Hudson's Errand
For a day or two I moped around, decidedly out of sorts. I didn't feel
sufficiently acquainted with Miss Raynor to call on her,--though she had
once asked me to do so,--but I greatly longed to find out if the police
had yet acquainted her with their suspicions. I thought perhaps they were
waiting for further proofs, or it might be, waiting until after the
funeral of Mr. Gately. There had been, so far, nothing in the papers
implicating Olive, and I hoped against hope there would not be. But I
felt sure she was being closely watched, and I didn't know what new
evidence might be cooking up against her.
The funeral of the great capitalist was on Saturday evening.
I attended, and this being my first visit to the house, I was all
unprepared for the wealth of art treasures it held.
I sat in the great salon, lost in admiration of the pictures and bronzes,
as well as the beautiful architecture and mural decorations.
A throng of people attended the services and the oppressive fragrance of
massed flowers and the continuous click of folding-chairs, combined with
the whispers and subdued rustling of the audience, produced that
unmistakable funeral atmosphere so trying to sensitive nerves.
Then, a single clear, sweet soprano voice, raised in a solemn anthem,
broke the tension, and soon the brief obsequies were over, and I found
myself moving along with the crush of people slowly surging toward the
door.
I walked home, the clear, frosty air feeling grateful after the crowded
rooms.
And I wondered. Wondered what would be the next scene in the awful drama.
Would they accuse Miss Raynor,--lovely Olive Raynor, of the crime? How
could they? That delicate, high-bred girl!
And yet, she was independent of thought and fearless of action.
Though I knew her but slightly, I had heard more or less about her, and I
had learned she was by no means of a yielding or easily swayed
disposition. She deeply resented her guardian's tyrannical treatment of
her and had not infrequently told him so. While they were not outwardly
at odds, they were uncongenial natures, and of widely divergent tastes.
Olive, as is natural for a young girl, wanted guests and gayety. Mr.
Gately, a thoroughly selfish man, preferred quiet and freedom from
company. Her insistence met with refusal and the results were often
distressing to both of them. In fact, Miss Raynor had threatened to leave
her guardian's home and live by herself, but this by no means suited his
convenience. The comfort of his home and the proper administration of his
household depended largely on Olive's capable and efficient management,
and without her presence and care he would miss many pleasant details of
his daily existence. He rarely allowed her to go away on a visit, and
almost never permitted her to have a friend to stay with her.
I learned of these intimate matters from Norah,--who, in turn, had them
from Jenny.
Jenny had not been with Mr. Gately long, but she had managed to pick up
bits of information regarding his home life with surprising quickness,
and when quizzed by the police had told all she knew,--and, I
suspected,--_more_ than she knew,--about Miss Raynor.
Now, I don't suppose the police went so far as to assume that Olive
Raynor had killed Mr. Gately because he would not indulge her wishes, but
they seemed to think they really had grounds for suspecting.
I was in despair. On Sunday, I could think of nothing but the matter and
I wondered if it would be too presumptuous of me to offer Miss Raynor my
help or advice. Doubtless she had hordes of advisers, but she might need
such a legal friend as I could be to her.
On the impulse, I telephoned and asked if she cared to see me. To my
delighted surprise she welcomed the suggestion and begged me to call that
afternoon, as she had real need of legal advice.
And so four o'clock found me again at the house of the late president of
the Trust Company.
This time I was shown to a small reception room, where Olive soon
appeared.
"It's this way, Mr. Brice," she said after a few moments' conversation.
"I don't like Mr. Pond,--he's Uncle's lawyer,--I just can't bear the
man!"
"For any definite reason, Miss Raynor?" I asked.
"N--no,--well, that is--oh, he's a horrid old thing, and he wants to
marry me!"
"Are you quite sure you want to confide these personal matters to me?" I
felt I ought to say this, for the girl was nervously excited, and I was
by no means sure she would not later regret her outspokenness.
