Along in the early spring one night just as Eugene and Nan were about
to retire, the telephone bell rang and a man’s voice asked if Mr.
Massey was at home, and if he could see some one on important business
connected with his cousin Miss Radway.
Eugene was immediately excited, and fairly shouted into the telephone,
demanding to know who was speaking.
“That’s all right, pard. I ain’t tellin’ all I know over the wire.
Alone now? I’ll drop around. This is absolutely Q. T. you know.”
Nan stood trembling in the doorway, white-faced, frightened.
“You go to bed!” ordered Eugene, trying to still the excitement of his
own voice, and getting up to pace the room nervously. “Go to bed, I
say!” he roared as Nan still stood in the doorway watching him.
There was a wild look in his eye that made her afraid of him sometimes.
He had been hard toward her ever since she falteringly told him of her
visit to the minister, and he had looked at her as if she had been a
viper and answered her only:
“You FOOL! If you could only learn to keep your mouth shut! Yes, weep.
WEEP! That’s your line! Oh, why did I marry _a fool_?”
Since that day Nan had kept much to herself, had not ventured to take
any part in the frantic search for Joyce that was still going on in a
stealthy way. Now, at the look in her husband’s eye, she vanished,
sobbing softly to herself, went hurriedly up the stairs and flung
herself noisily on the bed. A moment later she rose stealthily, removed
her shoes and prepared to listen to whatever went on downstairs. Her
heart was beating so wildly that she had to put her hand on it, it
almost hurt.
Eugene forestalled any attempt on her part to listen by closing the
doors of the sitting room, and her only possibility of finding out
anything lay in the back staircase or in watching out the window.
The night was dark and a ghoulish wind was roaring about the house, a
real March night with dark clouds driven across a starless sky. She
could not even see the stealthy figure like a flat shadow that slid
across the open space before the door and flattened against the side
of the house some minutes before the knock that echoed so slightly she
almost thought she was mistaken. She heard the door open and blow shut
with a gust of wind, and there were voices, low murmurs, that was all.
She strained her ears to hear, for she felt sure Gene would not tell
her anything. He said she was a fool and he could not trust her.
Downstairs, in the sitting room, Tyke stood flat against the wall
by the door and ordered Gene to pull down the shades. This done, he
selected a seat in the darkest corner of the room and motioned Gene to
a seat in front of him.
“You plumb sure thar ain’t no one lis’nen in on us?” he asked, eyeing
the various doors.
“Positive,” said Gene, eyeing his caller suspiciously. This man of
course wanted money, and he wasn’t a very pleasant-looking customer.
Perhaps he ought to have sent for a policeman and had him in hiding.
Yet there might be something he would not have wanted a policeman
to know. No, rather take the chances himself. He glanced nervously
toward the telephone to make sure he could reach it from where he sat
in case he needed it. Nan, of course, would be worse than useless in
an emergency. Still, perhaps he had made a mistake in sending her to
bed. However, he felt pretty sure she would manage to find a cranny to
listen, and when he heard a soft creaking on the back stairs and saw
Tyke start nervously, he made no move.
“It’s only a mouse in the wall,” he said. “Go on.”
“Well, I came here purely out o’ kin’ness,” began Tyke ingratiatingly,
his eyes roving from door to window and back again. “I’m ’war I’m doin’
a dangerous thing; an’ I’m riskin’ m’life. The man we gotta deal with
is a desp’rate feller, an’ he wouldn’t stop at nothin’. We gotta work
still as death ur we won’t get nowheres. Now, to begin, ’bout how long
uv you ben sure your young woman relative was kidnapped?”
“Kidnapped!” said Gene with a start. “Kidnapped. Yes. Why--” Then
it was money the man wanted. “Why--I’ve been coming slowly to that
conclusion for sometime. Haven’t been able to prove it yet of
course--That is--” Here, he was telling too much himself. He oughtn’t
to tell this man anything. He ought to let the man do all the talking.
