THE TRAP IS SPRUNG
Watson lived in a modest frame house set well back in its grounds and
shaded by some fine old trees. Burton was thankful to find that he
had, after all, come with reasonable directness to the place. There
was no light in the windows to show that any one was up, but he went
to the front door and tapped softly in a preconcerted fashion. The
door was opened at once by Watson himself, who drew him into the hall,
and then guided him through the darkness into an inner room. Here he
removed the hood from a small lamp, and revealed the fact that there
was another man in the room. It proved to be Ralston. He looked at
Burton with a quizzical smile.
"Watson thought it would be best to let me in on this," he said, in a
low voice. "He knew that I would never have forgiven him if he
hadn't."
"That's all right. I'm glad you are here," said Burton. He guessed
that Watson, at the last moment, had needed some confirmation of this
irregular project, and he was glad that he had been inspired to appeal
to Ralston rather than to any one else. Ralston had imagination, and
therefore was better equipped for seeing a truth that is not yet
revealed.
"I was afraid I might be late," he added. And then he told of his
explorations in unknown territory and of the outcry he had heard from
the house on Larch Street.
Watson listened with professional attention. "Did it sound like a cry
for help?" he asked.
"It sounded like the cry of some one in terror. It might have been
some one in a nightmare. There was no other sound and no disturbance."
"You don't know the house?"
"No. It was a two-story frame house, narrow and high, with a porch in
front. It was on the west side of Larch, and the next cross-street
this way from it is James. I noticed that as I came along."
"Why, that's Selby's house!" exclaimed Ralston. "The plot thickens. I
don't know why Selby shouldn't have a nightmare if he wants to, as
well as any other man, but it looks rather significant that he should
have a nightmare on this particular night, doesn't it, now?"
Watson was looking at Burton with a puzzled air.
"If anything has happened to Selby, we might as well know it," said
Burton, answering his look.
"I'll telephone to the station," said Watson, and stepped out of the
room.
"What made you say _to_ Selby, instead of of, by, for, or from Selby?"
asked Ralston curiously. "What makes you think anything could have
happened to Selby?"
"I hope nothing has," said Burton abruptly, "--but--"
"But what?"
"Don't tell Watson yet. He'll feel that he ought to investigate, and I
want to keep him still for an hour or two. But the truth is, I'm
uncomfortable over that cry, now that I come to think of it, because
Henry Underwood is loose somewhere in town tonight."
"I thought Watson said he was under special guard."
"He was. He got away--through the window. I was passing the house and
was just in time to see him escaping, but could not stop him. Of
course it doesn't necessarily follow--"
"No, of course it doesn't," said Ralston, though he looked serious.
"Henry wasn't in love with Selby, but it doesn't follow that he
would--use violence in any way."
"Of course not," echoed Burton. In his own mind he was pushing away
the thought of Selby's newly announced engagement as though he would
force himself to ignore its significance. It was like the final bit in
a puzzle which so obviously solves the whole mystery that no argument
about its fitness is needed.
Watson returned softly. "I've sent a man out to look Selby's place
over," he said quietly. "He won't let himself be seen unless he is
satisfied something is wrong. Now, if you please, I'll take you
upstairs. You'll have to follow me without a light."
He guided them to a rear room on the second floor with an open window
looking out into the darkness of the night.
"The woodshed roof is just below this window," said Watson, "and
there's a ladder against the shed. If any one really wanted to break
into this house, he would have an easy job of it tonight."
"Houses burgled while you wait," laughed Ralston, excitedly.
"It looks all right," said Burton. "Now, if anything is to happen,
we'd better keep quiet."
They settled into convenient chairs to wait.
To set a trap is one thing. To catch the quarry is quite another. It
does not always follow the setting of the trap, even when there are
tracks enough on the ground to warrant some confidence. Burton
realized keenly that there were a thousand chances for his failure to
one for success. And yet something that was more like the intuition of
the hunter than plain reason kept him quietly hopeful through the
draggingly slow minutes. He had set the day as the limit of their
vigil, and though he could not read the face of his watch he knew that
they must have been sitting quiet for something like an hour when
there was the sudden tinkle of the telephone bell downstairs.
"Don't answer it," he murmured, as Watson rose softly.
"I must," Watson answered, in the same undertone. "No one outside can
either see or hear me. It may be something important."
He went softly down the stairs and they heard him close the door of
the room below before he answered the call.
