I FIND MYSELF A MURDERER
I had no intention of leaving without having, by some means or other,
a word with Brenda Gelette. No doubt she would refuse to see me, but,
whether she wanted to or not, I would see her. I could not leave
without attempting to correct the belief that I had known Mr. Varney's
identity from the start. Why should I plan to enter his house as a
spy, why gloat over his infirmities? Why did he hate me and mine so
ferociously? Perhaps Brenda Gelette would condescend to answer these
questions.
After all, what had I done to be treated with such anger and contempt?
At worst I was guilty of a poor sort of joke. No doubt, too, they
believed the popular press opinion of me. Well, I couldn't correct
that, and perhaps it wasn't such an erroneous opinion after all. "To
see ourselves as others see us!" I had sown a fine crop of wild oats
in a remarkably short time and I must abide by the harvest. Nor dare I
tell her anything about the Black Company, the extra inducement which
had made me continue to play the part of Joyce. But I could apologize
for what I had done, perhaps make her see that it wasn't quite the
ill-mannered piece of levity it seemed. If I could convince her that
my career as a prodigal was a matter of six months only, that I had
turned over a new leaf and meant to keep the pages clean, that it
was a life-and-death struggle with the Demon and that she had helped
me profoundly, my regeneration dating from the day I had first met
her--yes, if I could convince her of all that----
I went up on the veranda to ring the bell and ran into Frean who had
just come out of the house. "The very man I wanted to see," I said, and
beckoned him to a quiet corner.
He came unwillingly, watching me warily. "You needn't blame me for
any of this," he said defensively. "I'd no idea you were still living
or that you weren't Joyce. Of all your fool escapades, Lawton, this
is about your worst. You've got yourself into a nice mess, but it's
entirely your own fault."
"Have I said it wasn't?"
"Well, if you take my advice you'll beat it while the going's good
instead of hanging round here. Mr. Varney may change his mind and have
you jailed for false pretenses. He can do it, you know."
"I suppose he can. But never mind about that; I'll run the risk. I want
you to tell Miss Gelette that I wish to see her; a servant wouldn't
take the message, but you can."
"She won't see you, Lawton."
"She will if you ask her. I must see her before I go. You can get her
to come down here. Go ahead."
"I'll do nothing of the kind. Why should she see you? I tell you it's
no use; she knows all about it."
"All about what?"
"Oh, you know what I mean. What's the use? There's nothing for it,
Lawton, but to go back and face the music, the sooner the better.
You've only made it worse by this delay."
"What music? What the Harry are you talking about?"
He laughed unpleasantly. "This possum game's played out, Lawton. I
assure you it is. You knew very well what I mean--that double charge of
manslaughter. Manslaughter? It's really murder!"
"Look here, my boy," I said, "this isn't my day for laughing at jokes.
What are you getting at? Give us the works."
"Oh, cut it, Lawton," he sneered. "You can't play the innocent on me,
you know. Why, everybody knows it! Varney and Miss Gelette know now
the real reason why you were anxious to change your name, why you've
been in hiding these weeks. You thought it better to play dead till
it blew over, eh? A pretty cute idea, but your little game's gone up
prematurely in smoke. You've got to answer for those two killings, and
all your money won't save you this time."
I shot out a hand and got him by the collar. "Now spring the rest of
this joke, Frean. Open up, or I'll open you!"
"None of your beastly violence, Lawton!"
"You'll find it pretty beastly, my boy, if you don't come clean. I'll
darned well spoil your pretty looks. Come, now!"
"All right," he choked with a white sneer. "If you prefer to play the
innocent--though don't think you're fooling anybody--I'm referring to
what was in the newspapers and what everybody knows. You're like an
ostrich with its head in the sand. Everybody knows you ran over a woman
and a child the night you were supposed to be killed. You murdered
them, never gave them a chance, though they call it manslaughter. But,
of course, you didn't know about it."
I am sure he was amply repaid by the effect of this horrible news on
me; I must have shown something of what I felt. Suddenly I understood
Joyce's queer manner and his remark about my receiving a warm welcome
home. I felt physically ill, stunned, aghast. That mad ride and the
fears it had conjured up at the time had faded into the limbo of
forgotten things. It is so easy to forget our lucky escapes, our just
punishments! And, poor fool, all the time I had been congratulating
myself on having escaped; I had believed that a special Providence
watches over the drunk. A woman and a child killed--yes, murdered!
"I give you my word, Frean, I knew nothing about it," I managed to say
at length. "You must be trying to kid me. You are, aren't you? I saw
the account in the papers of that crazy ride of mine, but nothing was
said----"
"It was in the next morning's paper. You couldn't have failed to see
it."
"I didn't see the next morning's paper."
He shrugged and smiled as he arranged his disordered collar. "No? Well,
there are some things we don't care to see. I'm sure I believe you,
Lawton, but there are millions who wouldn't."
"You needn't jeer; I'm telling you the truth. Anyway, how do they know
I'm responsible? What if they did identify the car and license? Wasn't
the car stolen from me?"
"So you say."
"D-do you mean--why, hang it! There's the fellow they found in it! You
can't get away from that."
"I'm not trying to. Of course, if it wasn't you, somebody else must
have been driving."