“Well, I kin,” said Tyke, unconsciously raising his voice a trifle.
“Got four good witnesses ’sides myse’f to prove it in court. Know the
very day an’ hour when it happened. We all seen the body, and one of
us seen him buryin’ her.”
“Body!” exclaimed Gene, jumping up, white to the lips. “Burying!”
“Sit still, man! Keep yer shirt on! We don’t get nowheres carryin’ on
with them highstrikes. Somebody might be round an’ hear ya. You can’t
never tell. You gotta learn to keep quiet ef you wantta hear what I got
ta say.”
“Go on,” said Gene with dry lips and stiff articulation. The horror
of it froze his senses. In spite of him his mother’s face came
reproachfully between him and the stranger. What had he done to Joyce?
How had he been responsible for all this that had happened to her? He
was not a bad man. He did not want her inheritance at the expense of
her life. He was merely a selfish man. This girl was his own blood and
kin, and he was responsible for her safety. Fear sat upon his face.
What might not come to him when the town heard this?
But the stranger was asking him a question.
With an effort he pulled himself back to attend.
“Just when did you say you seen her last? April? Twenty-four? Yep.
That’s the day. Long toward evenin’ wasn’t it? She went down acrost
lots to her yants grave, didn’t she? What say? You didn’t know that?
Oh, I thought--well, it don’t matter. That’s where she went, and he met
her thar. Must uv had a date. He was waitin’ there for her. You see we
was doin’ some work there round a lot, in the cem’try, me an’ a couppla
others, an’ when we got back home we found we hadta go ’nother place
next day so we walks back t’get our tools we’d lef’ hid. Seein’ there
was somebody there seemin’ to be feelin’ bad--she was cryin’ real hard,
an’ he was coaxin’ her--we didn’t like to intrude, so we set awhile
under the hedge thinkin’ he’d get away. We knowed him, ya know, a great
one with the dames. They always fall fer him, no matter what they are!
Pretty soon we see ’em walk away down a piece to the road jes’ as we
thought they would, only she was talkin’ fast, an’ cryin’. Still we
didn’t think nothin’ of it, knowin’ him an’ all, till suddenly we seen
him pick her up strugglin’ and chuck her into a autymobile he had
standin’ there, an’ fore we could sense what was goin’ on they was off
down the road.
“We talked it over an’ we come to the conclusion it was just a little
quarrel they was havin’ an’ none o’ our business. But two days after
that Billy he missed one o’ his wedges, an’ he reckoned he musta lef’
it up to the cem’try, so we all decides to walk up, bein’ a pleasant
evenin’, jus’ fer the walk. On the way we talked about the girl we’d
seen an’ decided to look at the headstone an’ see if we could make out
if she was a relative of ennybody we knowed. I ain’t from Meadow Brook
myself but I got frien’s buried up there. But when we come in sight o’
the cem’try we seen that there car thar again, jus’ in the same place,
kinda hid like behind the alders, backed down off the road, an’ we
listened, an’ heard the ring of a spade. We thought that was queer, an’
we clum the bank an’ stole round to the back of the cem’try where we
could see. We hadta go awful still, cause he stopped every now an’ agen
to listen, but we fin’lly got where we could see, an’ he was diggin’ a
grave!”
Gene caught his breath and Tyke sat watching him cautiously to see just
how far he could go with his tale.
“Thur was a long bundle did up in a carridge robe layin’ on the ground,
and bime bye when he’d dug a long time he turns around and he listens,
an’ then he snaps on his flashlight, an’ turns back the cloth an’ there
was ’er face, jes’ as plain, same girl as we’d seen settin’ on the
grave, only dead as a door-nail. Her face shone bright in his light
an’ we couldn’t make no mistake. Then he covers up her face an’ snaps
off the light and rolls her into the hole, an’ we could hear the dirt
bein’ shovelled down in again, an’ me an’ my pards were weak as little
babies. We couldn’t do nothin’, jes’ lay in the grass there an’ never
moved till we hear his autymobile chuggin’ down the road. We was most
too scared to speak then. An’ we got away acrost the fields an’ never
come home till mornin’ we was so plumb scared.
