"Colonel Maynard, I admit everything you say as to the weight of the
evidence," said Frank Armitage, twenty minutes later, "but it is my
faith--understand me: my _faith_, I say--that she is utterly innocent.
As for that damnable letter, I do not believe it was ever written to
her. It is some other woman."
"What other is there, or was there?" was the colonel's simple reply.
"That is what I mean to find out. Will you have my baggage sent after me
to-night? I am going at once to the station, and thence to Sibley. I
will write you from there. If the midnight visitor should prove to have
been Jerrold, he can be made to explain. I have always held him to be a
conceited fop, but never either crack-brained or devoid of principle.
There is no time for explanation _now_. Good-by; and keep a good
lookout. That fellow may be here again."
And in an hour more Armitage was skimming along the winding river-side
_en route_ to Sibley. He had searched the train from pilot to rear
platform, and no man who in the faintest degree resembled Mr. Jerrold
was on board. He had wired to Chester that he would reach the fort that
evening, but would not resume duty for a few days. He made another
search through the train as they neared the city, and still there was no
one who in stature or appearance corresponded with the descriptions
given him of the sinewy visitor.
Late in the afternoon Chester received him as he alighted from the train
at the little station under the cliff. It was a beautiful day, and
numbers of people were driving or riding out to the fort, and the high
bridge over the gorge was constantly resounding to the thunder of hoofs.
Many others, too, had come out on the train; for the evening
dress-parade always attracted a swarm of visitors. A corporal of the
guard, with a couple of men, was on hand to keep vigilant eye on the
arrivals and to persuade certain proscribed parties to re-enter the cars
and go on, should they attempt to revisit the post, and the faces of
these were lighted up as they saw their old adjutant; but none others of
the garrison appeared.
"Let us wait a moment and get these people out of the way," said
Armitage. "I want to talk with you. Is Jerrold back?"
"Yes. He came in just ten minutes after I telegraphed to you, was
present at inspection, and if it had not been for your despatch this
morning I should not have known he had remained out of quarters. He
appeared to resent my having been to his quarters,--calls it spying, I
presume."
"What permission had he to be away?"
"I gave him leave to visit town on personal business yesterday
afternoon. He merely asked to be away a few hours to meet friends in
town, and Mr. Hall took tattoo roll-call for him. As I do not require
any other officer to report the time of his return, I did not exact it
of him; but of course no man can be away after midnight without special
permission, and he was gone all night. What is it, Armitage? Has he
followed her down there?"
"Somebody was there last night and capsized the colonel pretty much as
he did you the night of the ladder episode," said Armitage, coolly.
"By heaven! and I let him go!"
"How do you know 'twas he?"
"Who else could it be, Armitage?"
"That's what the colonel asks; but it isn't clear to me yet awhile."
"I wish it were less clear to me," said Chester, gloomily. "The worst
is that the story is spreading like a pestilence all over the post. The
women have got hold of it, and there is all manner of talk. I shouldn't
be surprised if Mrs. Hoyt had to be taken violently ill. She has written
to invite Miss Renwick to visit her, as it is certain that Colonel and
Mrs. Maynard cannot come, and Hoyt came to me in a horror of amaze
yesterday to know if there were any truth in the rumor that I had caught
a man coming out of Mrs. Maynard's window the other night. I would tell
him nothing, and he says the ladies declare they won't go to the german
if _she_ does. Heavens! I'm thankful you are come. The thing has been
driving me wild these last twelve hours. I wanted to go away myself.
_Is_ she coming up?"
"No, she isn't; but let me say this, Chester: that whenever she is ready
to return I shall be ready to escort her."
Chester looked at his friend in amazement, and without speaking.
"Yes, I see you are astonished, but you may as well understand the
situation. I have heard all the colonel could tell, and have even seen
the letter, and since she left here a mysterious stranger has appeared
by night at Sablon, at the cottage window, though it happened to be her
mother's this time, and I don't believe Alice Renwick knows the first
thing about it."
"Armitage, are you in love?"
"Chester, I am in my sound senses. Now come and show me the ladder, and
where you found it, and tell me the whole story over again. I think it
grows interesting. One moment: has he that picture yet?"
