it had been kept locked. However, she
found it not only unlocked, but wide open when she reached there, and,
without knocking, she stepped inside the room.
Seated near the table were Betty Carter and Guy Trenholm, and, by their
attitude, she judged that they were awaiting her in growing impatience.
Miriam's heart beat a trifle faster as she met Trenholm's straight
gaze, but her manner was entirely natural and composed.
"You sent for me?" she asked, addressing him rather than Betty.
It was Betty who answered as Trenholm rose and placed a chair for
Miriam and, from a motive which Miriam failed to guess and Trenholm
himself to analyze, stood by her side, his eyes watching every play of
emotion in Betty's beautiful face.
"I sent for you, Miss Ward," Betty stated, "and for Sheriff Trenholm,
because I wished to see him in your presence," she faltered and grew
paler. "It was before him that I flatly contradicted your statement
that I was here in this room with Paul on Monday night. I wish to
withdraw that denial."
The room swam around Miriam. It was the last sentence she expected from
Betty. She had exonerated her and before Guy Trenholm. He would know
that she had not lied. She stole a look at him. Trenholm's attention
was entirely centered on Betty and his expression was difficult to
decipher.
"Your motive for denying your presence here, Miss Carter?" he asked,
and she winced at his tone and the formality of his address. Her
woman's intuition told her that she could not sway him by feminine
wiles as in the old days in Paris. He had developed from a shy country
boy into a man, stern perhaps, but just, resourceful and strong. "What
was your motive?" he asked again, with more emphasis, as she kept
silent.
"The danger of being arrested for Paul's murder," she said, and this
time it was Trenholm's turn to feel astonishment, mingled with a
reluctant admiration. Betty, with characteristic courage, was taking
the ground from under his feet.
"And your reason for such a fear?" he questioned swiftly.
"My marriage to Paul under such peculiar circumstances and my immediate
departure, which occurred," she added, addressing Miriam, whom surprise
had kept silent, "judging from your testimony, just before Paul was
killed."
"Your departure just _before_ he was killed is the very point which
clears you of all suspicion," declared Trenholm dryly, and Betty
changed color. "Come, Miss Carter, what has Paul's will to do with your
sudden admission of your marriage to him?"
"Mr. Trenholm!"
"Please--no heroics!" holding up an authoritative hand. "Let us have
the truth at last, Miss Carter."
Betty's eyes blazed at him wrathfully. "It is your privilege to insult
a woman, I presume--one of your prequisites as sheriff of the County."
Trenholm smiled. "Put it that way, if you wish," he said, in entire
good nature. "By the terms of Paul's will you inherit nothing if you
marry after his death; but, as his widow, the law allows you one third
of his estate, irrespective of any will," he paused--"or any marriage
thereafter."
Betty rose and dropped him a curtsy, and Miriam, watching her with a
critic's eye, saw no tremor in hands or lips and no evasive glance.
"You make me out a very clever woman," Betty said. "I thank you."
Trenholm bowed. "There is only one flaw in your reasoning," he said.
"You did not marry Paul Abbott."
Betty stared at him, astounded. "Are you mad!" she gasped. "Why, Miss
Ward witnessed the marriage!"
"I beg pardon, but I was not in the room," interrupted Miriam. "Doctor
Nash sent me to get a lamp and I returned just as he completed the
marriage ceremony."
Betty surveyed them both scornfully. "What is this--collusion?" she
demanded.
"No, just statements of facts," retorted Trenholm. "When Miss Ward
returned to this room after seeing you depart, she went over to the bed
and found, not Paul, but a stranger lying there."
Betty sank back in her chair. Her face was ghastly. There was no
make-believe in her emotion and her half-fainting condition was
genuine. With a word of explanation, Miriam bolted out of the room, to
return a second later with smelling salts. Betty accepted them with a
broken word of thanks.
"I don't understand," she began, glancing piteously from one to the
other. "You found a strange man in Paul's bed just after I left?"
"Yes," replied Miriam, quietly. "It was a great shock and I fainted,
and in that condition was chloroformed. When I revived I found Mr.
Abbott lying dead in that bed."
As in a daze, Betty raised her hands and pressed them to her throbbing
temples.
"You mean that some man got in this room while Miss Ward was in the
hall with the lighted lamp, showing Uncle Alexander and me the way
downstairs, threw Paul out of bed, and took his place?" she asked. "And
being detected by Miss Ward, chloroformed her, and then murdered Paul?"
"You have described the scene very admirably," stated Trenholm, slowly,
"except in one particular. The man assumed Paul's place in the bed when
Miss Ward went downstairs to the door to admit you and Doctor Nash."
"Impossible!" Betty's eyes were half starting from her head. "Why, I
stood near the bed--"
"Exactly where?" broke in Trenholm. "Show me."
Betty rose and walked over to the bed and paused by it. "When I came,
I stopped here," she explained. "I did not move, did I, Miss Ward?"
glancing appealingly at Miriam.
"No," quickly.
"And how were the curtains of the four-poster draped?" asked Trenholm.
Miriam quickly arranged them to the best of her recollection.
"Then, Miss Carter, you did not have a good view of the man in the bed?"
"But it _was_ Paul," she protested. "I knew his voice."
"Voices can be imitated," Trenholm spoke slowly. "And a poor imitation
would have passed muster in your state of excitement. You were
expecting to find Paul there--and you were not critical."
"But I tell you I saw his face."
"How much of it?"
"His dark hair, his general contour--oh, pshaw, his beard--"
"Did you see his eyes?" asked Trenholm. "Did you lean over and kiss
him?"
Betty flushed crimson, from throat to brow. "He kept his eyes
closed--sick men do that"--with a defiant glance at Miriam as if
challenging her to contradict her statement. "I, eh, I didn't kiss Paul
because--because--" her voice died away and rose again. "He was ill
and--eh--"
"And you loved another man!" Trenholm's tone cut like a whiplash, and
she swayed upon her feet. "Come, confess that you consented to marry
Paul because he promised you the Paltoff diamond."
Three times Betty strove to speak. "You are the devil incarnate!" she
gasped. "I tell you I married Paul!" Her clenched fist struck the
bedstead a sharp blow. "See, look here," and from around her neck she
dragged off a gold chain which she had worn concealed underneath her
gown. From it was suspended a heavy gold ring.
"You knew Paul intimately, Guy Trenholm. Do you recognize this ring?"
He took it from her hand and Miriam moved closer to his side and
examined it intently. It bore only a large and beautifully carved "M"
upon it. Trenholm dropped it in Miriam's hand and she was astonished at
the ring's weight and its massive size.
"You know the ring's history, but Miss Ward does not," went on Betty,
as Trenholm kept silent. "This ring was Paul's fetish--he was intensely
superstitious. He declared that it would never leave his possession
until he placed it on my finger." She drew in her breath. "Paul made
that statement in your presence, Guy Trenholm, and in mine, and he
placed that ring on my finger during the marriage service on Monday
night."
From his leather wallet Trenholm drew a number of photographs and
selected one.
"This photograph," he said, holding it so that both girls could see
it, "was taken of Paul as he lay on the undertaker's couch in the room
down the hall, and just before he was placed in the casket. You will
see that he is still wearing his seal ring--in fact, his finger was so
firmly bent to hold it upon his hand that we would have had to break
the bone to take it off. His ring, Miss Carter, is buried with him."
Betty stared dumbly at him. Suddenly her strength deserted her, and
before Miriam could catch her she fell in a crumpled heap at their feet.