THE BABY THAT WAS TIED IN
It was nearing noon when Burton left Dr. Underwood's. He took the
street that ran by the Sprigg house, though it led him somewhat out of
the most direct road to the hotel. He wanted to get the temper of the
crowd and the gossip of the street. But the crowd had dispersed. He
saw one man near the blackened wall of the house where the fire was
supposed to have started. He was bending down, as though examining the
ground. Then he rose and went away,--somewhat hurriedly and furtively,
Burton thought. It was, indeed, this skulking quality in the man's
hasty departure that made Burton look at him a second time. It was
Selby. So! He was apparently hunting for the "proof" that he had
promised. But why should he be so secretive about it?
As he came around by the other side of the burned house, he saw that
two boys were still lingering on the scene of the morning's
excitement. They were talking vigorously, and when Burton stopped by
the fence and looked in, one of the boys, recognizing a kindred
interest in the drama of life, called to him:
"Did yer see the bush where the kid was found?"
"What kid?" asked Burton.
"The Sprigg baby. He was right in here among the lilac bushes and the
soft little shoots had been tied together around him, so's he couldn't
get away, like Moses an' the bulrushes. Right in here. Yer can see the
place now."
Burton jumped the fence and went up to the place where the boys were.
"Was the baby lost?" he asked.
"Mrs. Sprigg thought it was all burned up, because she forgot it when
she came down in a hurry, and she was carrying on just awful, and then
the firemen found the baby in here among the bushes, and they most
stepped on it before they saw it."
"Had it crawled in by itself?"
"Naw, it was tied in! See here. You can see the knots yet, only most
of them have been pulled to pieces."
"Who tied it in?" pressed Burton, bending down to examine the knots.
They certainly were peculiar. The lithe lilac twigs had been drawn
together by a cord that ran in and out among them till they were
twisted and woven together as though they were part of a basket. It
was the knot of an experienced and skilful weaver.
"Mrs. Sprigg she says at Henry Underwood would be too durn mean to
look out for the kid and she thinks it was sperrets. But if it was
sperrets they could a took the baby clear over to some house, couldn't
they? The branches was tied together so's they had to cut some of them
to get the kid out. See, you can see here where they cut 'em."
Burton found that the theory advanced by the boys that the incendiary
who had fired the house had also, in dramatic fashion, saved the life
of the youngest of the Sprigg brood, by carrying the infant down from
the second floor, and knotting the lilac shoots about it so that it
could not crawl into danger, was the most popular byproduct of the
fire. The story was in every one's mouth.
When he entered the dining-room at the hotel, he encountered Ralston.
"Hello!" said the newspaper man. "I saw that you were registered here.
Allow me to welcome you to the only home a bachelor like myself owns.
Won't you sit at my table, to give the fiction some verisimilitude?"
"Thank you. I shall be glad to."
"You will suspect that my whole-hearted hospitality has some
professional sub-stratum if I ask you at once how our friends the
Underwoods are, but I'll have to risk that. I assume that you have
seen them today."
"Yes, I have seen the doctor and Miss Underwood. They have met the
amazing charge against Henry with dignity and patience. I didn't see
Henry, and don't know what he may have to say."
"He'd better say nothing," said Ralston tersely. "It isn't a matter
that is bettered by talk."
"Do you think there will be anything more than talk? I have as yet
heard no suggestion of the slightest evidence against him."
"No, so far it is merely his bad reputation and the doctor's threat of
yesterday. Have you happened to hear of the lively times Henry gave
the town some six years ago? Property was burnt, things were stolen,
people were terrorized in all sorts of ways for an entire summer. He
must have had a glorious time."
"Was it proved against him?" asked Burton.
"The police never actually caught him, but they came so close upon his
tracks several times that they warned the doctor that they had
evidence against him. Then the disturbances stopped. That was
significant."
"I heard something about it, but I understood that the attacks were
mostly directed against the Underwoods themselves, and that the
anonymous letters written by the miscreant were particularly directed
against Henry. You don't suspect him of accusing himself!"
