SWAIN'S STORY
"I hate to wake you, Lester," Godfrey said, smiling, "but it's nearly
four o'clock. Dr. Hinman will be here before long, and if you're going
to hear Swain's story, you'll have to be getting up."
I sat up in bed at once, all trace of sleepiness vanished.
"How is he?" I asked.
"He seems to be all right. He's been up for some time. I haven't said
anything to him about last night--I wanted the doctor to see him
first; besides, I thought you ought to be present."
"I'll be down right away," I said, and twenty minutes later, I found
Godfrey and Swain sitting together on the front porch. As Swain
returned my greeting, I was relieved to see that his eyes were no
longer fixed and staring, but seemed quite normal.
"Mrs. Hargis has your breakfast ready," said Godfrey, "and I think
I'll join you. Will you come, Mr. Swain?"
"No, thank you," Swain replied. "I had my breakfast only about an
hour ago. I'll just sit here, if you don't mind."
"All right," said Godfrey, "we won't be long," and together we went
back to the dining-room.
Mrs. Hargis was there, and greeted us as though stopping out till dawn
and breakfasting at four o'clock in the afternoon were the most
ordinary things in the world. A copy of the _Record_ was lying, as
usual, on the table, and a black headline caught my eye:
WORTHINGTON VAUGHAN
MURDERED
* * * * *
RICH RECLUSE STRANGLED TO
DEATH AT HIS HOME IN
THE BRONX
* * * * *
I glanced at Godfrey in surprise.
"Yes," he said, reddening a little, "I was just in time to 'phone the
story in for the last edition. I called the doctor first, though,
Lester--you must give me credit for that! And it was a beautiful
scoop!"
"What time did you get up?" I asked.
"About noon. I sent down the full story for to-morrow morning's paper
just before I called you."
"Any developments?"
"None that I know of. Of course, I haven't heard Swain's story yet."
"Godfrey," I said, "it seems to me that this thing is going to look
bad for Swain--I think Goldberger suspects him already. A good deal
depends upon his story."
"Yes, it does," Godfrey agreed.
We finished the meal in silence. It was not a long one, for I, at
least, was anxious to get back to Swain. As we rejoined him on the
porch, Dr. Hinman's car came up the drive. He got out and shook hands
with us. As he greeted Swain, I saw him glance anxiously into his
eyes--and saw also that the glance reassured him.
"You're feeling better to-day," he said, sitting down by Swain's side.
"Yes," said Swain quietly, "I'm feeling all right again."
"How is Miss Vaughan, doctor?" I asked.
Swain jerked round toward the doctor.
"Is Miss Vaughan ill?" he demanded.
"She had a shock last night," answered the doctor, slowly; "but she's
getting along nicely. She'll have to be kept quiet for a few days."
I was looking at Swain curiously. He was rubbing his head
perplexedly, as though trying to bring some confused memory to the
surface of his mind.
"I seem to remember," he said, "that Miss Vaughan fainted, and that I
picked her up." Then he stopped and stared at us. "Is her father
dead?"
"Yes," I said, and he fell to rubbing his head again.
I glanced at Hinman, and he nodded slightly. I took it for assurance
that Swain might be questioned. Godfrey, who had gone indoors to get
some cigars, came back with a handful. All of us, including Swain,
lighted up.
"Now, Swain," I began, "I want you to tell us all that you remember of
last night's happenings. Both Mr. Godfrey and Dr. Hinman are in my
confidence and you may speak freely before them. I want them to hear
your story, because I want their advice."
There was a pucker of perplexity on Swain's face.
"I've been trying, ever since I woke up this morning, to straighten
out my remembrance of last night," he began, slowly; "but I haven't
succeeded very well. At least, everything seems to stop right in the
middle."
"Go ahead," I said, "and tell us what you do remember. Maybe it will
grow clearer as you recall it, or maybe we can fill in the gaps. Begin
at the moment you went over the wall. We know everything that happened
up to that time. You remember that clearly, don't you?"
