Broughton lifted the limp form of the fainting woman to a couch while
Edith Wolcott brought cold water and sprinkled her face. In a few
minutes she showed signs of returning consciousness, and leaving Edith
to chafe her hands, Broughton drew Lyon out into the hall.
"Is that straight about Vanderburg being dead? Can you prove it?" he
asked anxiously.
"Of course. He was killed in a railway accident in Ohio three years
ago. I was with him, and I am sure I still have among my old papers
the pocket memorandum book which I took from his pocket. It gave me
his name, and a few minutes before he died he recovered consciousness
enough to confirm it."
"Was this before or after my marriage, do you happen to remember?"
"About six weeks after. As a newspaper man, I knew the circumstances
of the case, and therefore was interested in meeting Vanderburg. Of
course I knew nothing further."
Broughton walked back and forth with nervous steps.
"We will be married again, at once, and very privately," he said, in
an unsteady voice. "That will satisfy her mind. What an amazing tangle
it has been. And what luck--what amazing luck--that I should have come
across you, the one man who could give that essential information
about Vanderburg's death. Without that, where would we be, even with
Fullerton dead?--We would not dare to take chances."
He wrung Lyon's hand with a grip that hurt.
Edith Wolcott came to the door. "Will you go in now?" she said. "She
is conscious and anxious to see you."
Broughton went in, and Edith Wolcott, with a warning finger on her
lip, drew Lyon across the hall into the little sitting room where they
had talked earlier in the evening.
"They are happy," she said, with a catch in her voice. "All has come
out well for them. But if she stays in Waynscott, will she not be
called as a witness? And if she tells that story of Arthur's anger
with Fullerton will it not go against him on the trial?"
"It is already known that there was bitterness between the two men,"
said Lyon thoughtfully. "She would add no new element to the evidence
against him by confirming that, though Howell may think it best to
whisk her away. But I want to consult him about that, first. And if
she is to be secreted, it will involve something more than merely
taking a train at the Union Station."
"Then that other matter," said Miss Wolcott, hesitatingly. "She saw me
in the hall at the Wellington that evening. You know I told you that I
went to him with a wild idea that I might make him give up my letters,
and that I failed. It was that same evening. I gave up my purpose
because I saw him come out with a lady. She was veiled and I did not
recognize Mrs. Broughton, but she recognized me. And Bede trapped her
into admitting it yesterday. How he got any suspicion of my visit, I
can't guess. But he did."
Lyon nodded. This he already knew, but he felt there was much he did
not know.
"So if she is called to the witness stand, that will come out." She
looked at him with troubled eyes. "You can't imagine how I dread the
idea of having my name connected with it in any way. I would rather
die! Do you think they will make me tell publicly all that I told
you? Isn't there any way for me to escape? When I think of the
newspapers,--the gossip,--" She clenched her hands in desperation.
"And if it would do Arthur any good, either! But it wouldn't. If
anything, it would hurt him, I suppose." She looked at him wistfully.
Lyon considered rapidly and resolved to hazard a question which might
prove a very boomerang if the answer was not what he hoped it would
be.
"Miss Wolcott, you remember that Lawrence called on you that Sunday
before the tragedy?"
She looked startled. "Yes."
"Did he forget his cane here when he left?"
"No."
"You are sure?"
"Oh, yes, quite sure. I should have seen it the next day."
"And you have not seen it at all?"
"No."
"Would you have noticed it, without fail? Your grandfather has quite a
collection of canes, I have noticed."
"Yes; but I would have seen Arthur's if he had left it."
"You know it, then?"
"Yes. I remember we spoke of it particularly that evening when he
first came. I made some teasing remark about it being dandified to
carry a cane, and he retorted that he carried it for protection. He
said, I remember, that a gold headed cane was quite as effective as a
sandbag, and more elegant. He advised me to carry one of Dandy's canes
if I ever had occasion to go out alone in the evening."
"He said that? Just that?"
"Yes. We were just talking nonsense, you know. It was when he first
came."
Lyon felt both relieved and disappointed. At least he could assure
Lawrence that Miss Wolcott denied all knowledge of the cane. That
would be something. Yet if Lawrence was as positive as he seemed to be
about having left it here, would her denial have any weight? Lawrence
could not doubt his own knowledge of facts. Might it be possible that
Mr. Wolcott had carried the cane away somewhere?
As though in answer to his unspoken thought, the old gentleman, in a
flapping dressing gown, with a lighted candle in his hand and a highly
disapproving look on his face appeared at that moment at the door.
"I _thought_ I heard voices, but I couldn't quite believe my ears," he
said, with a frowning glance. "Do you know what time it is, young
man?"
