‘IT’S GONE!’
When Ezra Sewell drove off in his car, Mrs. Bascom was so astounded
by his remarks that she could not think of a retort until he was out
of sight, and by that time more serious matters were clamoring for
consideration in her mind.
Of course he had guessed her scheme in sending Ruel off to
Boston--how, did not matter much--and Ezra’s words implied he would
not attempt to interfere with this escape. Yet this was not enough
to satisfy her. Woman-like she tried to probe further, to reason
out why he had not objected to Ruel’s release, what his attitude
toward her would be, and whether, after all, her somewhat impulsive
scheme, had been the best possible one to accomplish her ends. Ruel
Moore was methodical and dependable rather than quick-witted or
imaginative; yet he had been keen to perceive her meaning in the
hurried instructions she had given him. Did that prophesy he would be
equally clever at unraveling the mystery upon which he had been sent?
She fervently hoped so, not only for the purpose of clarifying King’s
past life and catching the murderer, but also to vindicate her own
judgment--though this latter reason she did not fully accredit at the
time.
Behind this was another startling fact. Ezra Sewell was not easily
hoodwinked, it seemed. This was the second time he had made veiled
remarks to her, such as his observations on the bulge in her waist
when she was carrying the knife concealed there. Did that signify he
knew a lot more than he had revealed, that perhaps he had not been so
inactive as he appeared? Knowing him, she was inclined to believe so,
yet he could not possibly understand even as much of the tangle as
she did.
Pondering and speculating, Mrs. Bascom shook the dust out of her
skirt with her habitual care, straightened a coil of hair that had
been jolted loose during the ride, and resolutely closed her mind to
these tantalizing speculations, as she turned toward the house. At
least she now had a means of finding out whether Sylvia was deeply
interested in Ruel or not. She, Mrs. Bascom, had presumed so until
Sylvia refused to send any message of encouragement to him, but she
was not altogether sure this should be taken as conclusive one way or
another. She had no reason for this feeling, but intuition warned her
not to make a too hasty decision.
Before mounting the stairs to Sylvia’s room, Mrs. Bascom proceeded to
the kitchen to ask a question of Martha Dobson, whom she found just
withdrawing two delicately browned loaves of bread from the oven.
‘Back again, Martha,’ she said with an appreciative sniff at the
baking. ‘Everything serene? Miss Hawley comfortable?’
‘Comfortable? I presume so,’ answered Martha, rather shortly with a
toss of her head that invited further questioning.
‘Then she hasn’t called for you, I take it?’
‘That she hasn’t--not for _me_, Ellen Bascom!’
‘What do you mean?’ inquired the latter, surprised at her emphasis.
‘Exactly what I said. She’s had no need of me, though that hasn’t
prevented her calling for a certain other person as I might mention.’
‘The doctor? She’s been sick again?’
‘Sick? Hump. Hardly! Not when she’s been a carryin’ on fit to kill
with that Stacey man--as I never could abide.’
‘Basil Stacey?’ cried Mrs. Bascom incredulously. ‘Carrying on? Where?
How?’
‘It was scandalous, I’d say.--An’ she, supposed to be sick an’ upset
over Mr. King’s death, settin’ there laughin’ an’ talkin’ just as
if nothin’ had happened. An’ with him at it too, visitin’ her right
there in her bedroom!’
Martha paused dramatically, her flour-powdered arms indignantly
akimbo, a picture of outraged dignity.
‘In her room? Talking and--and laughing, you said? But you must be
mistaken. Sylvia promised----’ She faltered, recalling that Sylvia had
only promised not to leave her room. ‘Why didn’t you stop him, forbid
him to----’
‘Forbid him, is it? As if I didn’t try to, an’ he pushin’ me aside
with a laugh, while she tells me to go away an’ leave them alone! It
only goes to show what them city folks is really like. An’ I’d always
thought she was different.’ Martha sniffed and walked away into the
pantry.
Mrs. Bascom literally ran after her.
‘Martha Dobson, you tell me just what happened. I’ve got to know.’
‘You will, quick enough.’ Martha wiped away a tear which might have
been of anger, but which was more likely of personal shame and
humility at Sylvia’s treatment of her. ‘It wasn’t ten minutes after
you left, I was goin’ up to see if she wanted anythin’. This man was
walkin’ up just ahead of me an’ she calls out to ask if it was him.
