THREAT AND PROMISE
The inquest was over, and King’s body quietly laid to rest. A verdict
of death by person or persons unknown had been duly returned, then a
postponement had been ordered to sift the evidence and investigate
the clues, at some later date to be reconvened for further testimony.
It had been a purely formal ceremony to satisfy the letter of the
law, for Sewell had taken care that nothing of real importance had
been presented. He was far from ready for that contingency as yet.
To Mrs. Bascom the proceedings had been a decided disappointment, for
she had attended them fully confident of learning what Sewell’s real
suspicions might be, sure that she would hear any facts or details he
had gathered which had not been discussed in her presence. Instead,
only the bare outline of the case had been given out, a brief
recapitulation of what she already knew.
She was not at all sure now that Ezra Sewell had any definite theory
as to the murder. His face was as placid as ever, his manner as
leisurely and unperturbed as if nothing of importance was being
discussed. Yet that did not deceive Mrs. Bascom. She knew that
underneath his assumed air of nonchalance, his eyes were watching
every one, his brain receiving and cataloguing their expressions
and reactions or noting details that might have any bearing on
the case. It was these characteristics which had made him come out
victorious in so many deals or trades with shrewd farmers, had gained
him a hearty respect and reputation for wisdom among his fellow
townspeople. But these same traits led many strangers to pass him by
as a quite ordinary, none too keen farmer!
All this Mrs. Bascom sensed without ever having put it actually into
words or even concrete thoughts, and it made her realize still more
forcefully that her own dilemma was precarious. That Sewell suspected
her of concealing some knowledge was certain, but whether this was
merely a vague impression or a definite suspicion, she could not
decide.
In spite of these thoughts, however, she had definitely decided upon
a course of action for herself. Sylvia must be protected until such
time as she regained her normal senses. There was no explanation
possible, it seemed to Mrs. Bascom, for Sylvia’s actions and words
other than an imminent nervous breakdown or mental lapse. Whether
this be temporary or not remained to be seen, but until it was past,
Mrs. Bascom would keep her knowledge of certain things to herself.
This would mean concealing the knife and the stained bit of Sylvia’s
dress, would require her to choose her words with care in discussing
certain phases of Sylvia’s temporary disappearance, but she did
not shrink from the task, once her mind was fixed upon a definite
policy. Perhaps also there was a certain perverse pleasure in keeping
a secret from Sewell, even though she ran a very real risk of
complications with the law for her deeds. That only added a spice to
the affair!
The inquest over, Mrs. Bascom went up to Sylvia’s room and found her
just awakening.
‘Feeling better and rested?’ she asked, the sight of Sylvia’s drawn
face putting to rout any lingering doubts as to her duty in shielding
her.
‘Yes. I’ll try not to be foolish again, Mrs. B.--Tell me, has
anything happened since they--they questioned me?’
‘The inquest has been held, but only the usual vague verdict was
rendered. Nothing else has occurred at all.’
‘They did not bring out any new facts?’
‘Not even all the old ones!’
‘And was anything said--about me?’
‘No. The whole thing was postponed until the evidence against Ruel
could be sifted, or at least that’s what I gather they meant.’
‘If I could only do something,’ muttered Sylvia tearfully. ‘If only
it weren’t for this ankle----’
‘There’s nothing better you can do than to rest and get well
speedily,’ soothed Mrs. Bascom. ‘When things get straightened out and
clear in your mind again----’
‘What do you mean? Everything is perfectly clear now. I know exactly
what I’m doing, if that’s what you infer.’
‘Not--not when you insist upon that will, not when you tell the very
details that involve you most suspiciously.’
‘You mean I’ve made my position--suspicious?’
‘Yes.’ Mrs. Bascom was moving about the room, so did not notice the
curious expression on Sylvia’s face at that moment. ‘If you’d only
listened to me first--let me help you----It was not like your usual
clear-headed way of doing things, Sylvia.’
‘I knew you’d say that, though I’d hoped----Never mind,’ she finished
flatly, and the buoyancy went from her face, leaving it cold, aloof,
and determined.
‘Mrs. B.,’ she said after a moment’s pause, ‘I suppose I told you a
lot of queer things about--about when I was in the chute, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, you did. And that’s another reason I could not understand some
of your answers.’
‘I don’t wonder. But don’t you see I was still dazed then and didn’t
know what I was saying? If I contradicted myself to-day--well, what I
said to the inspector is--what I shall stick to, so please forget the
rest.’
‘It sounded quite convincing as you told it to me,’ challenged Mrs.
