"Challoner."
"Laurie Challoner? You don't say!" ejaculated Broderick. That was all
the surprise manifested. Challoner's proclivities were too well known to
everybody in the room; besides, Cradlebaugh's was always expecting the
unexpected to happen.
"Challoner," exclaimed Thorne with a show of satisfaction, "is a client
of mine!"
Broderick's eyes brightened.
"Great! That simplifies matters. You'll defend him?"
"I shall," admitted Thorne, "if he be apprehended."
"But we must fix it so that he won't be," remarked Broderick.
"Or, if apprehended," continued Thorne, "so that he won't be brought to
trial." And turning again to Pemmican: "Where is Challoner?"
Pemmican spread his hands apart, shrugged his shoulders and finally
answered:--
"Gone--nobody knows where."
Just then the telephone bell rang. Pemmican answered it, listened for an
instant and then resigned the receiver as he called:--
"Captain, it's for you."
The captain with some trepidation seized the instrument, and talked in
low tones while the rest remained silent. Finally he hung up the
receiver and announced:--
"It's my office. Murgatroyd is there now." The captain looked worried as
he declared: "He wants to talk to me."
"Let him wait!" Broderick blustered out. Nevertheless a shadowy gloom
settled down upon them all. Thorne was the first to break the silence.
"If Murgatroyd drags Cradlebaugh's into this murder case there'll be the
devil to pay."
"He's got to keep it out," insisted Broderick. "Confound it! If he drags
Cradlebaugh's into it, he'll drag into it his own organisation! He
doesn't know the men who are behind it--its party affiliations, its
patrons. If he makes this case a handle for his confounded
investigations--well----"
"He will!" interrupted the captain of police. "See if he don't..."
"What if he does?" protested Broderick. "There isn't a grand jury ever
been picked that would indict Cradlebaugh's! And there you are!"
"So long as public opinion don't get to work," ventured the captain.
Broderick started.
"You've hit the nail upon the head, captain," he assented, as he smote
the table with his clenched fist. "That's why I'm worried. If public
opinion gets to work, why say, it will----"
"Keep cool now, keep cool," counselled Thorne. "I'll see Murgatroyd," he
went on; "this is the time of all times that he's got to do what we tell
him to do; and if he don't--we'll break him on the wheel!"
Thorne smiled and jerked his head toward Pemmican.
"We even have the sole witness to this tragedy in the hollow of our
hands."
There was a gentle tap on the door. Pemmican opened it and held a
whispered conversation with one of the attendants of the house. Then he
came back into the room and looking at the captain, he said:--
"They say down-stairs that two of the prosecutor's men were seen leaving
the 'Elevated' a few minutes ago, and that they were working their way
over to the West."
"Jumpin' Jerusalem!" exclaimed the captain, leaping to his feet.
"They're coming here. That ends me--I'm off!" He caught up his cap and
disappeared.
Pemmican once more locked the door; then Broderick resumed the
conversation.
"By George, that's so!" he said to Thorne. "Pemmican is _the_ witness;
we can keep him muzzled."
Pemmican edged forward from his position near the wall. Advancing to the
table he placed both hands upon it and looked at the two men
belligerently.
"But you won't keep me muzzled!" he exclaimed.
Broderick gasped:
"W--what?"
Pemmican drew himself together. Hitherto his attitude had been one of
fearful deference toward Thorne; now he was defiant.
"You can't keep me muzzled!" he repeated.
Broderick took a long breath and rose as though to throttle Pemmican.
Thorne waved him to his seat.
"Pemmican," said Thorne, "you need some sleep."
"I don't need sleep nor coaching either," retorted Pemmican. "I'm going
to tell the truth about this murder."
"Well," said Broderick soothingly; "you've told it--to us."
Thorne fastened Pemmican with his cold, penetrating glance of
displeasure. Pemmican shivered, but was game.
"This murder," Pemmican maintained desperately, "was committed by
Challoner in Room A of this gambling house! I don't care if the house
does pay me my salary, I don't care if I am in charge here, the house
can't make me lie!" He paused for a moment and then went on:--
"This killing followed a row over a game of cards. I heard the row; I
saw the shooting; and it's up to me to lay my cards down on the table.
I'll give up what I know!"
"You'll do nothing of the sort!" said Thorne threateningly.
"I'll do nothing else!" retorted Pemmican hotly.
