"Am I running a Strangers' Rest here?" Francis Sedgwick asked of himself
when he emerged upon his porch the morning after Kent's visit.
The occasion of this query was a man stretched flat on the lawn, with
his feet propped up comfortably against the stone wall. In this
recumbent posture he was achieving the somewhat delicate feat of smoking
a long, thin clay pipe. Except for this plebeian touch he was of the
most unimpeachable elegance. His white serge suit was freshly pressed.
His lavender silk hose, descending without a wrinkle under his buckskin
shoes, accorded with a lavender silk tie and lavender striped shirt. A
soft white hat covered his eyes against the sun glare. To put a point to
this foppishness, a narrow silken ribbon, also pure white, depending
from his lapel buttonhole, suggested an eye-glass in his pocket.
Sedgwick, who had risen late, having returned to his house at daybreak
after delivering his manuscript at Kent's hotel, regarded this sartorial
marvel with a doubt as to whether it might not be a figment of latent
dreams. Making a detour across the grass, he attained to a side view of
the interloper's face. It repaid the trouble. It was a remarkable face,
both in contour and in coloring. From chin to cheek, the skin was white,
with a tint of blue showing beneath; but the central parts of the face
were bronzed. The jaw was long, lean and bony. The cheek-bones were
high; the mouth was large, fine-cut, and firm; the nose, solid, set like
a rock.
At the sound of a footstep, the man pushed his hat downward, revealing a
knobby forehead and half-closed eyes in which there was a touch of
somberness, of brooding. The artist remembered having seen that type of
physiognomy on the Venetian coins of the sixteenth century, the
likenesses in bronze, of men who were of iron and gold,--scholars,
rulers, and poets. The eyes of the still face opened wide, and fixed
themselves on Sedgwick, and the expression of melancholy vanished.
"Good morning," said the artist, and then all but recoiled from the
voice that replied, so harsh and raucous it was.
"You rise late," it said.
"I hear your opinion on it," retorted Sedgwick, a bit nettled. "Am I to
infer that you have been waiting for me?"
"You wouldn't go far wrong."
"And what can I do for you--before you leave?" said Sedgwick
significantly.
"Take a little walk with me presently," said the man in another voice,
brushing the hat clear of his face.
"Kent!" exclaimed the artist.
"Well, you appear surprised. What kind of artist are you, not to
recognize a man simply because he shaves his beard and affects a false
voice?"
"But you're so completely changed. And why this disguise?"
"Disguise?" returned the other, astonished in his turn. "I'm not in
disguise."
"Your clothes. They're--well, except for being offensive, I'd call them
foppish."
"Not at all!" protested the other warmly. "Just because I'm a scientific
man, is it to be assumed that I ought to be a frump? I'm fond of good
clothes; I can afford good clothes; I wear good clothes. It's a hobby of
mine; but I deny that it is a weakness."
"Of course not," assented the other, somewhat amused. "By the way,
though, your socks and tie don't match."
"They do, absolutely," replied the other with asperity.
"Perhaps in fact; but not in effect. In matching smooth silk with ribbed
silk, you should get the latter one shade lighter."
"Is that so?" said Kent with interest. "You've told me something I never
knew. I'll remember that. Now I'll trouble you to tell me some more
things."
"While taking that walk you spoke of?"
"That comes later. I've read your story."
"Already?"
"Already! Do you know it's ten o'clock? However, it's a good story."
"Thank you."
"As a story. As information, it leaves out most of the important
points."
"Thank you again."
"You're welcome. Color, size, and trappings of the horse?"
"I didn't notice particularly. Black, I think; yes, certainly, black.
Rather a large horse. That's all I can tell you."
"Humph! Color, size, and trappings of the rider?"
"Reddish brown hair with a gloss like a butterfly's wing," said the
artist with enthusiasm; "deep hazel eyes; clear sun-browned skin;
tall--I should say quite tall--but so--so feminine that you wouldn't
realize her tallness. She was dressed in a light brown riding costume,
with a toque hat, very simple, tan gauntlets, and tan boots; that is,
the first time I saw her. The next time--"
"Hold on! A dressmaker's catalogue is no good to me. I couldn't remember
it all. Was she in riding clothes on any of her later visits?"
"No."
"Any scars or marks?"
"Certainly not!"
"That's a pity; although you seem to think otherwise. Age?"
"We--ell, twenty, perhaps."
"Add five. Say twenty-five."
"What for?" demanded Sedgwick indignantly.
"I'm allowing for the discount of romance. Did you notice her boots?"
"Not particularly; except that she was always spick and span from head
to foot."
"Humph! Was it pretty warm the last week she called on you?"
"Piping!"
"Did she show it?"
"Never a bit. Always looked fresh as a flower."
