THE APPROACH OF A MAN NAMED SMITH
Mr. Redmond Wrandall, grey and gaunt and somewhat wistful, rode
slowly through the leafy lane, attended some little distance behind
by Griggs the groom, who slumped in the saddle and thought only of
the sylvan dell to curse it with poetic license. (Ever since Mr.
Wrandall had been thrown by his horse in the Park a few years
before his wife had insisted on having a groom handy in case he lost
his seat again: hence Griggs.) It sometimes got on Mr. Wrandall's
nerves, having Griggs lopping along like that, but there didn't
seem to be any way out of it, nor was there the remotest likelihood
that the groom himself might one day be spilled and broken in many
places while engaged in this obnoxious espionage.
Mr. Wrandall was grey because he was old, he was gaunt because he
was old, and he usually was somewhat wistful for the same reason.
He nourished the lament that he had grown old before his time,
despite the sixty odd years that lay behind him. He was always
a trifle annoyed with himself for not having demanded more of
his youth. Griggs, therefore, was a physical insult, any way you
looked at him: his very presence in the road behind was a blatant,
house-top sort of proclamation that he, Redmond Wrandall, was in
his dotage, and that was something Mr. Wrandall would never have
admitted if he had had anything to say about it.
To-day he was riding over to Southlook to visit his daughter-in-law
and one whom he looked upon as a prospective daughter-in-law. It
was Wednesday and the family had been in the country since Monday.
His wife and Vivian had motored over on Tuesday. They were letting
no grass grow under their feet, notwithstanding a sudden and
unexplained period of procrastination on the part of Leslie, who
had gone off for a fortnight's fishing in Maine. Moreover, so far
as they knew, he had departed without proposing to Miss Castleton:
an oversight which deprived his mother of at least two weeks of
activity along obvious lines. Naturally, it was quite impossible
to discuss the future with Miss Castleton under the circumstances,
and it was equally out of the question to discuss it with security
in the very constricted circle that Mrs. Wrandall affected in the
country. It really was too bad of Leslie! He should have known
better.
Half way to Southlook, Mr. Wrandall, turning a bend in the road,
caught sight of two people walking some distance ahead: a man and
a woman. They were several hundred yards away, and travelling in
the direction he was going. He pulled his horse down to a walk, a
circumstance that for the moment escaped the attention of Griggs,
who rode alongside before he quite realised what had happened.
"Griggs," said his master, staring at the pedestrians, "when did
my son return?"
Griggs grasped the situation at a glance--a rather vague and imperfect
glance, however. "This morning, sir," he replied promptly, although
he was as much at sea as his master.
"I understood Mrs. Wrandall to say he was not expected before
Saturday."
"Yes, sir. He came unexpected, sir."
"Well," said Mr. Wrandall, with an indulgent smile, "we will not
ride them down."
"No, indeed, sir," consented Griggs, with a wink that Mr. Wrandall
did not see.
The pleased, satisfied smile grew on Redmond Wrandall's gaunt old
face: not reminiscent, I am bound to say, yet reflective.
The tall young man and the girl far ahead apparently were not aware
of the scrutiny. They appeared to be completely absorbed in each
other. At last, coming to a footpath diverging from the macadam, they
stopped and parleyed. Then they turned into this narrow, tortuous
path over the hillside and were lost to view.
Mr. Wrandall's smile broadened as he touched his horse lightly
with the crop. Coming to the obscure little bypath, he shot a
surreptitious glance into the fastnesses of the wood, but did not
slacken his speed. No one was in sight.
"I dare say the danger is past, Griggs," he said humorously. "They
are safe."
"I believe you, sir," said Griggs, also forgetting himself so far
as to steal a look over his right shoulder.
It was Mr. Wrandall's design to ride on to Southlook and surprise
Leslie and his inamorata at the lodge gates, where he would wait
for them. Arriving there, he dismounted and turned his steed over
to Griggs, with instructions to ride on. He would join Mr. Leslie
and Miss Castleton and walk with them for the remainder of the
distance.
He sat down on the rustic bench and lighted a cigar. The lodge-keeper
saluted him from the garden below. Later the keeper's small son
came up and from the opposite side of the roadway regarded him with
the wide, curious gaze of a four-year-old. Mr. Wrandall disliked
children. He made no friendly overtures. The child stood his
ground, which was in a sense disconcerting, although he couldn't
tell why. He felt like saying "shoo!" Presently the keeper's collie
came up and sniffed his puttees, all the while looking askance.
