THE PROOF.
Gregory Carker never knew exactly why he rose in the night and stole out
of his room with catlike steps. He had a vague idea that he would move
silently in order not to disturb or awaken any one sleeping in the
house.
Near the head of the stairs he paused and backed into a shadowy corner.
Two persons came up the stairs. One of them bore a candle which
flickered and flared, the fitful light showing her features plainly.
It was Madge Morton. She was deathly pale, and the hand that held the
candle shook like that of a person with the palsy. Behind her was a man.
As she reached the head of the flight she paused, turned to this man,
and whispered:
"Follow me closely. The girl's room is two doors to the left."
Carker saw the man's face, and he recognized Jose Murillo.
Forth from his nook leaped Greg, seizing Murillo as the Mexican placed
his foot on the last stair. Mrs. Morton gave a gasping cry of dismay,
dropped the candle, and fled. The candle did not go out. Although it
fell on its side, it continued to burn fitfully.
At the head of those stairs a sharp, savage struggle took place. The
Mexican uttered a smothered oath and sought to produce his knife.
"Thees time I fix you, Carkaire!" he panted.
The dim light of the candle gleamed on the blade. Greg Carker tore
himself free and struck a swinging blow which landed on Murillo's jaw.
The Mexican crashed to the foot of the stairs, where he lay groaning
while the aroused household flocked to the spot.
"What is it, Carker? What the dickens is the matter?" demanded Frank, as
he seized Greg's shoulder.
Carker had picked up the candle and was holding it in his hand.
"I think we'll find a man at the foot of these stairs," he said, his
voice not quite steady in spite of his effort to command himself.
They did find a man down there. Jose Murillo had struck on his own knife
and was seriously wounded. Doctor Schnitzle was promptly brought over
from Farnham Hall, but after taking a look at Murillo's wound, he turned
and whispered to Frank:
"Maype he vill last vun halluf hour, but it iss not to be expectioned.
It vos der end uf him."
The doctor was right. To the end Murillo protected his accomplice,
claiming he had broken into the house by himself, with the intention of
carrying Juanita off.
And Gregory Carker said nothing.
The following day, however, Carker found an opportunity to speak
privately, as he supposed, with Mrs. Morton. He followed her from the
house and stopped her at a point where there was little likelihood that
they would be seen.
"You'll take the next train out of Bloomfield," he said. "I thought you
might have good sense enough to take the first one, but you don't seem
inclined to go without being invited."
"Oh, Greg----"
He put up his hand.
"Stop where you are," he said. "Not a word from you. You let that sneak
into the house last night. You're responsible for the whole miserable
tragedy."
"But you will not expose me--you will not tell them?"
"No, I'll say nothing about it--in case you take the next train."
"You despise me! I see it in your face!"
"You're right, I do. I despise you most thoroughly, and I pray it may
never be my misfortune to see your face again."
"Oh, that girl--that wretched black-eyed----"
"And you may stop there," interrupted Carker. "You refer to Juanita. I'm
going to marry her."
"I suppose you are. I'd like to strangle her!"
"You'll not be given an opportunity. I'm going to ask Mr. Merriwell to
have a rig hitched up right away. It will take you to the station. Make
any excuses you choose or no excuses whatever--but you're going. Better
hurry back to the house now and pack up. Go on!"
She saw words were useless, and, therefore, she turned and hurried away
toward the house.
Carker stood there, his right elbow in his left palm, his chin resting
on his hand. He heard no sound and was unaware of any one's presence
until a hand touched his arm.
With a start, he found himself face to face with Juanita. There was a
strange rapturous light in the girl's eyes.
"I asked for the proof," she whispered. "You gif eet to me when you deed
not know I was there behind the shrubberee. I hear you tell her she must
go. I hear you tell her that you--that you--that you----"
"That I'm going to marry you," said Carker, taking both her hands in
his. "I mean it, Juanita. I've decided on my course in the future. If
I'll quit lecturing on socialism and suppress my thoughts and theories
in that line, Carker, senior, will give me a lift in the world. He'll
change his will if he becomes satisfied that I've reformed. I'm a
socialist, Juanita, and I shall always remain a socialist. But, perhaps,
I've been a little too rabid--perhaps I've been a little too rank.
Socialism is all right, but home is a great deal better. I'm going to
have a home of my own, and I'm going to have you for the chief director
of that home. I think I'll be satisfied to settle down with you there to
anchor me. I'm going to kiss you now, Juanita."
"Oh, Gregoree----" she murmured.
His lips smothered the remainder of the protest.