_When the Dead Awake_
Donaldson, without removing his clothes, tumbled across his bunk and
fell into a merciful stupor which lasted until morning. He was aroused
by a rough shaking and staggered to his feet to find Saul again
confronting him. The latter had evidently been some time at his task,
for he exclaimed,
"I thought you were dead! You certainly sleep like an honest man."
"Sleep? Where am I?"
"You are at present enjoying a cell in the Tombs. You seem to like it."
Donaldson pressed his hand to his aching eyes. Then slowly the truth
dawned upon him.
"What day is this?" he asked.
"Thursday."
"Yes. Yes. That's so. And to-morrow is Friday."
"That's a good guess. Do you remember what happened last night?"
"Yes, I remember. I 'm under arrest. I remember the terror in the
face of that woman!"
Saul laughed inhumanly.
"Of all the bogie men I ever saw you were the worst."
"I suppose I 'll be arraigned this morning."
"I doubt it, old man. In some ways you deserve it, but I'm afraid the
Chief won't satisfy your morbid cravings. Remember the story you told
him?"
"Yes."
"And you 're wide enough awake to understand what I 'm saying to you
now?"
"Perfectly," answered Donaldson, growing suspicious.
"Then," exploded Saul, "I want to ask you what the devil your blessed
game is?"
"I could n't sacrifice an honest man, could I?"
"Then," went on Saul with increasing vehemence, "I want to tell you
plainly that you 're a chump, because you sacrificed an honest man
after all."
"You have n't arrested Arsdale? Lord, Saul, you haven't done that,
have you?"
"No," answered Saul, "I was ass enough to arrest you."
"It would be wrong, dead wrong, to touch the boy. He didn't have
anything to do with this. There was no one with me."
Saul took a long breath.
"I 'm hanged if I ever saw a man _hanker_ after jail the way you do.
And you 've got the papers full of it. And pretty soon I 'll be
getting frantic messages from the girl. And you 've made all sorts of
an ass of yourself. Do you hear--you chump of a hero, you?"
"What do you mean?" demanded Donaldson.
"I mean just this; that we 've nailed the right man at last! Got him
with the goods on, so that we won't need the identification of a bunch
of hysterical idiots to prove it. We won't even need a loose-jointed
confession, because we caught him black-handed. But my guess wasn't
such a bad one--it was n't Arsdale, but it was Jacques Moisson, his
father's valet."
"Jacques Moisson?"
"The son of that old crone Marie there. He caught the dope habit
evidently from his master and has been to the bad ever since Arsdale
senior died. The old lady has been hiding him part of the time in the
garret of the house."
Donaldson's thoughts flew back to the bungalow; it was this fellow then
and not Arsdale who had attacked him,--if Saul's story was true.
Saul approached him with outstretched hand.
"You played a heavy game, Don."
Donaldson grew suspicious.
"I don't know what you 're talking about," he said, his lips coming
tightly together again.
"No. Of course not! That's right. Keep it up! But I 'll have my
revenge. I 'll give the newspaper boys every detail of it. I 'll see
your name in letters six inches higher than they were even this
morning. I will; I swear it!"
"Saul," said Donaldson quietly, "you 're doing your best to make me go
back upon my story. You can't do it."
Saul folded his arms.
"Of all the heroic liars," he gasped, his face beaming, "you 're the
prince. And," he continued in an undertone, "it 's all for the sake of
a girl."
Donaldson sprang to his feet.
"Don't bring in _her_ name, Saul," he commanded.
"All for the sake of a girl," continued Saul undisturbed. "It took me
some time to work it out, but now I see. Take my hand, won't you,
Donaldson? I want to say God bless you for it."
Donaldson hesitated. But Saul's eyes were honest.
"This is the truth you're telling me?" he trembled.
"The truth," answered the other solemnly.
"Then you won't touch the boy? There is no further suspicion resting
upon him?"
"To hell with the boy!" exploded Saul. "You 're free yourself! Don't
you get that?"
"Yes," answered Donaldson.
He passed his hand thoughtfully over his face. Then he glanced up with
a smile.
"I need a shave, don't I?" he asked.
"You sure do. Let's get out of here. And if I were you I 'd get back
to her about as soon as I could. It's early yet, so maybe she has n't
seen the papers. I gave the boys the real arrest, so that they could
get out an extra on it and take the curse off the first editions. And
now," he added, "and now I 'm going to give them the story of their
lives--the inside story of all this."
"Don't be a chump, Beefy!"
"I'll do it," answered Saul firmly. "I'll leave out the girl but I 'll
give them the rest. I 've got some rights in this matter after the way
you 've used me."
"I know," he apologized, "but there didn't seem any road out of it. If
you 'll just keep quiet about--"
"Not a word. You 'll take your medicine. Besides, the dear public
will think you were crazy if they don't learn the truth."
"I don't care about that, if--"
"Bah! Come on. I 'll get you past the bunch now, but you 'll have to
run for your life after this."
Saul put him with all possible despatch through the red tape necessary
to secure his acquittal, and then led him out by a side door. He
summoned a cab.
"They 're waiting," he chuckled. "Twenty of 'em with sharpened pencils
and,--Holy Smoke,--the story! The story!"