"I suppose so. I don't know. In these last few days everybody is
fighting shy of him. He thinks it is my doing, and looks black and sulky
at me, but is too proud or too much afraid of consequences to ask the
reason of the cold shoulders and averted looks. Gray has taken seven
days' leave and gone off with that little girl of his to place her with
relatives in the East. He has heard the stories, and it is presumed that
some of the women have told her. She was down sick here a day or two."
"Well, now for the window and the ladder. I want to see the outside
through your eyes, and then I will view the interior with my own. The
colonel bids me do so."
Together they slowly climbed the long stairway leading up the face of
the cliff. Chester stopped for a breathing-spell more than once.
"You're all out of condition, man," said the younger captain, pausing
impatiently. "What has undone you?"
"This trouble, and nothing else. By gad! it has unstrung the whole
garrison, I believe. You never saw our people fall off so in their
shooting. Of course we expected Jerrold to go to pieces, but nobody
else."
"There were others that seemed to fall away, too. Where was that
cavalry-team that was expected to take the skirmish medal away from us?"
"Sound as a dollar, every man, with the single exception of their big
sergeant. I don't like to make ugly comparisons to a man whom I believe
to be more than half interested in a woman, but it makes me think of the
old story about Medusa. One look at her face is too much for a man. That
Sergeant McLeod went to grass the instant he caught sight of her, and
never has picked up since."
"Consider me considerably more than half interested in the woman in this
case, Chester: make all the comparisons that you like, provided they
illumine matters as you are doing now, and tell me more of this Sergeant
McLeod. What do you mean by his catching sight of her and going to
grass?"
"I mean he fell flat on his face the moment he saw her, and hasn't been
in good form from that moment to this. The doctor says it's
heart-disease."
"That's what the colonel says troubles Mrs. Maynard. She was senseless
and almost pulseless some minutes last night. What manner of man is
McLeod?"
"A tall, slim, dark-eyed, swarthy fellow,--a man with a history and a
mystery, I judge."
"A man with a history,--a mystery,--who is tall, slim, has dark eyes and
swarthy complexion, and faints away at sight of Miss Renwick, might be
said to possess peculiar characteristics,--family traits, some of them.
Of course you've kept an eye on McLeod. Where is he?"
Chester stood leaning on the rail, breathing slowly and heavily. His
eyes dilated as he gazed at Armitage, who was surveying him coolly,
though the tone in which he spoke betrayed a new interest and a vivid
one.
"I confess I never thought of him in connection with this affair," said
Chester.
"There's the one essential point of difference between us," was the
reply. "You go in on the supposition that there is only one solution to
this thing, and that a woman must be dishonored to begin with. I believe
there can be several solutions, and that there is only one thing in the
lot that is at all impossible."
"What's that?"
"Miss Renwick's knowledge of that night's visitor, or of any other
secret or sin. I mean to work other theories first; and the McLeod trail
is a good one to start on. Where can I get a look at him?"
"Somewhere out in the Rockies by this time. He was ordered back to his
troop five days ago, and they are out scouting at this moment, unless
I'm vastly mistaken. You have seen the morning despatches?"
"About the Indians? Yes. Looks squally at the Spirit Rock reservation.
Do you mean that McLeod is there?"
"That's where his troop ought to be by this time. There is too small a
force on the trail now, and more will have to go if a big outbreak is to
be prevented."
"Then he has gone, and I cannot see him. Let me look at the window,
then."
A few steps brought them to the terrace, and there, standing by the west
wall and looking up at the closed slats of the dormer-window, Captain
Chester retold the story of his night-adventure. Armitage listened
attentively, asking few questions. When it was finished, the latter
turned and walked to the rear door, which opened on the terrace. It was
locked.
"The servants are having a holiday, I presume," he said. "So much the
better. Ask the quartermaster for the key of the front door, and I'll go
in while everybody is out looking at dress-parade. There goes first call
now. Let your orderly bring it to me here, will you?"
Ten minutes later, with beating heart, he stood and uncovered his
handsome head and gazed silently, reverently around him. He was in her
room.
