things that are oppressing you. I believe you love me, I believe it
absolutely--" she paused.
The light died out of his eyes.
"Marsh," she began again. "Could you forgive me if you knew that I'd
thought I cared for some one else? Could you, if I told you that for a
moment I had the thought--the silly thought, that I cared for another
man?" She was conscious that his hand had grown cold beneath her cheek.
"It was just a foolish fancy, quite as innocent as it was foolish, dear;
you left me so much alone, and I thought you really didn't care for me
any more, and so--and so--"
"Go on!"
"Well, that is all, Marsh."
"All?"
"Yes, it went no further than that, just a silly fancy, and I'd known
him all my life--"
"Of whom are you speaking?"
"Of John North--"
"Damn him!" he cried. "And so that's what brought him here--and you were
with him last night!" He sprang to his feet, his face livid. "What do
you take me for? Do you expect me to forgive you for that--"
"But Marsh, it was just a silly sentimental fancy! Oh, why did I tell
you!"
"Yes, why _did_ you tell me!" he stormed.
"Because I thought it would make it easier for you to confess to _me_--"
"Confess to you? I've nothing to confess--I've loved you honestly! Did
you think I'd been carrying on some nasty sneaking intrigue with a
friend's wife--did you think I was that sort of a fellow--the sort of a
fellow North is? Do you take me for a common blackguard?"
"Marsh, don't! Marshall, please--for my sake--" and she clung to him,
but he cast her off roughly.
"Keep away from me!" he said with sullen repression, but there was a
murderous light in his eyes. "Don't touch me!" he warned.
"But say you forgive me!"
"Forgive you--" He laughed.
"Yes, forgive me--Marsh!"
"Forgive you--no, by God!"
He reached for the bottle.
"Not that--not that, Marsh; your promise only a moment ago--your
promise, Marsh!"
But he poured himself half a tumbler of whisky and emptied it at a
swallow.
"To hell with my promise!" he said, and strode from the room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE FINGER OF SUSPICION
In Chicago Conklin found an angry young man at police headquarters, and
the name of this young man was John North.
"This is a most damnable outrage!" he cried hotly the moment he espied
Mount Hope's burly sheriff.
"I am mighty sorry to have interfered with your plans, John--just mighty
sorry." The sheriff's tone was meant to soothe and conciliate. "But you
see we are counting on you to throw some light on the McBride murder."
"So that's it! I tell you, Conklin, I consider that I have been treated
with utter discourtesy; I've been a virtual prisoner here over night!"
"That's too bad, John," said the sheriff sympathetically, "but we didn't
know where a wire would reach you, so there didn't seem any other way
than this--"
"Well, what do you want with me?" demanded North, with rather less heat
than had marked his previous speech.
"They got the idea back home that you can help in the McBride matter,"
explained the sheriff again. "I see that you know he's been murdered."
"Yes, I knew that before I left Mount Hope," rejoined North.
"Did you, though?" said the sheriff briefly, and this admission of
North's appeared to furnish him with food for reflection.
"Well, what do I know that will be of use to you?" asked North
impatiently.
"You ain't to make any statement to me, John," returned the sheriff
hastily.
"Do you mean you expect me to go back to Mount Hope?" inquired North in
a tone of mingled wonder and exasperation.
The sheriff nodded.
"That's the idea, John," he said placidly.
"What if I refuse to go back?"
The sheriff looked pained.
"Oh, you won't do that--what's the use?"
"Do you mean--" began North savagely, but Conklin interposed.
"Never mind what I mean, that's a good fellow; say you'll take the next
train back with me; it will save a lot of, bother!"
"But I strongly object to return to Mount Hope!" said North.
"Be reasonable--" urged the sheriff.
"This is an infernal outrage!" cried North.
"I'm sorry, John, but make it easy for me, make it easy for yourself;
we'll have a nice friendly trip and you will be back here by the first
of the week."
For a moment North hesitated. He had so many excellent reasons why he
did not wish to return to Mount Hope, but he knew that there was
something back of Mr. Conklin's mild eye and yet milder speech.
"Well, John?" prompted the sheriff encouragingly.
"I suppose I'll go with you," said North grudgingly.
"Of course you will," agreed the sheriff.
He had never entertained any doubts on this point.
It was ten o'clock Saturday morning when North and the sheriff left the
east-bound express at Mount Hope and climbed into the bus that was
waiting for them.
North's annoyance had given place to a certain humorous appreciation of
the situation. His plans had gone far astray in the past forty-eight
hours, and here he was back in Mount Hope. Decidedly his return, in the
light of his parting with Elizabeth, was somewhat in the nature of an
anticlimax.