"If Murgatroyd comes here," suggested Broderick, "or sends for you, you
keep mum--do you understand? That's your game! We'll take care of you
the same as we are going to take care of the captain. He's true blue;
and you've got to be true blue." And pointing toward Thorne, he added:--
"There's Thorne--he's your counsel, too. You do as he says, and he'll
take care of you."
"I can take care of myself," returned Pemmican, doggedly, "and I'm going
to do it. I'm going to tell the truth about this thing to Murgatroyd!"
There was another knock upon the door--a short, sharp, curt, commanding
knock. Pemmican sprang to the door, unlocked it and threw it open.
Three men entered: One was Mixley; another McGrath--both detectives in
the employ of the prosecutor's office in the court-house; and the third
man was William Murgatroyd, the newly elected prosecutor of the pleas.
V
The yellow light of the early June afternoon grew softer as it sank
into, and was absorbed by, the deepening dusk; but to Miriam Challoner,
propped up with red silk cushions in a strange attitude of expectancy,
these things had ceased to matter; for out of her life a living presence
had gone, leaving a void more harsh than death. For weeks now she had
patiently waited, her ear strained at every sound, trying to associate
it somehow with her husband's return; the servants seemed to tread on
tiptoe, as they went about their duties; the house was curiously hushed
as though listening, always listening.
The room that she was in was beautifully proportioned and panelled in
dull red; there were numerous divans well furnished with cushions and
upholstered in the same hue as the walls; and as her eyes wandered over
its rare pictures, bronzes and costly knick-knacks, she was reminded of
the early days of her married life, when it had been her purpose to make
this--Lawrence's room--as attractive and pleasing to him as money could
make it. Fate, indeed, had played havoc with their lives; nothing was
left but the memory of the happiness that once had been hers.
"Oh, why doesn't he come!" she cried, an agony of despair in her voice,
and began to pace the room in nervous agitation.
At that moment a man noiselessly entered the room. She did not hear him
until, suddenly looking round, she saw Stevens, the butler, advancing
respectfully toward her. For an instant it startled her; disappointment
and embarrassment struggled within her; finally she asked somewhat
fretfully:--
"What are you doing here, Stevens--I did not ring--I----"
Stevens held the silver salver before her, on which were several
letters. Taking them apathetically from him, she sank back limp among
the cushions, her nerves on edge as she proceeded to scan each in turn.
There were nine in all--the last of which she quickly tore open as the
sole missive fraught with possibility. But she was doomed to
disappointment; and handing them back to him, she told him to put them
on the desk.
The man complied, and then stood quietly at attention.
"And, Stevens," she added falteringly, "send Foster to me at once."
Stevens turned on the instant and found Foster in a passage-way,
shuddering.
"What's the matter with you?" he whispered, at the same time placing his
arm about her.
"What are you doing?" exclaimed Foster with indignation, but made no
attempt to release herself from his embrace. "Don't you hear the
newsboys? What are they saying?" she went on, nestling closer to him.
"Listen!"
They did not have long to wait, for just then the hoarse, raucous voices
of the newsboys calling early specials reached their ears; but such
words as were at first distinguishable seemed of no importance to them.
Then like a bolt from the blue rang out the words:
CHALLONER
CAUGHT IN CHICAGO!
"They've caught him!" the maid almost shrieked, pushing Stevens
violently away from her; and starting in obedience to her mistress'
commands, she added sympathetically:--
"I hope she hasn't heard----"
And as fortune would have it Mrs. Challoner had not heard, but went on
to inform the maid that she was going to her room to lie down for a
while, ending with:--
"There are some things which I wish you to attend to first, Foster."
On reaching her room, however, Mrs. Challoner abandoned her intention to
lie down; apparently calm and collected, she took a seat near the light
and started mentally to place her house once more in order. Item after
item she checked off from her memorandum upon her household pad until at
last, with her finger upon one hasty entry, she looked up and said:--
"Foster, ask Stevens if the stone masons have finished patching up the
cellar wall; and then you may fetch me those letters I left on Mr.
Challoner's desk."
Meanwhile, the French window looking on the rear porch in Challoner's
room slowly opened, and a man quickly but stealthily entered, directed
his steps to the table-desk, switched on the green-shaded light there,
picked up several letters and proceeded to scan each carefully in
turn--just as Mrs. Challoner had done a few moments previous. Suddenly
the sound of footsteps reached his ears, and with the same movement that
characterised his entrance he retreated to the balcony and disappeared,
leaving the French window open behind him. The night was cool, there was
a strong breeze from the east, and the chill, spring air poured into the
room.