It was dainty as her own dainty self. The dressing-table, the windows,
the pretty little white bed, the broad, inviting lounge, the work-table
and basket, the very wash-stand, were all trimmed and decked
alike,--white and yellow prevailing. White lace curtains draped the
window on the west--that fateful window--and the two that opened out on
the roof of the piazza. White lace curtains draped the bed, the
dressing-table, and the wash-stand; white lace, or some equally flimsy
and feminine material, hung about her book-shelves and work-table and
over the lounge; and bows of bright yellow ribbon were everywhere,
yellow pin-cushions and wall-pockets hung about the toilet-table, soft
yellow rugs lay at the bed-and lounge-side, and a sunshiny tone was
given to the whole apartment by the shades of yellow silk that hung
close to the windows.
On the wall were some choice etchings and a few foreign photographs. On
the book-shelves were a few volumes of poetry, and the prose of George
Eliot and our own Hawthorne. Hanging on pegs in the corner of the simple
army room, covered by a curtain, were some heavy outer-garments,--an
ulster, a travelling coat and cape of English make, and one or two
dresses that were apparently too thick to be used at this season of the
year. He drew aside the curtain one moment, took a brief glance at the
garments, raised the hem of a skirt to his lips, and turned quickly
away. A door led from the room to the one behind it,--a spare bedroom,
evidently, that was lighted only from the back of the house and had no
side-window at all. Another door led to the hall, a broad, old-fashioned
affair, and crossing this he stood in the big front room occupied by the
colonel and his wife. This was furnished almost as luxuriously (from an
army point of view) as that of Miss Renwick, but not in white and
yellow. Armitage smiled to see the evidences of Mrs. Maynard's taste and
handiwork on every side. In the years he had been the old soldier's
adjutant nothing could have exceeded the simplicity with which the
colonel surrounded himself. Now it was something akin to Sybaritish
elegance, thought the captain; but all the same he made his deliberate
survey. There was the big dressing-table and bureau on which had stood
that ravished picture,--that photograph of the girl he loved which
others were able to speak of, and one man to appropriate feloniously,
while yet he had never seen it. His impulse was to go to Jerrold's
quarters and take him by the throat and demand it of him; but what right
had he? How knew he, even, that it was now there? In view of the words
that Chester had used towards him, Jerrold must know of the grievous
danger in which he stood. That photograph would prove most damaging
evidence if discovered. Very probably, after yielding to his vanity and
showing it to Sloat he meant to get it back. Very certainly, after
hearing Chester's words he must have determined to lose no time in
getting rid of it. He was no fool, if he was a coxcomb.
Looking around the half-darkened room, Armitage lingered long over the
photographs which hung about the dressing-table and over the
mantel,--several prettily-framed duplicates of those already described
as appearing in the album. One after another he took them in his hands,
bore them to the window, and studied them attentively: some were not
replaced without a long, lingering kiss. He had not ventured to disturb
an item in her room. He would not touch the knob of a drawer or attempt
to open anything she had closed, but here in quarters where his colonel
could claim joint partnership he felt less sentiment or delicacy. He
closed the hall door and tried the lock, turning the knob to and fro.
Then he reopened the door and swung it upon its hinges. For a wonder,
neither lock nor hinges creaked. The door worked smoothly and with
little noise. Then he similarly tried the door of her room. It was in
equally good working order,--quite free from the squeak and complaint
with which quartermasters' locks and hinges are apt to do their
reluctant duty. The discovery pleased him. It was possible for one to
open and close these portals noiselessly, if need be, and without
disturbing sleepers in either room. Returning to the east chamber, he
opened the shades, so as to get more light, and his eye fell upon an old
album lying on a little table that stood by the bedside. There was a
night-lamp upon the table, too,--a little affair that could hold only a
thimbleful of oil and was intended, evidently, to keep merely a faint
glow during the night hours. Other volumes--a Bible, some devotional
books, like "The Changed Cross," and a Hymnal or two--were also there;
but the album stood most prominent, and Armitage curiously took it up
and opened it.