Mr. Wrandall said: "Away with you," and the dog retreated with some
dignity to the steps where he laid down and fixed his eyes on the
stranger.
Half-an-hour passed. Mr. Wrandall frowned as he looked at his watch.
Another quarter of an hour went by. He changed his position, and
the dog lifted his head, without wagging his tail.
"'Pon my soul," said Mr. Wrandall in some annoyance.
Just then the dog and the child deflected their common stare. He
was at first grateful, then interested. The child was beaming, the
dog's tail was thumping a merry tattoo on the wooden step. Footsteps
crunched on the gravel and he turned to look, although it was not
the direction from which he expected his son and Miss Castleton.
He came to his feet, plainly perplexed. Miss Castleton approached,
but the fellow beside her was not Leslie.
"How are you, Mr. Wrandall?" called out the young man cheerily,
crossing the road.
"Good afternoon, Brandon," said Mr. Wrandall, nonplussed. "How do
you do, Miss Castleton? Delighted to see you looking so well. Where
did you leave my son?"
"Haven't seen him," said Booth. "Is he back?"
Mr. Redmond Wrandall swallowed hard.
"I was so informed," he replied, with an effort.
"Are you not coming up to the house, Mr. Wrandall?" inquired Miss
Castleton, and he thought he detected a note of appeal in her voice.
"Certainly," he announced, taking his place beside her. To himself
he was saying: "This young blade has been annoying her, confound
him."
"Miss Castleton had a note from Leslie this morning, saying he
wouldn't start home till Friday," said Booth, puzzled. "You don't
mind my saying so, Miss Castleton?"
"Not at all. I am sure he said Friday."
"I fancy he did say Friday," said Mr. Wrandall. "I think Griggs
had been drinking."
"Griggs?" inquired the two in unison.
He volunteered no more than that. He was too busily engaged in wondering
what his son could be thinking of, to leave this delightful girl
to the tender mercies of a handsome, fascinating chap like Brandon
Booth. He didn't relish the look of things. She was agitated,
suspiciously so; and Booth wasn't what one would describe as perfectly
at ease. There was something in the air, concluded Leslie's father.
"I hear you are coming over to spend a fortnight with us, Miss
Castleton," said he pleasantly.
Hetty started. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Wrandall," she said, although
he had spoken very distinctly.
"Leslie mentioned it a--oh, some time ago, my dear. This is the
first time I have seen you, otherwise I should have added my warmest
appeal for you to come early and to stay late. Ha-ha! Hope you will
find your way to our place, Brandon. You are always a most welcome
visitor."
The girl walked on in silence, her lips set with curious firmness.
Booth looked at her and indulged in a queer little smile, to which
she responded with a painful flush.
"Vivian expects to have a few friends out at the same time--very
quietly, you know, and without much of a hurrah. Young ladies you
ought to know in New York, my dear Miss Castleton. I dare say you
will remember all of them, Brandon."
"I dare say," said Booth, without interest.
"I understand the portrait is finished," went on the old gentleman,
blissfully oblivious to the disturbance he had created. "Mrs.
Wrandall says it is wonderful, Brandon. You won't mind showing it
to me? I am very much interested."
"Glad to have you see it, sir."
"Thanks."
He slackened his pace, an uneasy frown appearing between his eyes.
"I am almost afraid to tell Sara the news we have had from town
this morning. She is so opposed to notoriety and all that sort of
thing. Poor girl, she's had enough to drive one mad, I fear, with
all that wretched business of a year ago."
Hetty stopped in her tracks. She went very white.
"What news, Mr. Wrandall?"
"They say they have stumbled upon a clew,--an absolutely indisputable
clew. Smith had me on the wire this morning. He is the chief operative,
you understand, Miss Castleton. He informs me that his original
theory is quite fully substantiated by this recent discovery. If
you remember, he gave it as his opinion a year ago that the woman
was not--er--I may say, of the class catalogued as fast. He is
coming out to-morrow to see me."
Things went suddenly black before her eyes, but in an instant she
regained control of herself.
"They have had many clews, Mr. Wrandall," she complained, shaking
her head.
"I know," he replied; "and this one may be as futile as the rest.
Smith appears to be absolutely certain this time, however."
"I understood that Mrs. Wrandall--I mean Mrs. Challis Wrandall--refused
to offer a reward," said Booth. "These big detective agencies are
not keen about--"
"There is a ten thousand dollar reward still standing, Brandon,"
said Mr. Wrandall.