"Yes, I do. I want a lawyer, Mr. Brice, and I will not have Mr. Pond. So
I ask you here and now to take my affairs in charge, look after my
financial matters, and advise me in many ways when I need your help. You
may suppose I have many friends,"--the big brown eyes were pathetically
imploring, "but I haven't. Uncle Amos,--of course, you know he was not my
uncle, but I called him that,--would not allow me to make many friends
and his own acquaintances are all elderly people and he hadn't very many
of those. My money is in my own right. Mr. Gately was punctilious in his
care of my accounts,--and I want it all taken out of the hands of Mr.
Pond and transferred to your care. This can be done, of course."
Olive looked imperious and seemed to think the matter all settled.
"Doubtless it can be arranged, Miss Raynor; I will consider it."
"Don't consider,--just say yes! If you don't I must hunt up another
lawyer, and--I'd rather have you."
I wasn't proof against her pretty, dictatorial ways, and I agreed to take
the steps she desired.
She went on to tell me how she was placed:
Not only in possession of a considerable fortune of her own, Amos
Gately's will left her a goodly additional sum, and also the house in
which they had lived.
"So you see," Olive said, "I shall continue to live here,--for the
present. I have Mrs. Vail now with me,--as a duenna, for propriety's
sake. She is a dear old lady, and is of a pliable, manageable sort. I
chose her for that reason, largely. Also, she is pleasant and cheerful,
and I like to have her about. I was fond of Uncle Amos, Mr. Brice, but we
had many dissensions. If he had allowed me a little more freedom, I could
have got along with him beautifully,--but he treated me as a child. You
see, he took me to live with him when I _was_ a child, and he never
realized that I had grown up and had an individuality and a will of my
own. I am twenty-two years old, and he acted as if I were twelve!"
"And now, absolutely your own mistress?"
"Yes; doesn't it seem strange? And it is _all_ so strange! This house,
without him, is like a different house. And the dreadfulness of his
death! Sometimes I think I can't stay here,--I must get into other
surroundings. But the thought of moving out of here is too much for me,
at present, anyway. Oh, I don't know _what_ to do! I can't realize that
he is gone!"
Olive did not cry. She sat, dry-eyed and tearless, looking so
pathetically lonely and so unable to cope with her new responsibilities,
that I gladly promised her all possible assistance that I could give,
both in legal matters and in any personal or friendly ways.
"Don't think me helpless," she said, reading my thoughts; "I shall rise
to the situation, I shall adapt myself to my changed circumstances, but
it will take a little time, of course."
"Yes, indeed," I agreed, "and don't attempt to do too much at first. Take
plenty of time to rest and to let yourself react from the shock and the
awful scenes you have been through."
It was clear to me that the girl had no thought that she was suspected,
or that the police were watching her. I wondered whether it would be
kinder to give her a hint of this or to leave her in ignorance, when just
then a servant entered, saying Mr. Hudson wished an interview with Miss
Raynor.
Hudson! Foxy Jim Hudson! Of course, this could mean but one thing.
"Let me stay!" I said, impulsively, and, "Oh, do!" she returned, and in
another minute Hudson came in.
There was something about the man's manner that I couldn't help liking
and if Olive had to be questioned I felt sure he would do it as gently as
anybody could.
Though uncultured, his voice was kindly, and as he put some preliminary
questions Olive answered straightforwardly and without objection.
But when he asked her where she had been on the afternoon of Mr. Gately's
death, she looked at him haughtily, and said:
"I told all that to the man who questioned me downtown,--that Mr.
Martin."
"Did you tell him the truth, Miss Raynor?"
"Sir?"
Into the one word, Olive put a world of scornful pride, but I could note
also a look of fear in her eyes.
"Now, let me give you a bit of friendly advice," Hudson said, "you're a
very young lady, and you prob'ly think you can tell a little white
falsehood and get away with it, but you can't do it to the police. You
see, miss, we know where you were on Wednesday afternoon, and you may as
well be frank about it."
"Very well, then, where was I?"