There were only half a dozen photographs in the affair. It was rather a
case than an album, and was intended apparently for only a few family
pictures. There was but one that interested him, and this he examined
intently, almost excitedly. It represented a little girl of nine or ten
years,--Alice, undoubtedly,--with her arms clasped about the neck of a
magnificent St. Bernard dog and looking up into the handsome features of
a tall, slender, dark-eyed, black-haired boy of sixteen or thereabouts;
and the two were enough alike to be brother and sister. Who, then, was
this boy?
Armitage took the photograph to the window and studied it carefully.
Parade was over, and the troops were marching back to their quarters.
The band was playing gloriously as it came tramping into the quadrangle,
and the captain could not but glance out at his own old company as in
compact column of fours it entered the grassy diamond and swung off
towards the barracks. He saw a knot of officers, too, turning the corner
by the adjutant's office, and for a moment he lowered the album to look.
Mr. Jerrold was not of the number that came sauntering up the walk,
dropping away by ones or twos as they reached their doors and unbuckled
their belts or removed their helmets in eager haste to get out of the
constraint of full dress. But in another moment Jerrold, too, appeared,
all alone, walking rapidly and nervously. Armitage watched him, and
could not but see how other men turned away or gave him the coolest
possible nod as he passed. The tall, slender lieutenant was handsomer
even than when he last saw him; and yet there was gloom and worry on the
dark beauty of his face. Nearer and nearer he came, and had passed the
quarters of the other officers and was almost at the door of his own,
when Armitage saw a little, wiry soldier in full dress uniform running
across the parade as though in pursuit. He recognized Merrick, one of
the scapegraces of his company, and wondered why he should be chasing
after his temporary commander. Just as Jerrold was turning under the
piazza the soldier seemed to make himself heard, and the lieutenant,
with an angry frown on his face, stopped and confronted him.
"I told you not to come to me again," he said, so loud that every word
was audible to the captain standing by the open window above. "What do
you mean, sir, by following me in this way?"
The reply was inaudible. Armitage could see the little soldier standing
in the respectful position of "attention," looking up and evidently
pleading.
"I won't do it until I'm ready," was again heard in Jerrold's angry
tones, though this time the lieutenant glanced about, as though to see
if others were within earshot. There was no one, apparently, and he grew
more confident. "You've been drinking again to-day, Merrick; you're not
sober now; and I won't give you money to get maudlin and go to blabbing
secrets on. No, sir! Go back to your quarters, and stay there."
The little soldier must indeed have been drinking, as the lieutenant
declared. Armitage saw that he hesitated, instead of obeying at once,
and that his flushed face was angrily working, then that he was arguing
with his superior and talking louder. This was contrary to all the
captain's ideas of proper discipline, even though he was indignant at
the officer for permitting himself to be placed in so false and
undignified a position. Jerrold's words, too, had acquired a wide
significance; but they were feeble as compared with the sudden outburst
that came from the soldier's lips:
"By God, lieutenant, you bribed me to silence to cover your tracks, and
then you refuse to pay. If you don't want me to tell what I know, the
sooner you pay that money the better."
This was more than Armitage could stand. He went down-stairs three at a
jump and out through the colonel's garden with quick, impetuous steps.
Jerrold's furious face turned ashen at the sight, and Merrick, with one
amazed and frightened look at his captain, faced about and slunk
silently away. To him Armitage paid no further attention. It was to the
officer he addressed himself:
"Mr. Jerrold, I have heard pretty much all this conversation. It simply
adds to the evil report with which you have managed to surround
yourself. Step into your quarters. I must see you alone."
Jerrold hesitated. He was thunderstruck by the sudden appearance of the
captain whom he had believed to be hundreds of miles away. He connected
his return unerringly with the web of trouble which had been weaving
about him of late. He conceived himself to have been most unjustly spied
upon and suspected, and was full of resentment at the conduct of Captain
Chester. But Chester was an old granny, who sometimes made blunders and
had to back down. It was a different thing when Armitage took hold.
Jerrold looked sulkily into the clear, stern, blue eyes a moment, and
the first impulse of rebellion wilted. He gave one irresolute glance
around the quadrangle, then motioned with his hand to the open door.
Something of the old, jaunty, Creole lightness of manner reasserted
itself.
"After you, captain," he said.