"Oh, yes," said Swain. "I remember all that," and he settled back in
his chair. "Well, after I went down the ladder, I found myself in a
clump of shrubbery, and beyond that was a path. I knew that the arbour
where I was to meet Miss Vaughan was in the corner of the grounds at
the back next to Mr. Godfrey's place, so I turned back along the wall,
leaving the path, which curved away from it. It was very dark under
the trees, and I had to go slowly for fear of running into one of
them. But I finally found the arbour. I struck a match to assure
myself that it was empty, and then sat down to wait. Once or twice I
fancied I heard some one moving outside, but it was only the wind
among the trees, I guess, for it was fully half an hour before Miss
Vaughan came."
I could see how his hand was trembling on the arm of his chair, and he
paused a moment to collect himself.
"What Miss Vaughan told me," he went on, at last, and I saw that of
the details of the meeting he did not intend to speak, "convinced me
that her father was quite mad--much worse than I had suspected. I
knew, of course, that he was a student of the supernatural, but since
the coming of this yogi...."
"This what?" Hinman interrupted.
"A yogi," Swain answered, turning toward him, "is, as nearly as I can
make out, a sort of high priest of Hinduism. He knows all its secrets,
and is supposed to be able to do all sorts of supernatural things.
This fellow who lived with Mr. Vaughan is a yogi. Mr. Vaughan was his
disciple."
"Where did the yogi come from?" Godfrey asked.
"I don't know. I don't think Miss Vaughan knows. He arrived, with his
attendant, about six months ago; and since then things have gone from
bad to worse. There has been crystal-gazing and star-worship and
necromancy of all sorts. I confess I didn't understand very much of
it," he added. "It was all so wild and weird; but it ended not only in
Mr. Vaughan's becoming a convert to whatever religion it is the yogi
practises, but in a determination that his daughter should become a
priestess of the cult. It was from that she wished me to help her to
escape."
He stopped and again rubbed his head slowly.
"As I tell it," he went on, at last, "it sounds absurd and
unbelievable; but as she told it, there in the darkness, with those
strange rustlings round us, it sent the chills up and down my spine.
Perhaps those Orientals _do_ know more about the supernatural than we
give them credit for; at any rate, I know that Miss Vaughan had been
impressed with the yogi's power. It fascinated and at the same time
horrified her. She said he had a hideous snake, a cobra, which he
petted as she would pet a kitten...."
His voice broke off again, and he wiped the perspiration from his
forehead. I myself felt decidedly nervous. Godfrey threw away his
cigar, which had broken in his fingers.
"At any rate," Swain went on, "I was so upset by what she told me that
I could think of nothing to do except to beg her to come away with me
at once. I remembered my promise to you, Mr. Lester, but I was sure
you would approve. I told her about you--that it was into your hands
the letter had fallen. She said she had seen you looking at her from a
tree and had known at a glance that she could trust you. You didn't
tell me you were in a tree," he added.
"Yes," I said, awkwardly. "I was just taking a little look over the
landscape. Rather foolish of me, wasn't it?"
"Well, it was mighty fortunate, anyway. She had written the letter,
but she had no idea how she was going to get it to me."
"You mean she couldn't go out when she wanted to?" demanded Godfrey.
"I gathered from what she told me," said Swain, his face flushing with
anger, "that she has been practically a prisoner ever since the yogi
arrived. Besides, even if she had succeeded in mailing the letter, it
wouldn't have reached me until too late."
"In what way too late?"
"Her father seems to have had a sudden turn for the worse yesterday;
he became almost violent in insisting that she consent to his plan. He
told her that the life of his own soul as well as of hers depended
upon it. He threatened--I don't know what. The yogi talked to her
afterwards. He, of course, believed, or pretended to believe, as her
father did; moreover, he told her that her father would certainly
suffer a serious mental shock if she refused, perhaps a fatal one. In
despair, she finally agreed, on the condition that she be given three
days in which to prepare herself. If she did not hear from me in that
time, she had made up her mind to consent."