"Then, although she came far, she didn't walk far to get here. There's a
road back of the hill yonder, and a little copse in an open field where
a motor-car has stood. I should say that she had driven herself there
and come across the hill to you."
"Could we track the car?" asked Sedgwick eagerly.
"No farther than the main road. What is the latest she ever left here,
when she arrived afoot?"
"Once she stayed till half past six. I begged her to stay and dine; but
she drew into herself at the mere suggestion."
"Half past six. Allowing for a half past seven dinner, and time to dress
for it, she would have perhaps twelve to fifteen miles to go in the car.
That figures out with the saddle ride, too. Now, we have, as your
visitor, a woman of rather inadequate description eked out by some
excellent sketches--young, passably good-looking (don't lose your
temper, Sedgwick); passably good-looking, _at least_; with command of
some wealth; athletic, a traveler, well informed. The name she gave is
obviously not her own; not even, I judge, her maiden name."
Sedgwick turned very white. "Do you mean that she is a married woman?"
he demanded.
"How could you have failed to see it?" returned the other gently.
"But what is there to prove it?"
"Proof? None. Indication, plenty. Her visits, in the first place. A
young girl of breeding and social experience would hardly have come to
your studio. A married woman might, who respected herself with full
confidence, and knew, with the same confidence, that you would respect
her. And, my dear boy," added Kent, with his quiet winning smile, "you
are a man to inspire confidence. Otherwise, I myself might have
suspected you of having a hand in the death of the woman on the beach."
"Never mind the woman on the beach. This other matter is more than life
or death. Is that flimsy supposition all you have to go on?"
"No. Her travel. Her wide acquaintance with men and events. Her obvious
poise."
"All might be found in a very exceptional girl, such as she is. Why
shouldn't she tell me, if she were married?"
"Oh, don't expect me to dissect feminine psychology. There I'm quite
beyond my depth. But you'll note she doesn't seem to have told you any
slightest thing about herself. She's let concealment, like a worm i' the
bud, prey on _your_ damask cheek."
"Confound your misquotations! It's true, though. But there might be many
reasons."
"Doubtless. Only, my imagination doesn't seem to run to them. And
reverting to tangible fact, as clenching evidence, there are her gloves,
which she always wore."
"What about her gloves?"
"You never saw her left hand, did you?"
"Oh, I see. You mean the wedding-ring. Well, I suppose," continued
Sedgwick, with a tinge of contempt in his voice, "she could have taken
off her ring as easily as her gloves."
There was no answering contempt in Chester Kent's voice as he replied,
"But a ring, constantly worn and then removed, leaves an unmistakable
mark. Perhaps she gave you greater credit for powers of observation than
you deserve. I'm afraid, Frank, that she is a married woman; and I'm
sure, from reading between your lines, that she is a good woman. What
the connection between her and the corpse on the beach may be, is the
problem. My immediate business is to discover who the dead woman is."
"And mine," said Sedgwick hoarsely, "to discover the living."
"We'll at least start together," replied Kent. "Come!"
Capacity for silence, that gift of the restful gods, was possessed by
both men. Intent, each upon his own thoughts, they strode up the
hillside and descended into a byway where stood a light runabout, empty.
Throwing on the switch, Kent motioned his companion to get in. Twenty
minutes of curving and dodging along the rocky roads brought them to the
turnpike, in sight of the town of Annalaka. Not until then did Kent
offer a word.
"The inquest is set for eleven o'clock," he said.
"All right," said Sedgwick with equal taciturnity.
They turned a corner, and ran into the fringe of a crowd hovering about
the town hall. Halting his machine in a bit of shade, Kent surveyed the
gathering. At one point it thickened about a man who was talking
eagerly, the vocal center of a small circle of silence.
"Elder Dennett," said Kent, "back from Cadystown. You'll have to face
the music now."
"I'm ready."
"You're ready for attack. Are you ready for surprises?"
"No one is ever ready for surprise, or it wouldn't be surprise, would
it?"
"True enough. One word of warning: don't lose your head or your temper
if the suspicion raised against you by Dennett is strengthened by me."
"By you!"
"Unfortunately. My concern is to get to the bottom of this matter. There
is something the sheriff knows that I don't know. Probably it is the
identity of the body. To force him into the open, it may be necessary
for me to augment the case against you."
"Ought I to be ready for arrest?"
"Hardly probable at present. No; go on the stand when you're called, and
tell the truth, and nothing but the truth."
"But not the whole truth?"
"Nothing of the necklace. You won't be questioned about that. By the
way, you have never kept among your artistic properties anything in the
way of handcuffs, have you?"
"No."