Again the girl started.
"That isn't generally known, sir," observed the painter. "Leslie
told me there was no reward."
"It was privately arranged," explained Leslie's father.
They came in sight of the house at that moment, and the subject
was dropped, for Sara was approaching them in earnest conversation
with Mr. Carroll, her lawyer.
They met at the edge of the lower basin, where the waters trickled
down from an imposing Italian fountain on the level above, forming
a deep, clear pool to which the lofty sky lent unfathomable depths.
To the left of the basin there was a small tea-house, snug in the
shadow of the cypresses that lined the crest of the hill. A series
of rough stone steps wound down to the water's edge and the boathouse.
"Mr. Carroll is the bearer of startling news, Mr. Wrandall," said
Sara, after the greetings. There was a trace of the sardonic in
her voice.
"Indeed?" said Mr. Wrandall gravely.
"I was not aware, sir," said the old lawyer stiffly, and with a
positive glare, "that your detectives were such unmitigated asses
as they now appear to be."
"I fail to understand, Mr. Carroll," with considerable loftiness.
"That confounded rascal Smith called to see me this morning, sir.
He is a rogue, sir. He--"
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Carroll," protested Mr. Wrandall, in a far
from conciliatory manner.
"It seems, in short, that he has been working on a very intimate
clew," said Sara, staring fixedly at her father-in-law's face.
"So he informed me over the 'phone this morning," said he, rather
taken a-back. "However, he did not go into the details. I am here,
Sara, to tell you that he is coming out to-morrow. I want to ask
you to come over to my place at--"
"That is out of the question, sir," exclaimed Mr. Carroll vehemently.
"My dear Mr. Carroll--" began Wrandall angrily, but Sara interrupted
him to suggest that they talk it over in the tea-house. She would
ring for tea.
"If you will excuse me, Mrs. Wrandall, I think I will be off," said
Booth.
"Please stay, Mr. Booth," she urged. "I would like to have you
here."
She fell behind with Hetty. The girl's eyes were glassy.
"Don't be alarmed," she whispered.
Booth pressed the button for her. "Thank you. You will be surprised,
Mr. Wrandall, to hear that the new clew leads to a member of your
own family."
Mr. Wrandall was in the act of sitting down. At her words he dropped.
His eyes bulged.
"Good God!"
"It appears that Mr. Smith suspects--ME!" said she coolly.
Her father-in-law's lips moved, but no sound issued. His face was
livid.
"The stupid fool!" hissed the irate Mr. Carroll.
There was deathly silence for a moment following this outburst.
Every face was pale. In Hetty's there was an expression of utter
horror. Her lips too were moving.
"He has, it seems, put one thing and another together, as if it
were a picture puzzle," went on Sara. "His visit to Mr. Carroll
this morning was for the purpose of ascertaining how much it would
be worth to me if he dropped the case--NOW."
"The infernal blackmailer!" gasped Mr. Wrandall, finding his voice.
"I will have him kicked off the place if he comes to me with--My
dear, my dear! You cannot mean what you say."
He was in a shocking state of bewilderment.
"I'd advise you to call off your infernal blackmailer, Mr. Redmond
Wrandall," snarled Mr. Carroll, pacing back and forth.
"My dear sir," stammered the other, "I--I--do you mean to imply
that I know anything about this infamous business?"
"He is your dog, not ours," declared the lawyer, pacing the brick
floor.
"Peace, gentlemen," admonished Sara. "Let us discuss it calmly."
"Calmly?" gasped Mr. Wrandall.
"Calmly!" snapped the lawyer.
"At least deliberately. It appears, Mr. Wrandall, that Smith has
been working on the theory all along that it was I who went to the
inn with Challis. You recall the description given of the woman? She
was of my size and figure, they said at the time. Well, he has--"
"It is infamous!" shouted Mr. Wrandall, springing to his feet.
"He shall hear from me to-night. I shall have him lodged in jail
before--"
"You will do nothing of the sort," interrupted Sara firmly. "I think
you will do well to hear his side of the story. And remember, sir,
that it would be very difficult for me to establish an alibi."
"Bless me!" groaned the old man. Then his eyes brightened. "But
Miss Castleton can prove that for you, my dear. Don't forget Miss
Castleton."
"Miss Castleton did not come to me, you should remember, until after
the--the trouble. It occurred the second night after my arrival
from Europe. Mr. Smith has discovered that I was not in my rooms
at the hotel that night."