"I'll bet you something _has_ happened to Selby," said Ralston, a
quiver of excitement in his guarded voice. "Take me up? Come, now,
before Watson gets back! I'll make it two to one! In anything you
like. Three to one! Five to one!"
"Cut that out," said Burton impatiently. "Keep still." He fancied he
had heard a sound outside, and every nerve was strained to make sure
of it.
But at that moment the door below opened abruptly, and Watson came up
the stairs in a hurry.
"You may as well drop this tomfoolery," he said, at the door, speaking
without precaution or care. "Selby is dead,--stabbed through the
heart. My men have found Henry Underwood's cuff-button beside the bed,
and they'll soon have him. That's what comes of your theatrical plans,
Mr. Burton, and of my cursed foolishness in letting Henry out of jail.
This is a pretty night's work."
"Oh, why didn't you take me up?" exclaimed Ralston, in a rapture of
excitement.
"Hush!" said Burton suddenly. He thought again that he heard that
faint sound outside. Unconsciously he caught each of the other men by
the arm, and drew them back against the wall.
Was it a shadow that darkened against the sky,--a shadow in the shape
of a man that swung up over the window-ledge in light swift silence,
and was poised for an instant against the patch of light that marked
the place of the window? Something had dropped into the room as softly
as a cat. There was a moment of absolute stillness. Burton held his
breath and tried to hush the noisy beating of his heart. Then there
came the soft scratch of a safety match, and a point of light marked a
spot in the darkness. Then a candle wick caught the point and nursed
it into a light, and a man's face was revealed.
Watson's muscles had been tense under Burton's detaining hand. Now he
whistled shrilly and at the same instant leaped forward and closed
with the intruder. There was a moment's struggle, and then the room
was suddenly lit as two men who had been stationed outside rushed in
with lights. The chief was down on the floor with the man he had
assailed. For a moment they all fought in a furious mêlée, but the
policemen met brute strength with brute strength, and the click of the
handcuffs told the end. Then they lifted the man to his feet, and
Watson held the lamp close to his sullen face. After a long look he
turned to Burton.
"You were right," he said, and set the lamp upon the table. His hand
was not quite steady.
"You don't mean it!" exclaimed Ralston, staring hard at the unknown
face of the man. "Is it possible that it really is--Ben Bussey?"
"No one else," said Watson, stooping to pick up a bundle that had
fallen on the floor. It was a loosely tied package of rags, soaked in
kerosene.
"That's the way the Sprigg house was fired," he said.
Ben parted his lips, but it was not to speak. His teeth were locked
tight behind his snarling lips. His eyes were set on Burton.
"How long have you been doing this sort of thing?" persisted Ralston,
studying Ben with a curiosity that could not be satisfied. "Those old
tricks that we all laid up against Henry,--did you do that, too?"
Ben turned his head at that and looked at his questioner. The look of
triumph that flashed into his eyes was as plain as any words could
have been, but he did not answer otherwise.
"Take him to the station," Watson said to his men.
But Burton interposed. He had been watching Ben, and he saw that if
they were to get anything from him in the way of an admission, he must
be goaded into speech before he had time to fully realize the
advantages of standing persistently mute.
"No hurry about that," he said, with a slight sign to the chief. "I
want to tell you something about how I got on this trail, and Ben may
as well hear it."
"There are important matters waiting," Watson reminded him, in a
significant aside.
"Nothing more important than this--now," said Burton. Watson
hesitated, but drew back, leaving Ben, with a policeman on either side
of him, where the light fell on his somber face.
"I was first positively convinced that Henry Underwood was not the man
on the night of the Hadley assault," Burton began, with deliberation.
"That knotting of the rope was too neat for a man with a forefinger as
stiff as a wooden peg. You made a mistake that time, Ben. Didn't your
mother tell you that Henry had cut his finger?"
But Ben refused to be drawn. He lifted his upper lip over his closed
teeth, but gave no other sign of attending.
"Of course it was clear from the first that the person who was making
the trouble had easy access to the Underwood house and very up-to-date
information about everything that went on in the house. At first I,
too, thought it must be Henry. Then, when I satisfied myself that it
wasn't, I began to keep a watch on Selby."
"Poor old Selby," said Ralston, with sudden recollection.
"Poor old Henry," said Burton sternly. "He has been goaded past
endurance. Selby's slate was by no means clear, though I acquit him of
many of my suspicions. But I am telling you now why I suspected him.