"I didn't suppose you had. Those manacles are a sticker. I don't--I
absolutely do _not_ like those manacles. And on one wrist only! Perhaps
that is the very fact, though--Well, we shall know more when we're
older; two hours older, say. Whether we shall know all that Mr. Sheriff
Len Schlager knows, is another question. I don't like Mr. Schlager,
either, for that matter."
"Dennett has seen me," said Sedgwick in a low voice.
Indeed, the narrator's voice had abruptly ceased, and he stood with the
dropped jaw of stupefaction. One after another of his auditors turned
and stared at the two men in the motor-car.
"Stay where you are," said Kent, and stepped out to mingle with the
crowd.
No one recognized, at first, the immaculate flannel-clad _elegante_ as
the bearded scientist whose strange actions had amused the crowd on the
beach. A heavy solemn man addressed him:
"Friend of his?" he asked, nodding toward the artist.
"Yes."
"He'll need 'em. Going to give evidence?"
"To hear it, rather," replied Kent pleasantly. "Where's the body?"
"Inside. Just brought it over from Doctor Breed's. He's the medical
officer, and he and the sheriff are running the show. Your friend want a
lawyer, maybe?"
The thought struck Kent that, while a lawyer might be premature, a
friend in the town might be very useful.
"Yes," he said; "from to-morrow on."
"Meanin' that you're in charge to-day," surmised the big man shrewdly.
Kent smiled. "I dare say we shall get on very well together, Mr.--" his
voice went up interrogatively.
"Bain, Adam Bain, attorney and counselor at law for thirty years in the
town of Annalaka."
"Thank you. My name is Kent. You already know my friend's name. What
kind of man is this medical officer?"
"Breed? Not much. More of a politician than a doctor, and more of a
horse trader than either. Fidgety as a sandpaper undershirt."
"Did he perform the autopsy at his own house?"
"Him and the sheriff last evening. Didn't even have an undertaker to
help lay out."
The lobe of Kent's ear began to suffer from repeated handling. "The body
hasn't been identified, I suppose?"
"Nobody's had so much as a wink at it but those two and Ira Dennett. He
viewed the corpse last night. That's why I guess your friend needs _his_
friends and maybe a lawyer."
"Exactly. Mr. Dennett doesn't seem to be precisely a deaf mute."
Lawyer Bain emitted the bubbling chuckle of the fat-throated. "It's
quite some time since Iry won any prizes for silent thought," he stated.
"You are known, hereabouts?" he added, after a pause.
"Very little."
"Gansett Jim, yonder, looks as if he kinder cherished the honor of your
acquaintance."
Over his shoulder Kent caught the half-breed's glance fixed upon him
with stolid intensity. A touch on his arm made him turn to the other
side, where Sailor Smith faced him.
"Didn't hardly know you, with your beard off," piped the old man.
"Howdy, Professor! You're finickied up like your own weddin'."
"Good morning," said the scientist. "Are you going inside?"
"No hurry," said the other. "Hotter'n Tophet in there."
"I want a good seat; so I think I'll go in at once," said Kent. "Sit
with us, won't you? Mr. Sedgwick is with me."
The ex-sailor started. "Him?" he exclaimed. "Here?"
Kent nodded. "Why not?"
"No reason. No reason at all," said the old seaman hastily. "It's a
public proceedin'."
"But you're surprised to see him here?"
"There's been quite a lot o' talk--"
"Suspicion, you mean."
"We--ell, yes."
"People are inclined to connect Mr. Sedgwick with the death of the
woman?"
"What else can you expect?" returned the old man deprecatingly. "Iry
Dennett's been tellin' his story. He's certain the woman he seen talkin'
to Mr. Sedgwick is the dead woman. Willin' to swear to it anywheres."
"What about Gansett Jim? Has he contributed anything to the discussion?"
"No. Jim's as close-tongued as Iry is clatter-mouthed."
"And probably with reason," muttered Kent. "Well, I'll look for you
inside."
He returned to join Sedgwick. Together they entered the building, while
behind them a rising hum testified to the interest felt in them by the
villagers.
Within, a tall wizened man, with dead fishy eyes, stalked nervously to
and fro on a platform, beside which a hastily constructed coffin with a
hasped cover stood on three sawhorses. On a chair near by slouched the
sheriff, his face red and streaming. A few perspiring men and women were
scattered on the benches. Outside a clock struck eleven. There was a
quick inflow of the populace, and the man on the platform lifted up a
chittering voice.
"Feller citizens," he said, "as medical officer I declare these
proceedings opened. Meaning no disrespect to the deceased, we want to
get through as spry as possible. First we will hear witnesses. Anybody
who thinks he can throw any light on this business can have a hearing.
Then those as wants may view the remains. The burial will take place
right afterwards, in the town buryin'-ground, our feller citizen and
sheriff, Mr. Len Schlager, having volunteered the expenses."