"Time that I were going, I know," said Lyon briskly. "It must be well
on toward twelve."
"Well on toward two in the morning," protested Mr. Wolcott.
"You don't really mean it! I certainly have lost count of the time.
I'm going this minute. Forgive me for keeping you up in this
unconscionable way. Miss Wolcott. And good night."
He pressed her hand encouragingly, and went out to the hall where he
had hung his hat and coat. Fortunately the door to the library was
tight closed, as his first glance had assured him. He should have to
leave it to Miss Wolcott to see that Broughton had a chance to slip
out later.
As he was about to let himself out, his ruling passion reasserted
itself. Blandly he looked the old gentleman in the eye. "I believe
I'll ask you to lend me a cane, since it's so late," he said.
"Surely, surely. Take this one," cried the flattered old gentleman.
"Or perhaps you would like this better? It is heavier."
"I don't want to take one that you are accustomed to carrying
yourself, if you have an odd one around you don't use. By the way,
didn't you say that my friend Lawrence left a cane here once? I might
take that, as he is not likely to call for it immediately."
"Lawrence? No, he never left a cane here. These are all mine. Here,
take this one. You'll find it light and tough."
"Thank you," said Lyon, taking it perforce. "I thought someone spoke
of a cane belonging to Lawrence,--"
"He never left it here," said the old gentleman definitely, and Lyon
had to let himself out of the house without further satisfaction. He
crossed the yard to Broughton's house, let himself in, and while he
waited for his romantic landlord to escape, like a concealed Romeo,
from his lady's bower, he mentally reviewed the situation.
Mrs. Broughton had cleared up her own connection with Fullerton.
Whatever of mystery there had been in her movements, and whatever of
rashness, it touched her personal history only. She had not killed
Fullerton, nor had she witnessed his murder. The fleeing woman whom he
had seen on the fatal night was not she. He had been entirely wrong in
his suspicion, and his pursuit of that clue had done no good except to
assist in bringing Broughton and his wife together. That was a good
thing in itself, but it would not affect Lawrence's case.
Was it then possible that Lawrence had been right in his first
suspicion that the fleeing woman was Edith Wolcott? She had told her
story so clearly and with so much apparent frankness that Lyon found
it very hard to believe she could really be concealing so vital a
point in her account of that evening. However, whether innocent or
guilty, her whole connection with the affair and her relation to the
two principals was bound to come out, now that Bede had got on her
trail. That was bad. The publicity of such a trial would be as bitter
as death to such a woman. It was the very thing Lawrence had risked
everything to avoid.
And Lawrence himself? His case looked darker than ever to his brooding
friend. Unless he could explain away the evidence of the broken cane,
the implication was against him. Apparently he could not explain that
away. He had certainly implied to Lyon that the cane had been left at
Miss Wolcott's, and that this was the reason he could say nothing on
the subject. But since Miss Wolcott, who certainly was interested in
his acquittal, and her grandfather, who certainly was innocent of all
complicity, both were positive he had not left it there, what could
one think? Lyon felt utterly and completely at sea.
His brooding was cut short by the entrance of Broughton.
"I had to wait until the old gentleman had gone back upstairs and the
house was quiet," he said, as he lit a cigar. His face was glowing,
and he looked twenty years younger than the "Olden" who had spoken
with Lyon in that room two nights before. "Then Grace let me out. Miss
Wolcott had left the door unbolted. Grace is bearing up wonderfully. I
say, isn't she a wonderful woman?"
"Miss Wolcott?" asked Lyon perversely.
"I meant Grace. But Miss Wolcott is all right. She has stood by her
like a trump. I won't soon forget that. Well, it has been pretty hard
on all of us, but it is all right now."
"How about Lawrence?" asked Lyon.
"Lawrence? Oh, Lawrence! Well, of course I don't know anything about
Lawrence," said Broughton somewhat vaguely.
Lyon smothered a groan with a laugh.
"Well, your happiness does not make Lawrence's case any worse, so far
as that goes. And Mrs. Broughton's testimony--"
"I hope she will not be called on to testify in this case. It would be
very unpleasant--"
"Undoubtedly. But Bede will have her subp[oe]naed if he thinks she can
help his side. And before you smuggle her away, I must lay the matter
before Howell. You know Howell has been waiting days and days for a
chance to see Mrs. Broughton himself. Bede didn't wait."
Broughton looked as though the idea were distasteful, but he was too
manly a man to shirk an issue.
"All right," he said. "You may give Howell the situation to-morrow."
"To-day," said Lyon, pulling out his watch. "What will this day bring
forth?"
He was soon to find out. Fate had been dodging behind covers for a
long time. Now she was ready to come out into the open.