He hated Henry and was jealous of him. He was a party to the discovery
of Henry's knife near the Sprigg house, and I thought I had reason to
believe he had himself dropped it there. He had access to the Red
House through his business relations with Ben, and Mrs. Bussey was an
eavesdropper and spy who could easily have given him the inside
information required. Finally he had in his possession a number of
Indian baskets and was known to have been much among the Indians as a
boy. I was certain that the strong and supple fingers that had twisted
the lilac bushes into a net to hold the Sprigg baby and that had
knotted the cords into a snare about Mr. Hadley had learned the trick
of Indian weaving when they were young."
Ben's chest heaved. He was looking at Burton with a look that made
Watson glance warningly at the officers who stood beside him. Burton
went on with his nerve-trying deliberation.
"I went up to the Reservation with the hope of finding some one who
would remember teaching young Selby how to tie the peculiar and
unusual knot I had noticed. I found Ehimmeshunka, who makes the
baskets, and the old chief Washitonka, who knew Ben's father, but I
could not get them to talk about the old times. How did you get word
to them to hold their tongue, Ben?"
Ben affected not to hear. Watson looked up in quick surprise as though
he would have spoken, and then checked himself. The others, who
understood by this time Burton's plan of exasperating Ben into speech,
said nothing.
"Finally, just as I was leaving, Pahrunta, who sells the baskets to
travellers at the station, gave me a clue. By the way," he added,
turning to Ralston, "there was a bit of poetic justice in that. The
first day I was in High Ridge, I saw Selby rudely strike away her arm,
when she tried to stop him to speak to him. It was in revenge for that
blow that she gave me the information I wanted and which I could not
get from the others. She showed me an old daguerreotype with Selby's
portrait in it. It must have been an old keepsake given by him in the
early days when they were friends. There was another portrait in it
also,--Ben's. Then it occurred to me that Ben was more likely to have
learned basket making than Selby, because he had an aptitude for
handicrafts. He had all the opportunities Selby had,--provided he
could walk. In order to find out whether his paralysis was a sham, I
arranged with Watson to have an alarm of fire given at such a time
that I should have an opportunity of observing Ben immediately before
and immediately after. I spilled a red powder over his clothing just
as the alarm sounded. I left him alone in the room, and when I went
back, five minutes later, I saw by the marks of the powder that he had
left his chair, walked to the head of the stairs to look and listen,
and gone back to his chair. That was all I needed to know."
Ben broke silence at last. "I should have killed you first," he said
simply.
"All that was necessary after that was to catch him in the act,"
continued Burton. "Of course that was now merely a question of time
and watchfulness, since we knew his secret, but he walked into the
first trap we set. I told him Henry was to be free for one day only,
and hinted that it would be bad for his reputation if anything
happened to Watson, who was opposed to letting him out,--which was a
fact! It was the old situation; an opportunity to throw suspicion on
Henry. He took the bait."
"And all these years he has been able to walk!" exclaimed Ralston.
"The cunning of it! And the patience! How did you always know so
surely how to strike, Ben?"
Still Ben did not speak. It was Burton who answered for him.
"Mrs. Bussey kept him informed of the gossip of the town. If you will
recall the several instances, I think you will find there was no
single case where her prying and spying and his activity will not
sufficiently supply the answer."
"But the Hadley case! There were so many things that pointed to
Henry,--the cord he had bought,--"
"And which of course Mrs. Bussey could get hold of. It was well
thought out."
"And Selby's watch-chain! Did you rob Selby, Ben?"
"Whether he robbed Selby or not, he certainly concealed his
watch-chain and the other things in the surgery," said Burton.
"And did you tamper with my medicines, Ben?" a grave voice asked from
the door,--a voice full of infinite sadness and pity. Dr. Underwood
had entered from the unlit hall and now stood fronting Ben with
searching eyes. "Did you touch the bottle I had prepared for old man
Means?"
If those in the room were startled by the doctor's unexpected
appearance, they were still less prepared for the effect on Ben. The
determined silence which had been proof against Burton's taunts was
dropped. His eyes glittered with excitement.
"You thought I didn't know where the strychnine was," he said, with an
air of careless triumph. "I tried it on old Means just for a joke. It
was a good thing to know where it was, because sometime, when I was
tired of playing with you, I meant to kill you,--all,--all,--all! You
thought Ben was lying there like a log,--tied up--and you didn't know
that he could get out when you were asleep and tie things up in a
hard, tight knot,--like string,--tie you all up till you couldn't get
free!--not kill you at first,--have fun with you first,--" His voice
sank into a monotonous monotone, and all at once he seemed to have
forgotten his audience. He lifted his hands and looked curiously at
the handcuffs that fastened his wrists.