He answers it was, an’ started straight for her door, so I sidled
ahead of him to keep him out. But there he stands, lookin’ hard at
her, while she, in one of them fetchin’ wrapper things that makes
her look like a girl almost, sat smilin’ an’ sayin’, “Come right in,
Basil, I want to have a talk with you.”
‘At that I spoke up, tried to get in ahead of him to close the door
an’ bring her to her senses. An’ what does he do but push me away
with some silly joke she laughs at! I was that taken aback, before I
could move or speak again, he’d actually closed it in my face.
‘With that I pushed it open again an’ started givin’ him a piece
of my mind good an’ plain, but she frowned, stood up an’ ordered
me--ordered me out of the room! Flabbergasted, I was. I didn’t know
what I was doin’ until I found myself outside in the hall again, an’
heard him lockin’ the door on me!’
‘Locked the door--with Sylvia----’ Mrs. Bascom’s eyes widened
with horror, and she turned as if to hurry away from some utterly
unbelievable gossip.
‘Oh, he’s gone again now, never fear,’ said Martha quickly, mistaking
her movement as a determination to go upstairs and interfere herself.
‘But if you could have heard them, laughin’ an’ talkin’ as I did,
Ellen Bascom, you’d----’
‘Then you--you listened?’
‘Yes, I did, an’ I’d do it again without no pricks of conscience,’
Martha justified herself stoutly.
‘Of course. It was your duty. But what were they saying?’
‘I couldn’t hear very well, especially at first, they talked so quiet
an’ serious like, he a-holdin’ her hand an’ bendin’ close to her.’
‘But the other room--why didn’t you go in there by that door?’
questioned Mrs. Bascom, unaware that she might be revealing more than
she intended by this knowledge of a better listening post.
‘I did, but it was shut tight an’ I was afraid if I opened it, he’d
come an’ lock it too. Well, after a bit, this Stacey let go her
hand an’ drew up a chair. I was a-lookin’ through the keyhole, you
see. An’ then they just began laughin’ an’ smilin’ away at each
other as if--as if he was her best friend,’ Martha finished lamely,
suppressing a stronger phrase that obviously rose to her lips.
‘How long did you stay there?’
‘Till he went--more than half an hour later, an’ me so stiff with
kneelin’ there my legs almost cracked. He walked straight out of the
house an’ hasn’t been back since, so I came down here without a word
to her. An’ that’s all I know, though it’s more than enough, I’d say
to any one as asked me.’
The two women stared silently at each other, each picturing that
scene which Martha had just described. At last Mrs. Bascom spoke in a
low, hurried voice.
‘You did exactly right, Martha, both in listening and telling me.
It--it must be as the doctor feared--her mind is affected.’
‘Did he say that? You mean she might not know--might not realize
what she was doin’?’ whispered Martha, eager to accept any plausible
explanation of Sylvia’s rebuffs.
Mrs. Bascom nodded slowly, though she was far from certain this was
the whole truth.
‘I think we’d better keep this to ourselves, not tell any one, don’t
you?’ she suggested.
‘I won’t tell a soul.--An’ I hope it’s so, that her mind is----I
mean, it would be terrible, only it seems as if it was the best thing
to happen----Oh, I’m that upset an’ confused I don’t know what I’m
sayin’.’
Tears trickled down her kindly, wrinkled face and for a moment Mrs.
Bascom soothed her like a child, then hurried away down the hall. But
her steps retarded as she mounted the stairs, paused on the landing
part-way up to adjust her mind to this new complication.
Considered of itself, this meeting between Sylvia and Basil would
have appeared as unaccountable as it had to Martha, yet for all
its strangeness, Mrs. Bascom sensed certain things in view of the
previous conversation she had overheard between them. That their
serious talk had been concerned with the matter of the stolen papers
and Basil’s subsequent threat, Mrs. Bascom had not a doubt, and that
they had arrived at some amicable agreement was quite clear from the
laughter and talk that had followed. Yet how could they have agreed,
arranged a plan between them? Basil held the upper hand, was not
likely to have receded from it. Had he merely extended the time limit
of his threat? Improbable, for in that instance, Sylvia would still
have been perturbed, scarcely free to laugh.
Then there was only one other assumption possible--that Sylvia had
given in to him. Incredible--impossible! Surely she was in love with
Ruel. It seemed obvious--their actions previous to King’s death,
their being together so much. And yet Sylvia was so strange, had
seemed to ignore Ruel’s imprisonment.