When Foster came into the room a little while later, she saw at once
that the green-shaded light on the table-desk had been switched on, and
that the letters that her mistress sent for were not there. Then all of
a sudden she noticed that the window was open and there was a general
air of mystery about the room. She fled into the hall and called:--
"Stevens! Stevens!"
Stevens, who dogged the maid's footsteps and who was generally to be
found in her vicinity, was soon on the scene.
"See! The window's open!" she whispered tremblingly.
Stevens shook his head.
"I locked it myself," he said, going over to it to examine the lock.
"It has been forced," he informed her, and beckoned to her to come and
look at it.
With the gloom which the newsboys' cry had cast over them, the sight of
the broken fastening filled them with horror.
"Who did it?" wailed Foster.
Stevens stepped out upon the porch; there was no one there. He glanced
into the restricted space below; he saw nothing, heard nothing. So he
stepped back into the room and closed the window, and looked at Foster
with significance. Finally he answered:--
"One of those stone masons must have done it. He looked queer, acted
queer; that is, to me."
Foster caught him by the arm.
"Could he have anything to do--with the case?" she gulped.
Stevens pointed hastily about the room at various objects of value
easily appropriated.
"Just like as not," he answered. "If it was a thief, he'd have taken
that an' that an' that----"
"Isn't it terrible!" gasped Foster; "and isn't it shivery and cold!" She
seized a match, crossed over to the fireplace and lit the fire.
"What's that?" she started suddenly.
There was an almost unheard tinkle of an altogether unseen bell; and
before its sound died away Stevens had stolen from the room and plunged
almost headlong down the stairs. Foster quickly followed him to the
door, where she encountered Mrs. Challoner coming down the hall.
"I thought I heard the door-bell just now?" she asked; for while
oblivious to the noises of the street, there was little that occurred
indoors these days that escaped her notice.
"Yes, ma'am," Foster stammered; "Stevens is answering it."
One glance at the maid's face, however, had sufficed to convince her
mistress that something had happened; and for a moment it took all the
courage she could summon to her aid to keep her from breaking down
completely.
"What is it? Speak!" she exclaimed in a tremulous voice; and then
without waiting for an answer, for the sound of voices in the hall below
reached her ears: "If that's somebody to see me, I don't want to see
them--I don't want to see anybody--I can't see anybody--I won't!..." she
ended almost hysterically; and gathering her trailing skirts in her
hands, she fled to her room.
But no sooner had she reached the door than Shirley Bloodgood followed
on her heels.
"It's I, Miriam," she began; "and how are you, dear?" And without
further ceremony she pulled off her gloves, tossed off her hat and
planted herself in a chair.
"I just simply couldn't stay away from you any longer," she declared. "I
know you don't want me here, but I can't leave you."
Miriam Challoner sank weakly at a table and covered her face with her
hands. Alone with the servants, she had borne up, but in the presence of
the strong, sympathetic girl, Mrs. Challoner's courage vanished. Finally
she leaned toward her visitor, and asked, a world of pathos in the
question:--
"Is--is there any news outside?"
Shirley glanced at the fire sputtering in the grate; she hesitated
imperceptibly, then she answered:--
"None--I--I haven't seen the papers--no, there's nothing new."
Mrs. Challoner rose, staggered across the room to the girl and threw her
arms about her.
"Shirley, Shirley, I'd have gone mad, I think, if you hadn't come!" she
cried, and fell to sobbing; but after a moment she straightened up
again. There was a defiant look in her face now, a tremor in the voice
that said: "I don't care what he's done--I want Laurie to come back, do
you understand? I want him back--I want him...."
Shirley Bloodgood bit her lips.
"I know, I know, Miriam--I do understand----"
"Oh, but you can't understand," she persisted; "you haven't a husband
and you don't know ..."
"Yes, yes, Miriam, I know," were the only words that rose to the girl's
lips to comfort her, for at that moment the faint sound of the insistent
door-bell broke in upon them.
Mrs. Challoner's slight frame shook with sudden agitation as she
exclaimed:--
"That door-bell will drive me crazy!" And almost instantly recovering
her composure she gasped:--
"If it should be Laurie!"