"Well, then, if this other fellow was driving----"
"There's no use trying to fool yourself, Lawton, and certainly you're
not fooling me. The woman and child were killed in Red Bank, on the
route you took from Princeton to Sea Bright, while the man you induced
to take your car was killed at Camden. He had no reason to be near Red
Bank."
"Induced to take my car! What do you mean, Frean?"
"Paid, then, if that's the word. None of your beastly violence, Lawton!"
"Are you insinuating that I knew about killing this poor woman and
child, and that I paid some fellow to impersonate me while I lay hid
under an assumed name, afraid to face the consequences? Is that what
you mean, eh?"
He backed away. "None of your violence now, Lawton. You asked me to
tell you and I have. If any other construction can be placed on your
incomprehensible actions during the past weeks, I'm sure your friends
will be only too glad to hear of it. You asked for an honest opinion,
and I've given it. It's the opinion of Mr. Varney, Miss Gelette,
everybody--as you'll soon find out."
"There's more than that I want to find out," I said, choking down my
anger. "Let us put aside my affairs, bad as they are, and come to your
own. What's your game down here, Frean?"
I had no intention of mentioning the Black Company, aware he would only
deny all knowledge of it, and then inform Corby of my lively interest.
All my talk with Joyce had been toward the idea that I regarded the
whole thing as a joke, and I had no intention of now exposing my hand.
Of course, Frean had no idea I knew anything about the mysterious
secret society, yet my question brought a startled look to his eyes,
gone in a moment.
"My game! What do you mean? I've known this family for years--not as a
servant, but as a friend----"
"Don't bother to sneer at me. I want to know why, as a friend, you lied
so outrageously to Mr. Varney. Your pretenses here are as false as
my own, if it comes to that. Perhaps you don't know I heard the real
reason why you had to leave your father's house and business?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," he said, though he plainly was. "I'm sure
you'd go snooping into my private affairs just to see what trouble you
could make. You blame me because you're a hopeless drunkard."
"You're quite wrong. I'm not a drunkard, hopeless or otherwise; and
though I've a pretty good idea why you induced me to take that first
drink, I haven't any grudge against you. Not a bit, Frean. Your private
affairs are nothing to me except this--that I've a natural objection
to seeing you hanging round any decent girl. Is that plain enough? We
needn't mention any names, but what I'm getting at is this: If you're
going to do any courting, it's got to be on the level; otherwise I'll
make it my business to see that the girl knows just how you stand with
decent society."
"Decent society!" he laughed, though his eyes were venomous. "That's
a good phrase, coming from you. Perhaps, Apostle Peter, you'll go in
and tell Mr. Varney and Miss Gelette all the dreadful things you know
about me? Of course, they'll be quite ready to believe you, for you've
set up such a remarkable reputation for telling the truth. Oh, yes,
they'll take your mere word for it; they'll know it's pure altruism on
your part. I assure you it will pay you better to make it your business
to attend to your own and not mine. You'll have to work off your spite
against me in some other way."
"I tell you again, Frean, that I've no spite against you; not an atom.
I don't care a hang how you've acted, or may act, toward me. I'm well
able to look after myself, but I intend to see that you act decently
where Miss Gelette is concerned."
"You're a nice censor of morals, Lawton, I must say. Even if you got
a hearing--which you won't--I could easily disprove whatever garbled
version you may have heard about my difference with my father. Anyway,
you're a bit late on the wire, for that difference was made up before I
came down here."
"So you say."
"It's the truth, though it's nothing to me whether you believe it or
not, and Mr. Varney knows all about it. Finally, if Miss Gelette wants
any outsider to manage her affairs, she'll hardly select a person of
your stamp. No, you can't harm me, Lawton, and the best thing you can
do is to mind your own sorry business and give yourself up to the law
before they send detectives after you." And, as if to show his contempt
of my warning by leaving me in undisputed possession of the field, he
jumped into his car and drove off.
I now realized the utter hopelessness of trying to see Brenda Gelette
or saying anything further in my own defense. Added to all my other
sins, Mr. Varney and she now believed I had been hiding like a coward
all this time, with those two deaths upon my conscience. Indeed,
circumstances had so conspired against me that I really couldn't blame
anybody for thinking so, nor could all my excuses and explanations wipe
out the fact that I was guilty of those two deaths. There was no use
hanging about the house any longer, for they would refuse to see me
under any circumstances, and so I left the veranda.
Near the foot of the steps my eyes fell upon a piece of crumpled paper
lying under a rosebush, as if deposited there by some idle wind. Little
things had begun to interest me vastly of late, and so I picked it up.
Typed upon it was a fragment of another chess game, opening with the
Petroff defense, and, decoding it, I read: "Varney moves on second."
Pocketing it, I passed out of the gate, wondering what it meant, and
believing that Frean had inadvertently dropped it. Halfway up the block
I turned instinctively, and, screened by a neighboring privet hedge,
took a farewell look at the house where I had spent such an eventful
three weeks, and which, for all my disgrace, drew me like home. As I
looked I saw Joyce come out of the garage and go hunting about the
veranda, as if searching for a thousand-dollar bill. It would seem that
the paper in my pocket belonged to him, evidently a message from the
Black King.
Varney moves on second. Second what? Did it mean a certain square on
the strange chessboard? But there are sixteen second squares, White and
Black having eight each. Which one was it?