Lyon was evidently expected, for he was conducted at once to the rooms
which had been closed to him in the afternoon, and there he found Mrs.
Broughton awaiting him. He was prepared to be interested in the woman
whose story had so curiously touched his own experiences, but when he
came into her presence he forgot that he was before the woman whose
first husband he had buried, and whose second husband was a man
heralded by headlines across a continent. He only saw a frail, slight,
beautiful woman, with a wistful sweetness in her eyes, propped against
high pillows on a couch. She looked so ill, so like a fluttering
candle in the wind, that his concern must have betrayed itself, for
she smiled at him with an air of reassurance.
"It was kind of you to come so promptly at a stranger's request," she
said gently. "Miss Elliott told me of your visit this afternoon, and I
wanted to thank you for respecting my wish to remain unknown to the
general public. I wonder how you came to know?"
"It was mostly an accident," Lyon murmured. "I come across a good deal
of incidental information, you know."
"You newspaper men are so clever," she said, and Lyon wondered whether
his imagination was playing him tricks or whether there really was
something like fear lurking in her eyes. Certainly her hands were
fluttering with nervousness, and her breath came and went in hurried
gasps that meant either extreme weakness or emotion. With an obvious
effort that awoke his admiration, she pulled herself together and went
on in a stronger voice.
"That was not the reason I had for wishing to see you, however. I
wanted to ask you some questions that you, as a newspaper man, could
answer better than anyone else; and since you already knew of my
presence here, I could speak to you without spreading that
insignificant bit of information any further than it has gone
already."
"I shall be very happy if I can be of any service," Lyon answered,
with more sincerity than usually goes into the polite phrase. He felt,
really, that nothing earth could offer would rejoice him more, just
then, than to have her ask questions, for nothing would more certainly
reveal where her own interests and anxieties lay. But she seemed to
find it difficult to begin, for a long pause followed,--a pause which
he would not break, and which apparently she could not. At last she
said, with an abruptness that made her voice tense,
"I was very much shocked by that tragedy Monday."
Lyon nodded, and kept his eyes lowered to remind her of his presence
as little as possible. But, he wondered, why did she say Monday? If
her knowledge of it came through the papers, the shock could not have
reached her until Tuesday. And how else could she have known, unless--
"You see, I used to know--Mr. Lawrence," she said.
(Had she meant to say Mr. Fullerton, Lyon wondered, and veered from
the name? Since Fullerton had been her lawyer, she certainly had known
him, also.)
"That is why," she continued, "I am anxious to learn anything that you
can tell me,--anything more significant than the reports in the public
prints, I mean."
"There isn't much known. That is the difficulty of the situation. If
you read the account of the inquest, you saw that Mr. Lawrence was
merely held on suspicion, because the police had not been able to find
any one else to hold. Of course it does not follow that they will not
discover some other clue."
She listened with tense interest. "The law is terrible," she said with
an involuntary shudder. "You never know what it is going to do. It is
like a wild beast, waiting to spring. It terrifies me to think of Mr.
Lawrence being actually in jail, but--they will have to let him go,
won't they? He can't really be in any serious danger?"
"The circumstances were sufficient to warrant his arrest. Unless he
can clear himself, or unless the real murderer is discovered, his
situation is certainly serious."
"I can't bear to think of it!" she cried nervously, pressing an
embroidered handkerchief hard against her trembling lips. "Why, Arthur
Lawrence always was the very soul of honor. It's horrible to have him
involved,--"
"Yes, it is," said Lyon simply.
"Has he a good attorney? If it's a question of getting the very best
lawyer in the country to defend him, would it be possible for me--Oh,
I have heaps of money, you know, and if it could possibly do anything
for an old friend--"
"Did you wish me to make that suggestion to Mr. Lawrence?" Lyon asked.
"I don't know," she said helplessly. "I think I wanted your advice. If
Mr. Lawrence is sure to be cleared anyhow,--" she hesitated
irresolutely. "Perhaps I would better wait awhile and see how things
go," she concluded, as Lyon gave her no help.