“We was tryin’ to figger out what to do, but next thing we heard the
girl had went away visitin’, an’ we figgered it out that what you
didn’t know wouldn’t never make you all feel bad, so we kep’ our mouths
shet. But here lately, I ain’t ben sleepin’ well. Keep a dreamin’
I see that there girl with her purty white face a cryin’ out to me
fer justice to be done on that there feller, an’ I made up my mind I
wouldn’t hold back no longer, I’d tell you the truth, an’ you kin do
what you like about it. My han’s is washed clean, enyhow. But if you
all want ter prosecute him its a clear case of murder in the first
degree, an’ we’ll all stan’ by ya.”
“But you haven’t told me who the man is,” said Gene, his breath coming
fast and his eyes taking on a wild look. “Murder! Think of it! To one
of our family!”
“Why, I ’sposed you knowed a course. Ain’t he ben comin’ here to see
her? I knowed he was here the night after he took her away ’cause I
seen him myself, follered him to the gate. Fact, there ain’t been much
happened to him sence that I ain’t knowed ’bout. Had him watched, ya
know. Can’t take no chances with a feller like that. Why, his name is
Sherwood. Darcy Sherwood. Great baseball pitcher. Often had his name in
the paper. That kind takes the girls ya know.”
“Darcy Sherwood! Of course!” said Gene. “Where is he now? I’ll get out
a warrant for arrest tonight.”
“Well, that’s the rub,” said Tyke uneasily. “You see he got away a few
days back. He’s ben keepin’ close, and been away a lot, but he musta
got onto it that we had him spotted fer he made tracks fer Canada.
I follered him up there, but found he’d left, given a wrong address
an’ all that. But he’s back somewheres in this neighborhood. I’m sure
o’that. You jes’ wantta put it in the han’s of the p’lice an’ you’ll
get yer party all right, all right! Better not tell who yer witnesses
are till ya get him safe an’ sound in jail, though. He mighta got onto
the fact of who we are an’ cleared out.”
Gene’s mind had run rapidly ahead of the visitor’s words. He was
thinking fast what he had to do.
“We must dig up that grave and find the body,” he said, speaking
rapidly. “You can locate it, of course.”
“Sure. We can locate her all right; but it ain’t no use diggin’ it up.
Didn’t I tell ya that part? This other party, this fourth man I was
speakin’ of fer a witness, he ain’t one of my bunch at all. He was
just goin’ through the medder adjoinin’ next night after the burryin’
an’ he heard a sound of a spade and he steps to the hedge curious
like to see who was diggin’ a grave that time o’ night, it was still
kinda light, an’ he sees this feller diggin’ her up, an’ presently he
takes up the big roll an’ carries it away in a car. Got scared likely.
Thought somebody was onto him, an’ didn’t dast leave her there. My man
went an’ looked in the hole after he was gone an’ there wasn’t nothin’
there but broken glass. After that we went too, an’ it’s all true just
as he sez. So he’s got away with it all good an’ slick. He’s an awful
slick feller. I knowed him back in France. I got an idea where he may
have hid her though. There’s more’n one graveyard round these diggin’s.”
Late that night Eugene let Tyke out the back door, and he stole away
into the mists like some creeping thing to hide. But Eugene walked the
floor all night, his white face drawn and pinched, his eyes bloodshot
and looking like hidden fires. There was something more than revenge
working in Eugene Massey’s heart. There was conscience. One cannot have
a mother like Mary Massey without having to suffer for it some time or
other, if one has wandered away from her teachings.
And all night long Nan lay in her bed with wide-open eyes and tried to
piece together the few words she had overheard from her perch on the
back stairs, and make sense out of them--lay and dreaded the coming of
the morning.