"At the house of Mrs. Russell,--the sister of Mr. Manning."
Olive looked at him in amazement. Then her manner changed.
"Since you know," she said, "I may as well own up. I _was_ at Mrs.
Russell's. What of it?"
"Only that if you prevaricated in one instance, Miss Raynor, you may have
done so in others. Will you tell me why you said you were at the house of
your friend, Miss Clark?"
"Of course I will. My guardian was unwilling to have me go to Mrs.
Russell's house, because of a personal matter. Therefore, when I wished
to go there I sometimes told him that I was going to Miss Clark's. This
small falsehood I considered justifiable, because Mr. Gately had no right
to say where I should go and where not! If I was untruthful it was
because his unjust rules and regulations made me so! I am not a
story-teller, ordinarily. If I was forced to be one, in order to enjoy
some simple pleasures or diversions, it is no one's business but my own."
"That's true, Hudson," I interposed, "why constitute yourself Miss
Raynor's Sunday-School teacher?"
"Sorry I am to do so," and the good-natured face showed real regret; "but
I've orders. Now, Miss Raynor, I must put you a few straight questions.
Where's Mr. Amory Manning?"
"I don't know! I only wish I did!"
"Now, now, that won't do! I guess you can think up some hint of his
whereabouts for me. You can't deceive us, you know."
"Nor do I want to!" Olive's eyes blazed. "Because I found it necessary to
evade my guardian's espionage now and then you needn't think I am unable
to tell the truth! I have no idea where Mr. Manning is, and I am
exceedingly anxious lest some harm has befallen him. If you can find him
you will be doing me a great favor."
"Are you engaged to him, Miss Raynor?"
"No, I am not, though I do not concede your right to ask that question.
Mr. Manning and I are good friends, that is all."
"Mr. Gately did not approve of his attentions to you?"
"He did not, and that was why I refrained from telling of occasions when
I saw or might see Mr. Manning at his sister's house. If that is of
interest to you, I've no objections to your knowing it."
"Can you fire a pistol, Miss Raynor?"
I perceived it was Hudson's method to take her by surprise, and so,
perhaps, learn something from an answer given off her guard.
"Yes," she replied, promptly, "I am a good shot; why?"
Her wondering eyes were fearless, now, and to me it seemed a proof of her
entire innocence that she showed no embarrassment at this inquiry.
But Hudson evidently thought differently. He looked accusingly at her,
and continued, "Do you own a pistol?"
"Yes; Mr. Gately gave me one a few years ago."
"Where is it?"
"Down at our country-place, on Long Island. I am afraid of burglars
there, but not nearly so much so in the city."
"H'm. Now, Miss Raynor, you are the last one known to have seen Amos
Gately alive."
"Why, Mr. Brice saw the shooting!"
"Only in shadow. I mean you are the last one known to have talked with
him in his office. Was your interview--er,--amicable?"
"Entirely so. I went there for some money, as I occasionally did. My
guardian gave me a check and I cashed it at the Trust Company Bank."
"Yes, we know that; and that the check was given to you, and was later
cashed, all at about the time Mr. Gately was killed."
"Earlier Mr. Hudson. I was in the bank about half-past two."
"No, Miss Raynor. We have the teller's statement that you were there
about three o'clock."
"He is mistaken," Olive's voice was confident, and had in it a ring of
indignation, "by three o'clock, or very little after, I was at Mrs.
Russell's."
"Was Mr. Manning there?"
"No; he expected to come later, after he had attended to some business."
"What was the business?"
"I do not know, but it must have been somewhere in the vicinity of the
Puritan Building, for he was near there when I arrived."
"At what time was that?"
"I don't know exactly, perhaps half-past three or a little later. I had
been at Mrs. Russell's but a few moments when Mr. Talcott telephoned me
there."
"How did he know you were there?"
"He called up Miss Clark first, and she told him."
"Your friends, then, aided and abetted you in deceiving your guardian?"