The girl glanced at the smouldering fire in the grate, where to her
excited fancy in all their hideousness rose before her the headlines she
had read in the evening papers: "Challoner Caught In Chicago!"
"It isn't Laurie," Miriam went on; "no, of course not; but whoever it
is, Shirley, you must see them for me--unless it should be--" she
faltered. "Then come back, but don't leave me to-night--you'll stay,
won't you?"
"Yes," the girl assured her. "But you must promise me that you'll rest
for a little while--there--on that sofa. Then we'll have a bite
together, and----"
Without a word Miriam Challoner went over to the sofa, and soon gave way
to the first sleep she had had in many days.
"How are we ever going to break the news to her," sighed Shirley, as she
noiselessly crept from the room. Just outside of the door she
encountered Stevens, and quickly placing her finger on her lips, she
motioned him to be silent. When they were well out of hearing he
announced in a confidential tone:--
"Mr. Murgatroyd, Miss Bloodgood."
"Mr. Murgatroyd! William Murgatroyd? What does he want, Stevens?" She
was plainly excited.
"Sh-h-h!" warned Stevens gently; "he's the prosecutor of the pleas."
"Oh, then it _is_ Mr. William Murgatroyd. But what does he want?"
Stevens shook his head, for they were now well in hearing. The next
moment Shirley Bloodgood had entered the drawing-room and stood gazing
into the face of William Murgatroyd.
For an instant the man started back; he could not believe his own eyes.
"Shirley Bloodgood!" The name fell incredulously from his lips. "You
here?"
Shirley held out her hand.
"And you--what are you doing here?" she asked quickly. "I didn't know
that you were a friend of the family?"
Tall, well-built, with a smooth-shaven face, a square chin and a nose
that stood well out into the air, Murgatroyd was a man who appeared to
be without enthusiasm; but although sharp and business-like, his manner
was easy. Turning to Shirley, he came to the point at once.
"I want to see Mrs. Challoner," he announced. "But I'm glad you're here,
for I don't know her very well, and----"
"You can't very well see her now," Shirley interrupted, shaking her
head. "She's frightfully unstrung--she's ill. You know it's almost three
weeks now since Laurie first went away, and----"
"I know," he broke in just a bit impatiently.
"What?" Shirley gasped, the truth at last dawning upon her; "you don't
mean to say that you're here in--in your official capacity?"
Murgatroyd smiled grimly.
"It's the only capacity in which I'm likely to be here, Shirley," he
reminded her.
"But," she protested, "I thought they left these things to----"
"The police," he finished; and again smiled grimly. "They do, but there
are reasons--You see," he went on to explain, "since I was appointed
prosecutor of the pleas, I've turned up a thing or two in the Police
Department, and, well, the Police Department and I are somewhat out of
tune. This case they have put up to me and my men----"
"Surely you can't mean to imply that you have to do this kind of thing
yourself?" The girl looked askance.
Murgatroyd raised his eyebrows.
"Yes, it's up to me...."
Shirley shifted her position. She didn't like Murgatroyd in this new
role, and yet there was something in the grim determination of the man
that pleased her.
"I am sorry to remind you," he went on, the full responsibility of his
office upon him, "that I am here to see Mrs. Challoner; to find out
where Challoner is; to persuade her to persuade him to come back."
Murgatroyd chopped out the sentences as though he were a machine.
"Then he wasn't caught in Chicago!" Shirley exclaimed almost jubilantly;
and then touching him on the arm a bit familiarly, she added:--
"Billy, you don't really believe that Laurie murdered Colonel
Hargraves?"
Murgatroyd laughed a short laugh.
"If I didn't know you, Shirley, I should imagine you were sparring for
time.... If I didn't know you I wouldn't answer your questions. As it
is, I must answer them in the same way that I would do anything you
asked of me--short of crime."
"If you put it that way," returned Shirley, drawing away from him, her
tone growing cold, "you needn't answer me at all."
Murgatroyd did not heed her.
"I don't know," he went on evasively, "whether Challoner murdered
Hargraves or not."
"You don't know ..."
"No," returned the prosecutor; "so far the evidence is purely
circumstantial."
Shirley Bloodgood had been hanging on his words. She drew a long breath
and echoed excitedly: "Circumstantial--" There was a flicker of a smile
on her face as she added:--
"Then the newspapers were wrong when they said it was a certainty!..."