Bascom.
‘Did it?--But won’t you forget it now?’
‘You mean your premonitions--that tap on your shoulder?’
‘You said there was nothing at the bottom of the chute, so that
proves I was only imagining things,’ interrupted Sylvia quickly. ‘It
was all fancy, you see.’
Mrs. Bascom could not reply to this. Caught in a web of her own
weaving, she did not deem it wise to confess about the knife she had
found there nor the way she had evaded lying about it. Robbed of any
retort, she merely studied Sylvia’s expression in silence, trying
to pierce beyond its blankness to find some emotion. Certainly her
words were clear-headed enough now.
‘Is Basil about the house?’ suddenly asked Sylvia.
‘I think so.’
‘Then would you mind asking him to come here? I want to talk with
him--alone.’
‘Surely. But you don’t mean alone--while you’re in bed, my dear, and
in your nightgown!’
‘Oh, I’ll slip on a negligee, though I guess Basil wouldn’t be
shocked.’
‘But, Sylvia, it isn’t proper.’
‘Why not?--That sounds like his step now.’
She raised her voice, calling his name, and when he answered, told
him to enter. This he did in the midst of Mrs. Bascom’s frantic
efforts to envelop Sylvia in her negligee! The result was more
revealing than concealing for a moment, but it was Mrs. Bascom who
blushed. Basil, as Sylvia had remarked, did not seem to mind.
‘Hello, Sylvia. Up and at ’em again, eh?’ he called cheerily.
Her stolidity broke into a gay smile of welcome.
‘Not up, but decidedly at ’em,’ she laughed. ‘Pick out an easy
resting-place, I want to talk to you.’ She signaled to Mrs. Bascom
to retire, but when the latter did not move as Basil drew up a chair
close to the bed, Sylvia added flippantly, ‘You’ll promise to be a
good boy? You see, Mrs. B. doesn’t seem to trust us--alone.’
Basil laughed heartily and was about to cap her remark with another,
but Mrs. Bascom did not stay to hear it. With outraged dignity, she
strode from the room, slamming the door obviously behind her.
In the hall she paused to gasp for breath. Decidedly she was
learning things about Sylvia! Until now she had seemed a quiet,
self-respecting young girl, but turning on Mrs. Bascom as she had,
becoming so suddenly secretive, and inviting a bachelor into her
bedroom--Either she was wholly out of her senses or--she was not the
sort of woman Mrs. Bascom had supposed.
The door to her own room stood open, so she stepped inside, then
halted abruptly at the sound of voices.
Her room was next Sylvia’s and the communicating door was ajar so
that she could hear every word Sylvia and Basil were saying. With all
due justice to her, Mrs. Bascom remained in her room not with any
idea of eavesdropping, but merely to satisfy her sense of propriety.
It was not in her code for young women to entertain men alone in
their bedrooms--under any circumstances. Hence it was her plain duty
to act as chaperon, even though unwelcome and unsuspected. She picked
up a book and began to read conscientiously.
For a few moments the two voices from the other room kept up a
battery of light chatter and Mrs. Bascom read a page or so. Then,
unconsciously at first, a phrase here and there seeped into her
ears as the voices lowered somewhat and became serious. Before she
realized what she was doing, the book slipped to her lap unnoticed,
and she bent toward the door to catch their words. And when she did
realize her attitude, she was deliberately listening, her conscience
ceasing to prick her, for the revelations she heard were too
astonishingly important to her knowledge of affairs.
It was Basil who first brought up the subject of the will.
‘Sylvia, what was the idea in saying King had told you he meant to
leave everything to you?’
There was a strained pause before she answered.
‘Why do you ask that? You heard what I said to the inspector.’
‘And I also know it wasn’t true.’
‘How?’ Her voice was sharp, frightened.
‘Because he discussed his financial affairs with me that morning,
told me of one alteration in his will he was going to make, but
decidedly it was not all in your favor.’
‘Then he must have changed his mind.’
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Basil levelly. ‘Besides, you said he told
you this a few days ago. If he had changed, it was obviously not in
your benefit.’
‘Then I--I must have confused the time.--You insinuate I was--lying?’
‘Come, Sylvia. Don’t get huffy about it. All I want to know is,
what’s the game? I’m not accusing you of--er--anything. You know I
admire your clever little brain and want to help you. I’ve told you
that before and it still goes.’
‘I--Let’s not discuss that, please.’