They were driven at once to the court-house. There in his office they
found Moxlow with the coroner and North was instantly aware of restraint
in the manner of each as they greeted him, for which he could not
account.
"Sit down, North," said Moxlow, indicating a chair.
"Now what is it?" North spoke pleasantly as he took his seat. "I've been
cursing you two all the way home from Chicago."
"I am sorry you were subjected to any annoyance in the matter, but it
couldn't be helped," said Moxlow.
"I'm getting over my temper," replied North. "Fire away with your
questions!"
The prosecuting attorney glanced at his fellow official.
"You are already acquainted with the particulars of the shocking tragedy
that has occurred here?" said Taylor with ponderous dignity.
"Yes," said North soberly. "And when I think of it, I am more than
willing to help you in your search for the guilty man."
"You knew of the murder before you left town?" remarked Moxlow casually.
"Yes."
"But you weren't on the Square or in the store Thanksgiving night?" said
Moxlow.
"No, I dined with General Herbert." The prosecuting attorney elevated
his eyebrows. "I must have been on my way there when the crime was
discovered; I was returning home perhaps a little after eleven when I
met a man who stopped me to tell me of the murder--"
"You were with Mr. McBride Thanksgiving afternoon, were you not?" Moxlow
now asked.
"Yes."
"What was the hour, can you state?"
"About half past four, I should say; certainly no later than that. I
went there on a matter of business, to dispose of some bonds Mr.
McBride had agreed to take off my hands; I was with him, maybe twenty
minutes."
"What were those bonds?"
"Local gas bonds."
"How many were there in the lot you sold?"
"Five."
"He paid you the money for them?"
"Yes, a thousand dollars."
"Do you know, we haven't unearthed those bonds yet?" said the doctor.
Moxlow frowned slightly.
"I suppose they were taken," said North.
"But it will be a dangerous thing, to attempt to realize on them,"
snapped Moxlow.
"Decidedly," agreed North.
"You left McBride's store at, say, five o'clock?" said Moxlow.
"Not later than that--see here, Moxlow, what are you driving at?"
demanded North, with some show of temper.
For an instant Moxlow hesitated, then he said:
"The truth is, North, there is not a clue to go on, and we are thrashing
this thing over in the hope that we may sooner or later hit on something
that will be of service to us."
"Oh, all right," said North, with a return of good nature.
"During your interview with McBride you were not interrupted, no one
came into the store?"
"No one; we were alone the entire time."
"And you saw no one hanging about the place as you left it?"
"Not that I can remember; if I did it made no impression on me."
"But didn't you see Shrimplin?" asked Moxlow quickly.
"Oh, come, Moxlow, you can't play the sleuth,--that was afterward, you
know it was!"
"Afterward--"
"Yes, just as I was starting for the general's place, fully an hour
later."
"In the meantime you had been where--"
"From McBride's store I went to my rooms. I remained there until it was
time to start for the Herberts', and as I intended to walk out I started
earlier than I otherwise should have done."
"Then you were coming from your rooms when you met Shrimplin?"
"Yes, it was just six o'clock when I stopped to speak to him."
"Shrimplin was the only person you met as you crossed the Square?"
"As far as I can remember now, I saw no one but Shrimp."
"And just where did you meet him, North?" asked Moxlow.
"On the corner, near McBride's store."
"Do you know whether he had just driven into the Square or not?"
"No, I, don't know that; it was snowing hard and I came upon him
suddenly."
"You continued on your way out of town after speaking with him, North?"
"Yes."
"And later, at eleven o'clock, as you were returning to town you met a
stranger, probably a countryman, you say, who told you that McBride had
been murdered?"
"Yes, you have that all straight."
"On your return to town you went where?"
"To my rooms again and finished packing."
"Did that take you two hours?"
"No, but I had a lot of things to see to there."
"What?" asked Moxlow.
"Oh, papers to destroy, and things of that sort that kept me pretty busy
until train-time."
"You walked to the depot?"
"Yes, I was too late for the hotel bus; in fact, I barely caught the
train. I just had time to jump aboard as it pulled out."
"Excuse me a moment, North!" said Moxlow as he rose from his chair.
He quitted the room and North heard him pass down the hall.
"It's a bad business," said Taylor.
"And you haven't a suspicion as to the guilty man?"
"No, as Moxlow says, we haven't a clue to go on. It's incredible though,
isn't it, that a crime like that could have been committed here almost
in broad daylight, and its perpetrator get away without leaving a trace
behind?"
"It _is_ incredible," agreed North, and they lapsed into silence.
North thought of Elizabeth. He would slip out to Idle Hour that
afternoon or evening; he couldn't leave Mount Hope without seeing her.