There was a way of finding out the answers to some of these
speculations, and Mrs. Bascom hesitated no longer to take it. But
her determination suffered a temporary setback when she arrived at
Sylvia’s room. Peering through the door that stood ajar, she saw
Sylvia was fast asleep in her chair, so Mrs. Bascom postponed her
questioning, entered on tiptoe and stood at her side, studying her
face in an attempt at cool impartiality which broke down almost
immediately.
There is something disarmingly frank and innocent about the face of
a sleeper. The closing of the eyes at once takes away the animation
and subtlety which give depth to the expression, while the relaxing
of the muscles in sleep robs a face of any artificiality or pose,
moulds it into those characteristic lines which may be controlled
or repressed during consciousness. So with Sylvia’s quiet face,
there was only a pathetic droop to her bowed lips and an appealing
youthfulness that demanded sympathy, not condemnation. It could never
be the face of a murderer or a cold-blooded plotter, Mrs. Bascom
decided again, her sympathies swallowing up her resentment of a few
moments ago.
Retiring to her own room, she freshened up for dinner, then sat by
the window calmly reviewing the facts as she knew them, until her
watch pointed to six-thirty. A glance in at Sylvia’s room disclosed
she was just awakening, so Mrs. Bascom entered and cheerfully asked
what she would like to eat. Sylvia returned her smile quite naturally
for an instant, then abruptly sighed and seemed to withdraw within
herself once more.
‘Don’t bother, Mrs. B. I shall hobble down as soon as I slip on a
dress,’ she said with forced briskness.
‘You’d much better stay up here, Sylvia dear. It’s no bother at all
to bring you a tray.’
‘Thank you, no. I’m not an invalid any longer. Besides, I--I want to
be with people and listen to conversation again instead of being all
alone.’
Mrs. Bascom realized it was useless to argue, so returned to her room
and puttered about for a few minutes until Sylvia should be ready,
intending to assist her down the stairs. Her offer, however, was
stoutly declined.
‘I can manage quite well, Mrs. B., if I just go slowly. You’ve all
been babying me too much lately, and it’s time to call a halt.’
The others had already assembled when the two women arrived in the
lower hall and Basil came forward immediately, linking his arm
through Sylvia’s and supporting her weight quite easily. Mrs. Bascom
noticed that Sylvia did not refuse his help nor draw away from him.
The meal proved to be rather a labored one as far as conversation
was concerned. Judge Brant and Dr. New were somewhat weary and
uncommunicative, replying only when directly addressed. The doctor,
moreover, seemed to be watching Sylvia closely, obviously surprised
and interested by her attitude toward Basil. These two were talking
and laughing together, rather ignoring the others. Their conversation
was light and aimless, Basil exerting himself to the utmost to
entertain her, Sylvia encouraging him, though at times her animation
grew forced, her interest merely a veneer.
Following Mr. King’s custom, the two women left the men to their
smoking after the meal, but Sylvia decided not to go to her room yet,
insisting she wanted to check over all the papers in the desk before
retiring. Mrs. Bascom accompanied her to the den and sat down to read
the local news while Sylvia worked. An hour passed in which Mrs.
Bascom did little reading, but Sylvia worked in absorbed silence,
sorting the papers, taking notes, and making calculations.
At last Mrs. Bascom put aside the newspaper and, making an excuse of
going to her room for something, ascended the stairs, her mind made
up to write down and arrange a résumé of the details and discoveries
she had made in an effort to clarify matters.
She had moved quite silently and as her hand was stretched out to
touch the doorknob of her room, she abruptly became rigid, listening
to a faint sound from within. Somebody was in there, had just opened
one of the bureau drawers!
Cautiously she pushed on the door, which was unlatched, until she
could peer in, regardless of the fact that she might be discovered.
Against the dim outline of the window was silhouetted a man’s
figure, stooping over the bureau. As she watched, he switched on a
flashlight, holding it inside the drawer so as to concentrate its
rays, and began to poke an inquiring finger among the neatly folded
garments which it contained. The reflected light was not bright
enough for her to make out the man’s features, but he seemed to be
of large frame, and his fingers were short and thick--like those of
Judge Brant!
Unsuccessful in his search, he treated the other drawers in the same
manner, entered the closet, even rifled her suit-case. When he turned
off his light after this, Mrs. Bascom realized he must come out into
the hall in another moment, so stepped aside from the door, waiting
to challenge him when he opened it.