Swain stopped again, and I lay back in my chair, wondering if such
things were possible in this twentieth century, here within the
boundaries of Greater New York! My brain reeled at the absurdity of it!
"Vaughan was undoubtedly suffering from mania," said Dr. Hinman, in a
low voice. "The symptoms, as Mr. Swain describes them, are unmistakable."
"It was that argument I used," said Swain. "I told her that, since he
was clearly mad, she must, in self-defence, place herself beyond his
reach. But she refused to leave him. Then, I argued, in kindness to
him she must have him committed to some institution where he would be
taken care of, and where he might, in time, regain his sanity. I told
her that it would be criminal folly to permit him to remain longer
under the influence of the yogi. She had to agree with me; and she
finally consented to sign an affidavit to the facts as I have told
them, and a petition asking that a commission be appointed to examine
her father. You were to have drawn up the papers to-day, Mr. Lester,
and I was to have taken them to her for signature to-night."
"That would have settled the matter," said Godfrey, thoughtfully.
"It's too bad it wasn't settled in that way. What else happened, Mr.
Swain?"
"Miss Vaughan had grown very nervous, with all this discussion, and at
last she sprang to her feet and said she must go, or her father would
discover her absence. We rose to leave the arbour, and at that
instant, a white-robed figure sprang to her side, seized her and tore
her away from me. I was too startled for an instant to resist; then,
as I started toward them, Marjorie pushed me back.
"'Go! Go!' she cried. 'It is my father!'
"But he stopped me. In a voice shaking and husky with rage, he warned
me that if I entered the place again, my life would be forfeit. I
can't repeat the horrible things he said. I could see his eyes
gleaming like a wild beast's. He cursed me. I had never been cursed
before," and Swain smiled thinly, "and I confess it wasn't pleasant.
Then he led his daughter away.
"I stood staring after them. I didn't know what to do. I felt like a
madman myself. I sat down and tried to collect my thoughts. I saw that
some new plan must be made--that there was no hope of meeting Marjorie
again. I was sick with fear for her; I thought of following to the
house and compelling her to come with me at once. And then, suddenly,
I saw two eyes gleaming at me. They were not human eyes--they were too
close together--and they were swaying gently back and forth in the
air, about a foot from the ground. I gazed at them, fascinated, and
then I heard a soft, low whistle, followed by a faint hissing, as the
eyes fell forward.
"In a flash, I knew what it was--the cobra; I knew why it was
there--Vaughan had said my life was forfeit. I sprang up with a
shriek, dashed along the seat to the door and out into the darkness. I
struck my head against something--a tree, I suppose; but I kept on,
and reached the wall and got over it somehow--it is all confused,
after that. I seem to remember hearing Marjorie scream, and finding
her lying beside her father, who was dead--but I can't put things
together," and he rubbed his head helplessly.
"I'll put them together for you," said Godfrey. "When you ran into the
tree, you suffered a partial concussion. It's lucky it wasn't total,
or Toto would have got you!"
"Toto?"
"That, I believe, is the cobra's name," explained Godfrey, with a
smile; "unless, of course, there are two of them." And he told Swain
in detail of the events which had followed.
Swain listened with staring eyes. I did not blame him. Indeed, I felt
that my own eyes were staring a little, though I already knew the
story. But Godfrey, with a gift of narration born of long newspaper
experience, told it in a way that made its horror salient and left one
gasping.
"There is one question I want to ask you, Swain," he said, in
conclusion, "and I want you to think carefully before you answer it.
During your altercation with Mr. Vaughan, did you at any time touch
him?"
"Touch him? No, of course not," and Swain shook his head decidedly.
"You are sure of that?" asked Godfrey earnestly.
"Perfectly sure," said Swain, looking at him in astonishment. "I was
never within three feet of him."
Godfrey sprang to his feet with a gesture of relief.
"I seem to need a cocktail," he said, in another tone. "Isn't that the
prescription for all of us, doctor?"
"Yes," assented Hinman, smiling, "and, after that, complete change of
subject!"