"That man," said Sedgwick in Kent's ear, "is a great deal more nervous
this minute than I am."
"Perhaps he has more cause to be," whispered the scientist. "Here comes
the first witness."
A sheep-herder had risen in his place, and without the formality of an
oath told of sighting the body at the edge of the surf at seven o'clock
in the morning. Others, following, testified to the position on the
beach, the lashing of the body to the grating, the wounds, and the
manacles. Doctor Breed announced briefly that the deceased had come to
her death by drowning, and that the skull had been crushed in,
presumably, when the waves hammered the body upon the reefs.
"Then the corpse must have come from a good ways out," said Sailor
Smith; "for the reefs wouldn't catch it at that tide."
"Nobody knows how the dead come to Lonesome Cove," said the sheriff in
his deep voice.
There was a murmur of assent. The people felt a certain pride in the
ill-omened locality.
Elder Ira Dennett was the next and last witness called. Somewhere
beneath the Elder's dry exterior lurked the instinct of the drama.
Stalking to the platform, he told his story with skill and fervor. He
made a telling point of the newly finished picture he had seen in
Sedgwick's studio, depicting the moonlit charge of the wave-mounted
corpse. He sketched out the encounter between the artist and the dead
woman vividly. As he proceeded, the glances turned upon Sedgwick
darkened from suspicion to enmity. Kent was almost ready to wish that he
had come armed, when Dennett, with a final fling of his arm toward the
artist, stepped from the platform and resumed his seat, amid a
surcharged silence.
Then Sedgwick rose. He was white; but his voice was under perfect
control as he said, "I presume I have the right to be heard in my own
defense?"
"Nobody's accused you yet," growled Schlager.
"Public opinion accuses me. That is not to be wondered at, in view of
what Elder Dennett has just told you. It is all true. But I do not know
the woman who accosted me. I never saw her before that evening. She
spoke strangely to me, and indicated that she was to meet some one and
go aboard ship, though I saw no sign of a ship."
"You couldn't see much of the ocean from your house," said the medical
officer.
"I walked on the cliffs later," said Sedgwick, and a murmur went through
the court room; "but I never found the woman. And as for throwing her
out of a ship, or any such fantastic nonsense, I can prove that I was
back in my house by a little after nine o'clock that night."
He sat down, coolly enough; but his eyes dilated when Kent whispered to
him:
"Keep your nerve. The probability will be shown that she was killed
before ten o'clock."
Now, however, Doctor Breed was on his feet again. "Form in line, ladies
and gentlemen," said he, "and pass the coffin as spry as possible."
At this, Sheriff Schlager stepped forward and loosened the hasps,
preparatory to removing the cover. "The body has been left," said he,
slipping the lid aside, "just as--" Of a sudden, his eyes stiffened. A
convulsive shudder ran through his big body. He jammed the cover back,
and, with fingers that actually drummed on the wood, forced the hasps
into place.
"She's come to life!" cried a voice from the rear.
"No, no!" rumbled the sheriff. Whirling upon the medical officer, he
whispered in his ear; not more than a single word, it seemed to the
watchful Kent.
The doctor turned ghastly. "Gents," he said in a quavering voice to the
amazed crowd, "the program will not be carried out as arranged.
The--the--well, the condition of the deceased is not fitten--" He
stopped, mopping his brow.
But Yankee curiosity was not so easily to be balked of its food. It
found expression in Lawyer Adam Bain.
"That ain't the law, Doc," he said.
"I'm the law here," declared Sheriff Schlager, planting himself solidly
between the crowd and the coffin. One hand crept slowly back toward his
hip.
"Don't pull any gun on me," retorted the lawyer quietly. "It ain't
necessary."
"You heard Doc Breed say the body wasn't fitten to be viewed," pursued
the sheriff.
"That's all right, too. But the doc hasn't got the final word. The law
has."
A quick murmur of assent passed through the room.
"And the law says," continued Bain, "that the body shall be duly viewed.
Otherwise, and the deceased being buried without view, an order of the
court to exhume may be obtained."
"Look at Breed," whispered Kent to Sedgwick.
The medical officer's lips were gray, as he leaned forward to pluck at
the sheriff's arm. There was a whispered colloquy between them. Then
Breed spoke, with a pitiful effort at self-control:
"Lawyer Bain's point is correct; undoubtedly correct. But the body must
be prepared. It ought to 'a' been looked to last night. But somehow
I--we--Will six citizens kindly volunteer to fetch the coffin back to my
house?"
Ten times six offered their services. The box was carried out swiftly,
followed by the variable hum of excited conjecture. Quickly the room
emptied itself, except for a few stragglers.