Footsteps crossed the room, stopped, then continued, but toward the
communicating door to Sylvia’s room! Mrs. Bascom waited until they
had passed over the threshold, then, without hesitation, dodged into
her room and continued her spying.
The same procedure was followed in Sylvia’s room. Each drawer was
searched, but apparently without result. The closet yielded nothing.
Then the figure turned to the writing-table and the light flashed on
and off as it was scrutinized. Suddenly the man sighed or whistled
in a low tone and, before she realized what he was doing, swiftly
crossed the room to the hall door and disappeared.
Mrs. Bascom scurried to her own door, opening it just in time to see
him enter a room farther down the hall. It was Judge Brant’s room!
She thought rapidly. She must make certain who this man was. On the
other hand, if it should prove to be the judge himself, she must have
some ready excuse for knocking on his door as she did not intend to
accuse him or reveal her knowledge of his prowling yet--not until she
could think out some reason for it.
She was saved all this, however, for at that moment the doctor’s
voice from below called the judge lustily. Drawing back, Mrs.
Bascom saw the door open and the judge himself hurry out and down
the stairs. As soon as he had disappeared, she went to his room and
knocked. There was no answer. She opened the door and boldly turned
on the light, but as she had expected, the room was empty. On the
bureau lay a flashlight!
Then it was the judge, beyond a doubt. But why had he searched the
two rooms? What was he after?
Mrs. Bascom returned to her room and sat down to ponder these two
questions. Fear gripped her, a weakness that robbed her of all her
self-assurance at one sweep. She had felt quite capable of playing
the detective until now, had rather gloated over the knowledge she
was concealing from Ezra Sewell. Yet nothing seemed to clarify under
her handling, everything was becoming more confused and complex.
Every one seemed to be acting queerly, unnaturally, concealing some
act guiltily--Sylvia, Basil, and now Judge Brant. Would it be Dr. New
next?--The thought sent an unaccountable chill down her spine.
Footsteps began to ascend the stairs slowly. She jumped to her feet,
her heart racing. Some one was approaching stealthily, testing each
step before placing his weight upon it. She shrank back with eyes
fixed upon the door, expecting to see it slowly open. Step by step,
softly, the person mounted, reached the top, then----
Mrs. Bascom shivered and tried to laugh as her body relaxed so
suddenly that she would have fallen if she had not caught the
footboard of the bed. It was only Sylvia, limping and slow!--Strength
raced back into her body and with it a new determination to finish
what she had set about to do; namely, confront Sylvia with some, if
not all, of the facts she knew.
Mrs. Bascom smiled grimly to herself, thinking of her foolish fears
of a moment ago.--Confess defeat so easily, run to Ezra Sewell with
her tale--and probably have him scoff at it as all imagination----No,
not she! Without waiting to knock, she walked into Sylvia’s room,
resolved not to leave it again until certain pertinent questions had
been asked and answered.
‘You’ve finished your work over the papers? Nothing new discovered, I
suppose?’
‘No. There were some things to be acted upon at once. I sorted them
out and will attend to them to-morrow,’ murmured Sylvia abstractedly.
‘There’s so much to be done. I’m glad--it will keep me busy, help
me not to think.’ She spoke in such a low tone that her words were
scarcely audible, but Mrs. Bascom did not miss them.
‘Exactly. And now that you’ve recovered so nicely, Sylvia, I think
it’s time we had a good talk over matters. While you were still ill
from the shock, you said such unaccountable things that----’
‘But I have nothing to retract,’ interrupted Sylvia, a note of
weariness in her voice. ‘Please let’s not discuss that now, Mrs. B.
I’m so tired of it all.’
‘Not too tired to work--or chatter like a magpie with Basil!’
Mrs. Bascom’s shot went home. Sylvia winced and dropped her eyes, a
slow flush gathering in her cheeks. She clenched and unclenched her
fingers nervously; her lips opened to respond, then closed again with
a snap and her mouth set into a firm, straight line. Mrs. Bascom
waited, but when she understood Sylvia did not intend to speak, she
did so herself.
‘Sylvia Hawley, if you don’t try the patience of a saint--and I’m not
one. What’s come over you? You haven’t been acting like yourself at
all. Even Dr. New, who hasn’t known you well before, has an excuse
for thinking your mind is--well, upset.’
She hesitated, hoping this hint might elicit some reply. Sylvia
glanced up quickly, and there was evidence of a struggle going on in
her mind, but she did not speak.