‘Why not?’ reiterated Basil calmly. ‘You know I like
you--tremendously. I’d been trying to get you alone all day before
the play to tell you----’
‘Don’t Basil, not now,’ pleaded Sylvia in a panic.
‘Why not now? It’s just the time you need help and advice. I only
want to understand your game so I can play up too.’
‘Play up?’ exploded Sylvia. ‘You accuse me of scheming and playing a
game, do you? You dare to talk that way to me--you, who sneak about a
dead man’s house like a thief--no, _as_ a thief!’
‘What do you mean?’ His voice was surprised, but not alarmed.
‘I saw you tiptoeing down the stairs just before the--the burglary.
Oh, I know what was in that desk--what you took from it. You knew
well enough where he put those unlisted securities and bonds. I don’t
have to look there to see what’s gone or guess where it is now.’
‘So you saw me, eh? And why were you up at such a late hour, might I
ask? Why didn’t you tell all this to Sewell?’
‘Because I wanted to hear what you had to say first. Also I haven’t
made sure yet----’
‘Ah! Two minds with but a single thought!’ laughed Basil a trifle
harshly.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Why, you expressed exactly the reason I kept mum about your little
prowling in the dark!’
‘About my--about me----’ Real fear choked her voice now, and Mrs.
Bascom involuntarily stood up, ready to act if necessary.
‘Yes, about your little trip down the hall. Oh, you didn’t know I
saw you hobbling down to Judge Brant’s room, did you? Well, I did. I
came up here to search about for the burglar’--he snickered at the
word--‘and paused on the stairs while you entered his room. I suppose
it was the creaking of the stairs that scared you back again, eh? Of
course you were after the will, but you didn’t get it. He sent it
off to his office for safe-keeping this morning.--Well, what did you
mean to do with it?’
‘Destroy it,’ whispered Sylvia desperately.
‘Quite likely, my dear, when you insisted on probating it to-day!’
Sylvia did not answer. Mrs. Bascom could not stand the suspense
any longer. Shamelessly she pulled her skirts up so they would not
rustle, and crept over to the door. Slowly she moved her head until
one eye could look through the crack.
Basil was on his feet beside the bed, his hands thrust into his
pockets, his whole attitude one of insolent victory. Sylvia crouched
back against her pillow breathing rapidly, her hands clutching at
the bedclothes and trembling, her eyes staring with horror. Her lips
moved as if in speech, but no words came from them.
That one glimpse was enough for Mrs. Bascom. Quickly she retreated,
intending to gain the hall, then enter Sylvia’s room and interrupt
this painful scene. She might have done so more easily by entering
through the communicating door, but instinctively she avoided
exposing her presence there, her mind groping to explain what she had
overheard.
Before she reached the hall, Basil spoke again.
‘That’s hit you where you live, eh? Well, think it over, Sylvia, my
dear. You’ve no need to fear. There’s an easy way to fix everything,
you know, for both of us. If you don’t discover it, I’ll tell
you--to-morrow.’
Mrs. Bascom took a few steps down the hall, then turned as if just
coming from the farther wing of the house. Thus Basil saw her, nodded
quite composedly, and moved down the stairs with some pleasantry
that she neither understood nor even heard. She had just made a
discovery. She did not like Basil, had always mistrusted him somehow,
now that she came to look back upon their meetings!
When Mrs. Bascom entered Sylvia’s room, the latter had not moved,
still cringed, staring blankly at the spot where Basil’s face had
been. Mrs. Bascom’s first impulse was to take her in her arms,
soothe away her abject terror and comfort her. Yet, as she started
to move toward the bed, reason conquered impulse, and she paused.
There was little she could say without revealing that she had
been eavesdropping, and nothing to be gained by such a course.
Moreover, she hesitated to approach Sylvia in the latter’s strange,
unsympathetic mood that had rebuffed her so sharply a few moments ago.
Steeling herself with these resolves, she went to the window
and began fussing with the curtains and shade to give Sylvia an
opportunity to make the first overture if she so desired. Evidently
she did not, so Mrs. Bascom raised the shade rather noisily and
whirled to face her.
‘You look very weary. You must rest, Sylvia.’
At the sound of her voice, Sylvia seemed to notice her presence in
the room for the first time, caught her breath sharply, and closed
her eyes before the light that flooded in the window.
‘Rest--rest?’ she whispered in a dull voice. ‘Yes, I must think.’
Her tired, helpless tone almost broke down Mrs. Bascom’s resolve,
but before she could move or speak, Sylvia abruptly sat up in bed,
slapping her cheeks to bring back their color, and tossing back her
hair with little impatient jerks of her head.