"You were not?" fell from Mr. Wrandall's lips. "Where were you?"
"I spent the night in our apartment--alone." She shivered as with
a chill as she uttered these words.
"What!"
"Leslie met me at the dock. He said that Challis had gone away
from town for a day or two. The next day I telephoned to the garage
and asked them to send the big car to me as I wanted to make some
calls. They said that Mr. Wrandall had discharged the chauffeur
a week or two before and had been using my little French runabout
for a few days, driving it himself. I then instructed them to send
the runabout around with one of their own drivers. You can imagine
my surprise when I was told that Mr. Wrandall had taken the car
out that morning and had not returned with it."
"I see," said Mr. Wrandall, beads of perspiration standing on his
forehead.
"He had not left town. I will not try to describe my feelings. Late
in the afternoon, I called them up again. He had not returned. It
was then that I thought of going to the apartment, which had been
closed all winter. Watson and his wife were to go in the next day
by my instructions. Challis had been living at a club, I believe.
Somehow, I had the feeling that during the night my husband would
come to the apartment--perhaps not alone. You understand. I went
there and waited all night. That is the story. Of course, it is known
that I did not spend the night at the hotel. Mr. Smith evidently
has learned as much. It is on this circumstance that he bases his
belief."
Booth was leaning forward, breathless with interest.
"May I enquire, Mr. Carroll, how the clever Mr. Smith accounts for
the secrecy observed by Mr. Wrandall and his companion, if, as he
proclaims, you were the woman? Is it probable that husband and wife
would have been so mysterious?"
Mr. Carroll answered. "He is rather ingenious as to that, Mr.
Booth. You must understand that he does not specifically charge
my cli--Mrs. Wrandall with the murder of her husband. He merely
arranges his theories so that they may be applied to her with
a reasonable degree of assurance. He only goes this far in his
deductions: If, as he has gleaned, Challis Wrandall was engaged
in an illicit--er--we'll say distraction--with some one unknown to
Sara his wife, what could be more spectacular than her discovery
of the fact and the subsequently inspired decision to lay a trap
for him? Of course, it is perfect nonsense, but it is the way he
goes about it. It has been established beyond a doubt that Wrandall
met the woman at a station four miles down the line from Burton's
Inn. She came out on one of the local trains, got off at this
station as prearranged, and found him waiting for her. Two men,
you will recall, testified to that effect at the inquest sixteen
months ago. She was heavily veiled. She got in the motor and drove
off with him. This was at half past eight o'clock in the evening.
Smith makes this astounding guess; the woman instead of being the
person expected, was in reality his wife, who had by some means
intercepted a letter. Our speculative friend Smith is not prepared
to suggest an arrest on these flimsy claims, but he believes it to
be worth Mrs. Wrandall's while to have the case permanently closed,
rather than allow these nasty conclusions to get abroad. They would
spread like wildfire. Do you see what I mean?"
"It is abominable!" cried Hetty, standing before them with flashing
eyes. "I KNOW she did not--"
"Hetty, my dear!" cried Sara sharply.
The girl looked at her for a moment in a frenzied way, and then
turned aside, biting her lips to keep back the actual confession
that had rushed up to them.
"It is blackmail," repeated Mr. Wrandall miserably.
"In the most diabolical form," augmented Carroll. "The worst of it
is, Wrandall, we can't stop his tongue unless we fairly choke him
with greenbacks. All he has to do is to give the confounded yellow
journals an inkling of his suspicions, and the job is done. It seems
to be pretty well understood that the crime was not committed by a
person in the ordinary walks of life, but by one who is secure in
the protection of mighty influences. There are those who believe
that his companion was one of the well-known and prominent young
matrons in the city, many of whom were at one time or another interested
in him in a manner not at all complimentary. Smith suggests--mind
you, he merely suggests--that the person who was to have met Wrandall
in the country that night was so highly connected that she does
not dare reveal herself, although absolutely innocent of the crime.
Or, it is possible on the other hand, he says, that she may consider
herself extremely lucky in failing to keep her appointment and
thereby alluring him to take up with another, after she had written
the letter breaking off the engagement,--said letter not having
been received by him because it had fallen into the hands of his
wife. Do you see? It is ingenious, isn't it?"
"What is to be done?" groaned Mr. Wrandall, in a state of collapse.
He was sitting limply back in the chair, crumpled to the chin.
"The sanest thing, I'd suggest," said Booth sarcastically, "is the
capture of the actual perpetrator of the deed."
"But, confound them," growled Carroll, "they say they can't."