"Forget it, Saul. Forget it--"
But Saul only pushed him into the cab and hurried back to his joyous
mission.
Donaldson ordered the driver to the Waldorf. He must get a clean
shave, change his clothes and get back to the Arsdale house before the
first editions were out heralding his arrest. If Jacques had been
arrested at the house it was possible that the excitement might have
prevented them from learning anything at all of his part in the mess.
He found a letter from Mrs. Wentworth waiting for him. He tore it
open. She wrote:
"Oh, Peter Donaldson, I wish I had the gift to make you understand how
grateful I am for all you 've done. But I can't until you come up and
visit us. We reached here safely and found everything all right. The
deed was given to me and the money you put in the bank for me. The
house now is all clean and the children are playing out doors. My
heart is overflowing, Peter Donaldson. It is better than anything I
ever dreamed of here. My prayers are with you all the time and I know
they will be heard."
So she ran on and told him all about the place and what she had already
accomplished. Happiness breathed like a flower's fragrance from every
line of it, until it left him with a lump in his throat.
"That is something," he said to himself as he finished it. "It has n't
been all waste."
He went to the barber in better spirits and came back to his room to
read the letter again. It was like a tonic to him. He looked from his
window a moment, to breathe the fresh morning air.
The street below him was alive once more with its eager life. Men and
women passed to the right and left, the blind beggar still waited at
the corner, the world, expressed now through this one human being, had
abated not one tittle of its activity. The Others were still about
him. The pigeons still cut gray circles through the sunshine and the
girl still waited. As he stood there he heard the raucous cries of the
newsboys shouting "Extra," and knew that he must go on and face this
final crisis. He could not delay another minute.
When he reached the house he found his worst fears realized. She was
in the library with a crumpled paper in her hand and Arsdale was
bending over her. As he greeted them they both pushed back from him as
though one of the dead had entered. The boy was the first to recover
himself. He sprang to Donaldson's side with his hand out.
"I told her it was n't true," he exclaimed. "I told her it was all a
beastly lie!"
He grasped Donaldson's hand and dragged him towards his sister.
"See," he cried, "see, here he is! The papers lied about him!"
The girl tottered forward. Donaldson put out his arm and supported her.
"I 'm sorry you saw the papers," he said quietly. "I was in hopes I
should reach here before that."
"But what is the meaning of it?"
"The police made a mistake, that 's all," he explained.
Arsdale broke in,
"We 'll sue them for it, Donaldson! I 'll get the best legal talent in
the country and make them sweat for this! It's an outrage!"
"I 'm sorry you saw the paper," he repeated to the girl.
Her pale face and startled eyes frightened him. She had withdrawn from
his arm after a minute and now fell into a chair.
"The blasted idiots," raged the boy.
The telephone rang imperiously and Arsdale went to answer it, chewing
invectives.
Donaldson crossed to the side of the girl.
"Where is Marie?" he asked.
"She is in bed again. Her poor knees are troubling her."
"I have both good news and bad news for you," he said after a moment's
hesitation, "the real assailant has been found and it is Jacques
Moisson."
The girl recoiled.
"Jacques!"
"So the police feel sure. They say they caught him this morning in the
attempt to commit another robbery. The Arsdale curse is upon him."
"Oh," she cried, "that is terrible."
But as he had guessed, it was good news also. There was no longer any
doubt of who brought that wallet to the bungalow. There was no longer
the grim suspicion of who might have rifled her rooms. The spectres
which had seemed to be moving nearer and nearer her brother vanished
instantly. That burden at least was lifted from her shoulders, even
though it was replaced by another.
"Poor Marie! Poor Marie!" she moaned.
"I think she may suspect this," he said. "But it will be better for
you to tell her than the police."
"Yes, I must go to her at once."
Arsdale came to the door, his face strangely agitated. He paused there
a moment clinging to the curtains. Then, almost in awe, he came
unsteadily towards Donaldson. The latter straightened to meet him.
The boy started to speak, choked, and, finding Donaldson's hand, seized
it in both his own. Then with his eyes overflowing he found his voice.
"How am I ever going to repay you for this?" he exclaimed in a daze.
Elaine was at his side in an instant.
"What is it, Ben? What is it now?"
"What is it?" he faltered. "It's so much--it's so much, I can't say it
all at once."
Donaldson turned away from them both.
"He," panted the boy, "he gave himself up for me. They thought it was
I, and he went to jail for me."
"It was a mistake on their part," answered Donaldson. "They did n't
know."
"And so you shouldered it," she whispered.
"I knew it would come out all right," he faltered.
"A reporter rang me up just now," ran on Arsdale. "He told me the
whole thing. The papers are full of it. They--they say you 're great,
Donaldson, but they don't know _how_ great!"
"If you would n't talk about it," pleaded Donaldson.
"Talk about it? I want to scream it! I want to get out and stand in
Park Row and yell it. I want every living man and woman in the world
to know about it!"
"It's all over--it's done with!"
"No," answered Arsdale, "it's just begun. I feel weak in the knees. I
must go--I must be alone a minute and think this over."
He staggered from the room and Donaldson turning to the girl, said
gently, "Go to Marie now. She will need you."
"You," she exclaimed below her breath, "you are wonderful!"
He turned away his head and she left him there alone.