‘Mrs. B., I’m acting like a--a fool. You must think I’m
utterly--utterly----’ She could not find the right word, so left the
sentence unfinished with a fluttering gesture of impatience.
‘I think you’re utterly worn out, scarcely recovered from your
experience in the barn before you went through that ordeal of
questioning,’ finished Mrs. Bascom for her.
‘No, I’m behaving like a helpless infant, not a normal, healthy
woman. But it’s all so sudden--so hard to make out. And I must carry
on--alone.’
‘Tell me what’s troubling you, Sylvia,’ pleaded Mrs. Bascom,
coming closer and seizing her hand. ‘You know you can trust me. I
know--perhaps more than you think. Don’t you see, I’m as anxious to
find out the truth as you are? I’m a woman. I can understand, and
help you, if you’ll only let me, Sylvia.’
‘I wish--But you don’t understand, you can’t.’ Sylvia, with an
irrepressible shudder, leaned closer for a moment. ‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Because you’re afraid I won’t hold my tongue? Because you think I’m
just an inquisitive, gossipy old woman?’ Mrs. Bascom bridled in spite
of herself.
‘Oh, no--no, not that. It’s just you wouldn’t believe--you’d insist
I----Mrs. B., don’t fail me! Help me to do--what’s to be done. Trust
me--if you can!’ The last words were spoken in a whisper.
Mrs. Bascom did not know the first principles of psychology, but
she did know human nature. There was something Sylvia wanted to
tell her, yet dared not, some hint she was trying desperately to
convey, yet conceal. Mrs. Bascom could not fathom her purpose, yet
the appeal was genuine, sincere, and those whispered words seemed to
portend some further trial, some future event which would tax her
credulity even more. Whether these words had been impulsive or chosen
with forethought, Sylvia’s plea could not have been better planned
to bring back Mrs. Bascom’s determination to protect her. Somehow
they made her believe in Sylvia’s innocence in spite of the web of
circumstance that was tangling about her.
‘I do trust you, my dear, though I think you are mistaken, trying to
carry some double burden alone. You have the confidence of youth, but
that’s a deceptive strength without the knowledge of experience.’
‘I know, I know. It’s what you’d say, of course, but this isn’t the
first time I’ve had to--to carry a burden. If you’ll only trust me
and help me.’
‘Trust makes trust,’ answered Mrs. Bascom simply. ‘Now you must
stop talking. You’re wearing yourself out without cause. Save your
strength--if you must fight.’
Obediently Sylvia lay back, allowing Mrs. Bascom to smooth the
bedclothes and tuck her in comfortably. In a few minutes she dropped
off to sleep like a weary child. Then Mrs. Bascom tiptoed out of the
room and thoughtfully descended the stairs.
In the living-room, she saw Dr. New who came to meet her with a
question.
‘How is Miss Hawley now?’
‘Asleep, Doctor. She seems to be quite played out, poor dear.’
‘And well she might be. Young nerves may be made of steel, but
like piano wires, they are tightly stretched and ready to vibrate
too easily to any note, or even to snap. That experience in the
chute--it’s a wonder she didn’t have all sorts of hallucinations.’
‘She did.’
‘Ah, I thought so. And she told you about them? Then undoubtedly they
are still recurring to her mind, helping to keep her nerves upset.
There was no specially vivid one she told you about?’
‘Why, yes, a premonition of King’s death and--er--rats.’
‘So?--Well, that’s not so unnatural, though bad enough. I suppose the
confusion we made moving about gave her the former idea?--We must try
to clear her mind of them somehow, help her to forget them. The mind
is a delicate organism. In her nervous state, Mrs. Bascom, if she
broods over some one thing, she might become--well, she might suffer
for it, shall we say.’
‘That’s what I wanted to ask you about. Is it possible all this has
upset her so that she’d be perfectly normal about some things and
queer about others?’ asked Mrs. Bascom.
From the turn the conversation had taken, a scheme had sprung into
her mind and she acted upon it at once. If she could deliberately
plant the suspicion that the balance of Sylvia’s mind was temporarily
upset by the strain of her experiences, it might soften the
impression she had made about the will as well as prepare for the
indefinite fear of the future she had expressed.
‘I think I see what you mean, Mrs. Bascom,’ answered the doctor, his
eyes narrowing speculatively. ‘It’s quite possible, almost probable.
Is there anything definite you can point to that gave you this
impression?’
‘Woman’s intuition, perhaps, more than definite facts,’ evaded Mrs.