"I think the help that Lawrence stands in need of," said Lyon,
deliberately, "is not money, but information that will clear up the
case."
She started up nervously. "But I couldn't give that. I haven't any
information. You didn't think--"
"I was only supposing a case."
"I should like to do something, but I don't know how I can. He has
done much for me, without counting the cost to himself. I have reason
to be grateful to Mr. Lawrence. Will you remember that, and if
anything suggests itself to you that would give me an opportunity to
do anything for him, will you let me know?"
"Is It your intention to stay here for some time, then?" Lyon said.
She looked helpless and undecided. "I--don't know. I didn't mean to,
but I don't feel very strong. I think I may stay for a week longer. I
need rest. I have had some distressing news. It has unnerved me."
"This is a restful place," Lyon said sympathetically. "It was
fortunate that Miss Elliott's school was closed this week. You have
been as quiet and undisturbed here as though you had been quartered in
a rest-cure sanitarium, haven't you?" He had put the rather too
personal question with intention, meaning to see how she would take
it, but he was not prepared for its effect upon her. She looked at him
with startled nervousness and laughed,--and then continued to laugh
and laugh as though he had made an irresistible joke. Lyon waited for
her to recover her poise, and it was not until her wild laughter
changed suddenly to wilder sobs that he realized she was in the grip
of nervous hysteria. He hastily rang the bell and then went out into
the hall himself to meet the slow-answering maid and send her whirling
back to bring Miss Elliott.
"Shall I telephone for Dr. Barry?" he whispered, when Miss Elliott had
come and taken the still sobbing woman in her arms.
"Yes, do, for goodness' sake. What in the world started her?" Miss
Elliott answered, distractedly. The situation was so alien to her
rule-regulated life that she looked bewildered by it.
Lyon neglected the second part of her speech to attend to the first.
He found the telephone in the hall, and got Barry.
"Hello, Dr. Barry. This is a message from Miss Elliott. She wants you
to come at once to see Mrs. Broughton."
"That you, Lyon?"
"Yes."
"What's the matter with Mrs. Broughton?"
"She's crying and laughing together in a way to make your blood run
cold. For heaven's sake, hurry along."
"If you have been upsetting that woman, I won't answer for the
consequences," exclaimed Barry, with indignant emphasis.
"Then get over here as quick as you can and take it out of me
afterwards," retorted Lyon, hanging up the receiver. He went back to
Mrs. Broughton's door. The sobbing had ceased, and after waiting a
moment Lyon caught one of the excited servants and sent her in to Miss
Elliott with an inquiry and an offer of service. She answered that
there was nothing more he could do, so he quietly let himself out of
the house.
He had gone several blocks from the school when he became aware of the
fact that a man on the opposite side of the street seemed to be
keeping an eye on his movements. Was he himself an object of interest
to someone connected with the case? He was conscious now that he had
seen the man across the street without heeding him when he stepped out
from the house, and he recalled the fact that he had fairly stumbled
into the arms of a man in that same neighborhood when he came out in
the afternoon. Possibly the man perceived himself observed, for he
quickened his pace. But at the end of the block he crossed the street
and came back on Lyon's side. Lyon looked sharply at him as they
passed each other, but the man's face was indistinguishable in the
shadow. It was only after he had passed on that Lyon remembered that
the light from the street lamp must have fallen full upon his own
face. Well, he had no reason to mind being identified.
When Lyon reached his rooms he proceeded to put into effect an
ingenious little scheme that had occurred to him. He studied Miss
Elliott's catalogue till he found the name of a pupil from a town
where he had some personal acquaintance. He then wrote an appealing
letter to an influential woman whom he knew there, telling her of his
lonely state as a stranger in a strange city, and begging that if she
knew a Miss Kitty Tayntor of her own town who was attending Miss
Elliott's school in Waynscott, she send him forthwith a letter of
introduction.