"He's put my hands to sleep," he said, with a childish laugh. Then his
laugh turned into a snarl, malevolent and sinister.
"I'm tired of playing with you. Now I'm going to kill you and be done
with it," he cried, lunging toward the doctor. The two policemen held
him, and he turned upon them furiously, trying to strike them with his
manacled hands. His face had grown suddenly malignant.
"Let me go. I will kill you all. Let me go. You can't keep me tied up.
I will get away in the night,--I can fool you all,--"
Watson nodded to his men and they took Ben from the room, still
shouting his curious mechanical curses at them, like a violent talking
machine that is running down. When the door closed behind him, every
man in the room realized that he had been unconsciously holding his
breath. Burton went up to the doctor and put his hand on his shoulder.
"How much did you hear?"
"I heard your story," he said wearily. "I--wanted to speak to Watson.
The door was open, and I heard voices, so I came in and saw the light
up here. I heard what you said from the hall there."
"I can quite understand that this has been a shock to you," said
Burton, "but it completely clears Henry." He suddenly bit his lip as
he realized that Henry was more deeply involved than ever before, and
hurried on. "It is quite obvious that Ben must be insane. He is
dangerous, and would not long have been content with the minor crimes
that have amused him so far. The taint must have been long latent.
Probably hereditary."
"That reminds me," said Watson quickly. "You were wondering why the
Indians wouldn't talk to you. I believe it was old Bussey. I saw him
here one evening in that little park opposite the hotel. I haven't
seen him for years and years, but I knew him at once. I told my men
to look out for him, but he hasn't been seen since. He's a slim old
man,--lively as a youngster. Runs like an Indian, with his knees up
and his head down."
"Then I believe I have seen him, myself," said Burton. "Twice. Once
the first day I was here, talking to Mrs. Bussey back of your house,
Doctor, and again up at the Reservation. That explains. He had been
hanging around High Ridge long enough to know me by sight, and he
guessed that I was of the other party, and so he warned his friends
simply to tell me nothing that I wanted to know. I wonder how far he
was in with Ben's schemes."
"He hasn't been hanging around High Ridge very much since I've been in
office, I'll swear to that," said Watson. "I know old Bussey pretty
well, and he knows me. He never would come into a town if he could
help it. You never saw him hanging about your house, did you, Doctor?"
"No, I thought he was dead," said Underwood. He spoke absently as
though he were keeping his mind on their talk with something of an
effort. Now he turned to Watson with the simple directness that had
endeared him to Burton from the first.
"What's this about Henry's escape?" he asked.
"Why,--Henry _has_ got away, hasn't he?" Watson answered evasively.
"It seems so. One of your men woke me up an hour ago to see if Henry
were in the house, and when we went to his room we found Mason
sleeping across the door, but Henry's window was open and he was gone.
How did you happen to send to inquire?"
"Selby has been killed," said Watson.
The doctor drew a quick breath, but said nothing. The silence in the
room was so keen that the scratching of Ralston's pencil (he was
scribbling like mad at the edge of the table) was like an affront.
Burton moved restlessly over to the open window and looked down the
way by which Ben had climbed up.
Watson cleared his throat.
"Of course he'll have a chance to explain things," he said, with
laborious carelessness.
A sharp exclamation came from Burton, who was leaning out of the
window.
"Watson! Look here!"
Watson was getting nervous. He jumped to Burton's side as though he
expected an attack from the open window.
"Look here, on the window-sill,--it's fresh paint," said Burton
quickly. "I put my hand on it. Get a better light. See there,--and
below there. Those marks must have been made by Ben when he climbed
in. There must have been paint on his clothes somewhere."
"Perhaps," said Watson, looking carefully at the faint traces on the
window-sill. "What of it?"
"When I was stumbling through Selby's back yard this evening, I
noticed a painter's ladder there and an empty paint bucket on the
ground. There must have been fresh paint on Selby's house tonight."
"My God!" said Ralston, and his tone was not irreverent. "Ben came
here from Selby's! It was he who stabbed Selby. And he left Henry's
cuff-button in the room to throw suspicion, as usual, on Henry. It was
his last coup."