Bascom. ‘But I hope I’m wrong.’
‘Of course. You must watch her closely, however, and if you find a
basis for your fears, let me know at once. It may prove vital in the
treatment, you see.’
‘I certainly will, Doctor. I’m so glad you are taking charge, will be
right here when needed.--You do intend to stay a while yet?’
He replied in the affirmative and switched the conversation to
Inspector Sewell, about whose ability he questioned Mrs. Bascom
plainly and seriously.
‘Oh, Ezra’s all right--in his way. This is the first murder he’s ever
had to handle, but I guess he’s capable of it,’ she acknowledged.
‘You think he is really competent, then? You see, I’m anxious to see
something done, to call in a real detective if necessary. Mr. King
was my friend and----’
‘And mine,’ interrupted Mrs. Bascom. ‘That’s why I would agree to
getting an outside man if I thought it necessary. But I don’t--yet.
I’m sure Ezra Sewell is doing his best. He’s keener than he looks in
some ways, and I’d trust him anywhere as far as I was concerned.’
‘Thanks for the kind words, Ellen B.,’ said the inspector’s voice
with a chuckle, as he suddenly appeared in the doorway of the room.
‘’Bout time I interrupted, I figured, as things was gettin’ sort of
personal.’
‘You mean you’ve been guilty of eavesdropping?’ laughed the doctor as
Mrs. Bascom sniffed in humiliation that her words should have been
overheard. ‘Guess I’ll have to watch my speech from now on!’
‘Yep, you’d better. Inspectors an’ such ain’t supposed to have no
scruples, you know, Doctor. But then, I ain’t learned much for my
pains’--he turned to Mrs. Bascom with a grin--‘’cept Ellen B.’s
opinion of me, which is highly flatterin’, considerin’!’
She took a step away from him, but Sewell followed her.
‘Just a minute, ma’am. There’s somethin’ I’d kind of like to say
to you, if you don’t mind--sort of private like,’ he added for the
benefit of the doctor.
In silence they walked out of the house and down the lawn toward the
road, until Sewell suddenly stopped and spoke.
‘I’m goin’ back to have a little confab with Ruel about now. I
was just thinkin’ maybe you an’ me could talk things over a bit,
confidential like.’
‘What things?’
‘Well, I kind of figured we might compare notes in case I should
find you’d thought of somethin’ I hadn’t, or found somethin’ as
you’d--er--forgotten to tell me about.’ He paused suggestively, but
she did not take the hint.
‘Whom do you suspect?’ she answered evasively.
‘Huh. That’s a mighty big little question, Ellen B. There’s lots of
queer notions runnin’ round in my head,’ he drawled. ‘One of ’em
perhaps you’d be interested in hearin’ an’ helpin’ me with.
‘Say we was wonderin’ about some woman.--I’ll put it the way you do
one of those things you try to prove in geometry.--Given this woman,
let’s say she was one of the guests, an’ a right smart one too. She
sort of had her finger in things from the start, talked to lots of
’em, an’ had a chance to find things out an’ cover up some facts, if
she’d happened to want to.
‘Well, let’s say she did, but little things kind of showed her up.
She was so terrible honest, she wouldn’t tell a lie, so told things
so true it gave her away. Then again, she always knew just where
to look for things--clues that were sort of blind an’ might be
misleadin’. She answered some questions right cute an’----’
‘Ezra Sewell, are you accusing me of--of this murder?’ cried Mrs.
Bascom sharply.
‘Murder--you? Certain not. Whatever put such an idea in your head? I
was just talkin’ about this “suppose woman,” an’ I was just sayin’,
if there had been such a female, how’d you go about it to find out
why she did these things an’ what they were?’
Mrs. Bascom returned his gaze with snapping eyes and defiantly poised
head.
‘If I were a man, Ezra Sewell, I’d use what brains the good Lord gave
me. Being only a woman, I’d--I’d----’
Her retort rather failed in letter, though not in spirit. She could
think of nothing withering enough, so ended with a click of her teeth
that attempted to express her loathing and disgust.
‘Well, if you should happen to think of any way, let me know, Ellen
B.,’ suggested Sewell mildly, as he shuffled down the road.
Not until he had disappeared from sight did Mrs. Bascom allow herself
the relief of gasping aloud.--So he suspected her, had warned her--Of
what? She was only doing her best to solve the mystery--by concealing
vital facts from the law, her conscience added!
She trembled, but her thin shoulders straightened with determination
even as she leaned weakly against a tree for support.