"I shall withdraw my offer of reward," proclaimed the unhappy
father, struggling to his feet. "I never dreamed it could come to
such a pass as this. You DO believe me, don't you, Sara, my child--my
daughter? God hear me, I never--"
"Oh," said she cuttingly, "you, at least, are innocent, Mr.
Wrandall."
He looked at her rather sharply.
"The confounded fellow is coming to see me to-morrow," he went on
after a moment of indecision. "I shall be obliged to telephone to
the city for my attorney to come out also. I don't believe in taking
chances with these scoundrels. They--"
"May I enquire, sir, why you entrusted the matter to a third rate
detective agency when there are such reputable concerns as the
Pinkertons or--" began Mr. Carroll bitingly.
Mr. Wrandall held up his hand deprecatingly.
"We had an idea that an unheard of agency might accomplish more
than one of the famous organisations."
"Well, you see what has come of it," growled the other.
"I was opposed to the reward, sir," declared Mr. Wrandall with some
heat. "Not that I was content to give up the search, but because I
felt sure that the guilty person would eventually reveal herself.
They always do, sir. It is the fundamental principle of criminology.
Soon or late they falter. My son Leslie is of a like opinion. He
has declared all along that the mystery will be cleared up if we
are quiescent. A guilty conscience takes its own way to relieve
itself. If you keep prodding it with sharp sticks you encourage
fear, and stealth, and all that sort of thing, without really
getting anywhere in the end. Give a murderer a free rope and he'll
hang himself, is my belief. Threaten him with that self-same rope,
and he'll pay more attention to dread than to conscience, and your
ends are defeated."
Sara was inwardly nervous. She stole a glance at the white, emotionless
face of the girl across the table, and was filled with apprehension.
"Can you be sure, Mr. Wrandall," she began earnestly, "that justice
isn't the antidote for the poisonous thing we call a conscience?
Suppose this woman to have been fully justified in doing what she
did, does it follow that conscience can force her to admit, even
to herself, that she is morally guilty of a crime against man? I
doubt it, sir."
She was prepared for a subtle change in Hetty's countenance and was
not surprised to see the light of hope steal back into her eyes.
"Fully justified?" murmured the old gentleman painfully.
"Perhaps we would better not go into that question too intimately,"
suggested Mr. Carroll.
"My son Leslie has peculiar views along the very line--" began Mr.
Wrandall, in great distress of mind. He fell into a reflective mood
and did not finish the sentence.
"I shall see this man Smith," announced Sara calmly.
Her father-in-law stood over her, his face working. "My dear,"
he said, "I promise you this absurd business shall go no farther.
Don't let it trouble you in the least. I will attend to Smith. If
there is no other way to check his vile insinuations, I will pay
his price. You are not to be submitted to these dreadful--"
She interrupted him. "You will do nothing of the kind, Mr. Wrandall,"
she said levelly. "Do you want to convince him that I AM guilty?"
"God in heaven, no!"
"Then why pay him the reward you have offered for the person who
is guilty?"
"It is an entirely different propo--"
"It amounts to the same thing, sir. He tells you he has discovered
the woman you want and you fulfil your part of the bargain by
paying him for his services. That closes the transaction, so far
as he is concerned. He goes his way fully convinced that he has
put his hands on the criminal, and then proceeds to wash them in
private instead of in public. No. Let me see this man. I insist."
"He will be at my place to-morrow at eleven," said Wrandall
resignedly. "I wish Leslie were here. He is so level-headed."
Sara laid her hand on his arm. He looked up and found her regarding
him rather fixedly.
"It would be just as well as to keep this from Mrs. Wrandall and
Vivian," she said meaningly.
"You are right, Sara. It would distress them beyond words."
She smiled faintly. "May I enquire whether Mr. Smith is to report
to you or to Mrs. Wrandall?"
He flushed. "My wife--er--made the arrangements with him, Sara," he
said, but added quickly: "With my sanction, of course. He reports
to me. As a matter of fact, now that I think of it, he advised me
to say nothing to my wife until he had talked with me."
"Inasmuch as he has already talked it over with me, through counsel,
I don't see any reason why we should betray his gentle confidence,
do you?"
"I--I suppose not," said he uncomfortably.
"Then, bring him here at eleven, Mr. Wrandall," said she serenely.
"He has already paved the way. I imagine he expects to find me at
home. Put the things here, Watson."
Watson had appeared with the tray. It being a very hot day, he did
not bring tea.