"Perhaps," Watson repeated slowly. "But--where is Henry?"
Like an answer, there was a sharp ring at the door-bell, and before
any one could move, the house door was flung open and Henry himself
stood in the hall below.
"I say, Watson!" he called aloud.
"Oh, yes, I'm coming," said Watson, in patient amaze, as he hurried
down the stairs. The others were at his heels, and all four men faced
Henry,--if this were Henry who awaited them. There was a sparkle of
laughter in his eye and a flush of energy and happiness on his face
that transformed him almost past recognition.
"Hope I don't disturb a secret midnight meeting of any sort," he said,
glancing around at the group with obvious surprise. "I only wanted
Watson. Mason let me get lost, and I was afraid Watson would be
worried about me, so I came around to let him know that I am safe. Do
you want me to go back home, or would you rather send some one to show
me the way to jail?"
While Watson hunted for an answer, the doctor pushed in front of him.
"Henry, where have you been tonight? What have you been doing?"
There was an appeal in his voice that no one could have heard with
indifference, and Burton was thankful that Henry answered at once and
with none of his old cynical mockery.
"I have been getting married," he said.
"Oh, joy!" murmured Ralston, in the background.
Henry turned to Watson as he explained.
"I heard today, or yesterday, I suppose it is now, that Selby was
engaged,--that is, that he said he was engaged,--to Minnie Hadley. I
wanted to speak to her about it, and I didn't see any chance of doing
it without the whole town knowing it unless I gave Mason the slip. So
I waited till he was asleep and then I shinned down the tree. Burton
here tried to stop me, but I didn't have time to explain. I got
Minnie down by throwing pebbles on her window, and when we had talked
things over we decided that the best way to make things safe for the
future was to be married right away. So we went over to Mr. Domat's
house,--he's Minnie's minister,--and he married us, and I guess it's
legal all right, even if I am in the custody of the law. Then I took
her home,--I took her back to Mr. Hadley's house. I was on my way back
home when I ran across old Higgins, who said the whole force was out
looking for me. I preferred to come by myself rather than to be
brought like a runaway schoolboy, so I gave him the slip, and I came
here instead of going to the station, because I thought this was your
personal affair, Watson. You put me on my word, and you might have
known that I was going to keep it. What made you stir up such a
hullaballoo about my merely temporary absence?"
"Because," said Watson dryly, "during your merely temporary absence
Selby was killed. Your cuff-button was found in his room. It seemed
advisable to find the rest of you as soon as possible."
Henry looked so startled and so guilty that Burton interposed. He
could not bear to see for even a moment the old look of sullen
defiance on Henry's face.
"Go on, Watson. Tell him the rest."
"Ben Bussey is under arrest. We caught him in an attempt to fire this
house, but from certain indications, it looks as though the charge
against him now would be for the murder of Selby rather than arson.
But if your alibi isn't good--!"
"Ben, you say? Ben Bussey?" Henry repeated, in a bewildered manner.
The doctor went up to Henry and threw his arm across his shoulders.
"Ben has been able to walk for years, my boy. He concealed the fact
and pretended to be helpless, but it seems clear that it is he who has
been working all this mischief in High Ridge, and that he has now
ended by killing Selby. Whether he had any grudge against Selby, or
whether it was merely another attempt to involve you circumstantially,
I don't know."
Henry did not speak. His face was hard set to hide the emotions that
must have surged within.
"You go home with your father, Henry," said Watson gruffly. "You are
still on parole,--that's all the guard I'll ask for. You will hear
from me when I want anything more. Now it's so near daylight that if
you don't mind, I am going to say good morning to you. I have a lot of
work to do."
The four men shook hands with him and went out. The cool breeze of the
early dawn was blowing freshly through the streets of the village and
it struck their faces with a pleasant little tang.
"A great night," said the doctor thoughtfully, looking about.
"And a new day," said Burton, with a smile. "Good night, Mr.
Underwood, and my congratulations. Good night, Doctor. I shall see you
to-morrow,--or later in the day, I should say, rather."
"Good night," said Henry.
"Come early," said the doctor. They turned away together, and Burton
saw with keen satisfaction that they had not gone half a dozen steps
before they were arm in arm.
"It's good to see that," he said to Ralston, nodding toward the two
departing.
"Yes," said Ralston. Then he laughed a little. "I wonder if there
isn't one fly in Henry's ointment tonight,--Selby didn't hear of his
elopement!"