"I resent the way you put that, Mr. Hudson," Olive looked at him
haughtily, "but I answer, yes. My friends agreed with me that Mr. Gately
was unreasonable in his commands and that I was not bound to obey them."
"But you are now freed from his injustice."
"That is a brutal speech and unworthy of any man! My freedom is too
dearly purchased at such a fearful price!"
"Are you _sure_ you think so?"
"What are you implying, Mr. Hudson? Speak out! Do you think I killed my
guardian?"
"There are people that do think that, Miss Raynor."
"Leave this house!" cried Olive, rising. "Such words can not be spoken
here!"
"Now, now, miss, dramatics won't get you anywheres! There is evidence
against you, or so the police think, and it's up to me to tell you that
we must ask you not to go out of town without acquainting us of the fact.
We do not accuse you, but we do want you where we can communicate with
you at will. I am going now Miss Raynor. I came only to make sure on a
few points,--which I have done,--and to tell you to remain within call.
Indeed, I may as well tell you that any attempt to get away will be
frustrated."
"You mean I am under surveillance!"
"That's about it, miss."
Olive looked at him as one might regard a worm of the dust.
"Go!" she said, quietly but forcefully. "I shall not leave town, I shall
probably not leave this house. Your suspicion is beneath contempt.
However, it has taught me one thing,--I shall engage someone
else--someone quite outside the stupid police, to discover the murderer
of my uncle! And also to trace my friend, Mr. Manning."
Hudson smiled. He looked at Olive almost tolerantly, as if she were a
wilful child.
"All right. Miss Raynor. I'll take your word as to your staying here, and
I rather guess the police force will yet round up the murderer and will
also discover the hiding-place of Amory Manning. Good day."
Hudson went away, and Olive turned to me in a passion of rage.
"What insolence!" she exclaimed. "Are such things permitted? To come here
and practically accuse me of my uncle's murder!"
"He wasn't your uncle, you know."
"That doesn't matter. I loved him as I would a relative. His sternness
and his unreasonable commands were distasteful to me, but that didn't
alter my real love and affection for the man. He has been everything to
me for the greater part of my life. He has been kindness itself in most
matters. He indulged me in all possible ways as to creature comforts and
luxuries. He never criticized the ways in which I spent my money, or in
which I entertained myself, save in the matter of having guests or making
visits."
"And allowing admirers?"
"There were some men he approved of,--you may as well know, Mr. Brice, my
guardian wished me to marry his friend and lawyer, Mr. Pond."
"Why, when that gentleman is so greatly your senior?"
"Merely because Uncle was so fond of him. And, too, Uncle never seemed to
realize that I was of a different generation from himself. He couldn't
understand,--he really couldn't--why I wanted young company and gay
parties. _He_ didn't, and he really assumed that _I_ didn't. I think he
never realized how greatly he was depriving me when he forbade me
society."
"Did it really amount to that?"
"Practically. Or, if I succeeded in persuading him to let me have a house
guest or a small party, he made things so unpleasant that I was glad when
they were gone."
"Unpleasant, how?"
"Oh, fussing around, as if his comfort were interfered with,--as if he
were terribly incommoded by their presence, and by demanding my time and
attention for himself, instead of allowing me to entertain my guests
properly."
"Doubtless so you wouldn't do it again."
"Yes, of course. But all that was uncomfortable for me,--almost
unbearable,--yet one doesn't kill one's people for such things."
To me this simple statement of Olive Raynor's was more convincing than a
storm of denial. She had stormed, with indignation, at the hint of
suspicion, but her quiet, dignified refutation went far to assure me of
her entire innocence.
"Of course, one doesn't," I agreed, "and now to find out who did do it.
Have you any suspicion,--Miss Raynor, even the slightest?"
"No; except that it seems to me it must have been some man who knew Uncle
in a business way. Though a generous and charitable man, Amos Gately was
scrupulously just, and if he had enemies, they were men whom he had
discovered in some wrong-doing and he had exposed or punished them. No
man had a cause for righteous enmity against him,--of that I'm sure!"