"But that's what he did. In fact, that was what first set the police
to watching him. Perhaps you haven't happened to hear of such things,
but there is a morbid form of egotism that makes people accuse
themselves of crimes just for the sake of the notoriety. The
handwriting of those letters was disguised, but the police were
satisfied that Henry wrote them. They watched him for weeks, and
though, as I say, they never caught him at anything really
incriminating, they came so close on his trail several times that he
evidently got scared and quit. Watson, the chief of police here, told
me about it afterwards, and he is not sensational. Quite the
contrary."
"How old was Henry at that time?"
"About nineteen."
"No wonder that he has grown into a morose man," said Burton
thoughtfully. "It would be hard for any one to keep sweet-tempered
against the pressure of such a public opinion."
Ralston shrugged his shoulders. "Public opinion is a brute beast, I
admit, but still Henry has teased it more than was prudent. However,
he has his picturesque sides. Did you hear about the rescue of the
Sprigg baby?"
"Being knotted in among the lilac bushes for safe keeping? Yes, I have
even seen the bushes."
"He probably knew that the others would be able to escape and so
looked after the only helpless one,--which seems to have been more
than the baby's mother did. That should count in his favor with a
jury."
"Well, they certainly can't bring him to trial unless they get more
evidence against him than they have at present," said Burton.
Ralston's reply was interrupted by a telephone call. He went to the
office to answer it, and when he returned his face was grave.
"It looks as though they really had got something like direct evidence
at last," he said. "They have found Henry Underwood's knife under the
window where the incendiary must have got in."
"Who found it?"
"A couple of schoolboys. They turned it over to the police. One of my
men has just got the story."
"Is it beyond question that it is Henry's?"
"Selby has identified it as the same knife that Henry had last night
when we were there. He was in the neighborhood, it seems, and
recognized the knife which the boys showed him on finding it. You
remember that Selby had Henry's knife in his hands last night, and
broke the point of the blade."
"Yes, I remember," said Burton. He was also recalling something
else,--a skulking figure slipping away from the spot where the knife
was found a very little later. "Doesn't it seem curious that the knife
was only discovered now, considering how many people have been back
and forth over the place all forenoon?"
"The knife seems to have been trodden into the earth by the crowd.
That's how it was not found sooner."
"It seems to be a case of Carthage must be destroyed," said Burton,
with some impatience. "Selby vowed this morning that he would find
evidence against Henry. He conveniently is at hand to identify a knife
as Henry's which he had in his own hands last night. It wouldn't
require very much imagination to see a connection there. Selby hates
Henry. Selby uses Henry's knife, and in the passion of the moment
slips it forgetfully into his own pocket. Then at the right time he
loses it at a place where its discovery will seem to implicate Henry
in a crime--"
"Sh!" warned Ralston, with a look of comic dismay.
But the warning came too late. Burton, startled, looked up in some
anxiety, and found Selby just back of him, glaring at him with a look
that was like a blow from a bludgeon. There was nothing less than
murder in his eye. But instead of speaking, he turned on his heel as
Burton half rose, and walked out of the room.
"I had no idea there was any one within earshot," said Burton, with
dismay in his face.
"He just came in by that door back of you. I had no time to warn you."
"I'm a poor conspirator. Must I hunt Mr. Selby up, and apologize for
the liveliness of my imagination?"
Ralston looked grave. "You must do as you please, but I'd let the
cards lie as they fell. Selby has a violent temper,--"
"He certainly looked murderous."
"I can't understand why he walked off without saying anything. I
should have expected him to do something violent. I saw him beat a
horse nearly to death once because he was in a rage,--"
"That settles it. I shall not apologize. I'm glad he heard me."
Ralston laughed. "I'm glad you came to High Ridge! Do stay. We may be
able to afford you some entertainment. You should hear Hadley! He is
terrified to death for fear something will happen to him next because
he rashly made the remark that we are not safe in our beds so long as
the Underwoods are loose."
"What does he expect to happen?"
"Goodness knows!" Then, with a mischievous look, he added: "Henry
Underwood's methods are always original! It will probably be a
surprise."
Burton once more, to speak figuratively, threw his time-table into the
waste-basket. He certainly could not leave High Ridge while things
were in this chaotic condition. He must at least wait until something
definite happened.
He did not have long to wait.