‘Don’t you understand I only want to help you? Don’t you see your
position is rather a precarious one?’
‘You mean--I’m suspected of--of some part in this murder?’ Sylvia
whispered.
‘Yes, you are--but not by me. Oh, I can help you, if you’ll only let
me. I know----’
‘No--no, you don’t--you can’t!’ exploded Sylvia; then added with
pathetic pleading, ‘You said you’d trust me. I told you before I must
go on--alone. Please--please don’t ask me anything more. It’s hard
enough----’
‘Hard, is it?’ Mrs. Bascom’s tone shifted from sympathy to scorn as
she deliberately taunted Sylvia to make her reply. ‘I suppose I’m to
believe you are suffering while you laugh and talk--yes, flirt with
Basil Stacey! And Ruel is shut up in jail, accused of murder!’
Sylvia shrank back and hid her face with one hand, making a gesture
with the other as if to push Mrs. Bascom’s words away.
‘I thought you had some feelings, the ordinary decency of a woman at
least,’ continued Mrs. Bascom. ‘So did we all of us--up till that
awful evening. But now----What do you suppose people can believe,
except that you are somehow guilty--don’t honestly care what happens
as long as you get your employer’s money! It’s not hard to see why
some would rather see you behind the bars than Ruel!’
Sylvia jerked her face from her hands. Her reply was unexpected.
‘Then why don’t they make the exchange?’
Mrs. Bascom jumped to her feet in astonishment. The prospect of being
put into prison, far from frightening Sylvia, seemed to be what she
most desired! It was unaccountable, unless----She clicked her teeth
abruptly. What a blind fool she had been not to see it all before!
But her tone showed no change of emotion as she continued her probing
mercilessly.
‘I think perhaps he’d prefer to stay where he is than to see the way
you are carrying on. When he hears how you and Basil----’
‘No--no. He must not hear that!’ Sylvia was on her feet, her face
ashen and distorted with emotion. She clenched her fists and leaned
toward Mrs. Bascom, her words fairly tumbling over one another in
a burst of passion. ‘Swear to me you’ll never tell Ruel!--It isn’t
true. He’d never believe you. I--I won’t have him told.--If you love
me--if you have one speck of respect for me or ever had, you’ll never
tell him.’
‘And why shouldn’t I tell him what I saw with my own eyes?’
‘It’s not the truth, I tell you,’ almost hysterically Sylvia shouted
the words. ‘I hate Basil. I----’
‘You think I’ll believe that when I--when we all saw you act that way
toward him?’
‘You must. There was a reason.’
‘Well?’
‘I can’t tell you.--But promise me you won’t tell Ruel?’
‘Not just yet, Sylvia Hawley, because he’s beyond telling. He has
escaped from the jail and disappeared!’
Sylvia swayed backward as if from a blow. Her lips formed Mrs.
Bascom’s words, but she could not speak them aloud. Her eyes fixed on
the other woman’s face, agonized, as she tottered back and fell into
her chair gasping for breath.
‘Then you do love Ruel?’ questioned Mrs. Bascom seizing her chance.
Sylvia nodded passionately, her defense overthrown.
‘You’re trying to shield him, is that it? You think that by casting
suspicion upon yourself, you----Sylvia, do you mean you suspect
Basil? You’re trying to lead him on, flirt with him and find out what
he knows?’
Dumbly Sylvia nodded again.
‘But that’s so foolish. You’ll only get yourself into trouble without
helping Ruel at all. You must tell me--everything.’
‘I--I knew you’d say that. It’s why--I couldn’t--tell you.’
‘But, my dear, don’t you see now that I can help you? You’re only
tangling things up for us all. I know more than you think, and I can
see the damage you are doing. I know that Basil was the thief the
other night, I know he threatened you, saw you enter the judge’s
room. I know you lied about the will. I found the dagger in the grain
chute with you and have been hiding it----’
Mrs. Bascom was stunned into silence by the appalling effect her
last words had produced. Sylvia seemed about to faint; her eyes were
glassy, her breath coming in faint gasps. But she gathered herself
together, raised herself to her feet by sheer will power.
‘I’ll tell you--everything--show you----’
She took a step, stretching out her hand toward Mrs. Bascom for
help and support. The latter sprang to her side and assisted her to
the desk where she fumbled under the blotter, at first slowly, then
frantically.
‘It’s gone!’ she wailed suddenly, and leaned back against Mrs. Bascom
heavily.