The coroner drummed on his desk; he wondered what had taken Moxlow from
the room in such haste. The prosecuting attorney's brisk step sounded in
the hall again, and he reëntered the room and resumed his chair.
"Just one or two more questions, North, and then I guess we'll have to
let you go," he said. "You have been on very friendly terms with the
murdered man for some time, have you not?"
"He was very kind to me on numerous occasions."
"In a business way, perhaps?"
"Largely in a business way, yes."
"It--pardon me--usually had to do with raising money, had it not?"
North laughed.
"It had."
"You were familiar with certain little peculiarities of his, were you
not, his mistrust of banks for instance?"
"Yes, he had very little confidence in banks, judging from what he said
of them."
"Did he ever tell you that he had large sums of money hidden away about
the store?"
"Never."
"But always when you had business dealings with him he gave you the
ready money, very rarely a check?"
"Never in all my experience a check, always the cash."
"Yet the sums involved were usually considerable?"
"In one or two instances they reached a thousand dollars, if you call
that considerable."
"And he always had the money on hand?"
"Well, I can't quite say that; it always involved a preliminary
discussion of the transaction; I had to see him and tell him what I
wanted and then go again after the money. It was as if he wished me to
think he did not keep any large sum about him at the store."
"Did he ever, in talking with you, express any apprehension of robbery
or violence?"
"No, never."
"You had spoken to him about those bonds before?"
"Yes, Monday I saw him and asked him if he would take them off my hand."
"And he gave you to understand that if you would wait a day or two he
would buy the bonds."
North nodded.
"Hadn't you learned prior to going to the store that McBride had just
received three thousand dollars in cash from Atkinson?"
"Yes, I knew that,--Langham told me."
"So that it is reasonable to suppose that McBride had at least four
thousand dollars in his safe Thursday afternoon."
"I suppose it is, but I saw only the thousand he paid me for the bonds."
"That came from the safe?"
"Yes."
"I guess that's all for the present, North."
"Do you mean you shall want to see me again?" asked North, rising.
"Yes, you won't leave town to-day; the inquest is to be held this
afternoon, you will probably be wanted then, so hold yourself in
readiness."
"I hope you will arrange to get through with me as soon as possible,
Moxlow!"
"We won't put you to any unnecessary inconvenience if we can help it,"
returned Moxlow, with a queer cold smile.
"Thank you," said North and quitted the room.
He sauntered out into the street; he was disposed to consider Mr. Moxlow
as something of a fool, as a rank amateur in the present crisis. He
turned into the Square and halted for an instant before the dingy store
that had been the scene of the recent tragedy. People on the street
paused when they had passed and turned to stare after him, but North was
unaware of this, as he was unaware that his name had come to be the one
most frequently mentioned in connection with the McBride murder.
Suddenly he quickened his step; just ahead of him was Marshall Langham.
"Hello, Marsh!" he said, and stepped eagerly forward with extended hand.
The lawyer paused irresolutely and turned on him a bloated face, but
there was no welcome in the sullen glance.
"Marsh--"
Langham's lips twitched and an angry murmur came from them, but the
words were indistinct.
"What's wrong?" asked North, falling back a step in astonishment.
"Yes, what's wrong!" said Langham in a hoarse whisper. "Hell! You have
nerve to stick out your hand to me--you have bigger nerve to ask me
that,--get out of my way!" and he pushed past North and strode down the
street without a single backward glance.
CHAPTER TWELVE
JOE TELLS HIS STORY
The inquest was held late Saturday afternoon in the bleak living-room of
the McBride house. The coroner had explained the manner in which the
murdered man had come to his death, and as he finished he turned to
Moxlow. The prosecuting attorney shifted his position slightly, thrust
out his long legs toward the wood-stove, and buried his hands deep in
his trousers pockets, then he addressed the jury.
They were there, he told them, to listen to certain facts that bore on
the death of Archibald McBride. If, after hearing these facts, they
could say they pointed to any person or persons as being implicated in
the murder, they were to name the person or persons, and he would see
that they were brought before the grand jury for indictment. They were
to bear in mind, however, that no one was on trial, and that no one was
accused of the crime about to be investigated, yet they must not forget
that a cold-blooded murder had been committed; human hands had raised
the weapon that had crushed out the life of the old merchant, human
intelligence had made choice of the day and hour and moment for that
brutal deed; the possibility of escape had been nicely calculated,
nothing had been left to chance. He would venture the assertion that if
the murderer were ever found he would prove to be no ordinary criminal.
All this Moxlow said with judicial deliberation and with the lawyer's
careful qualifying of word and phrase.
Shrimplin was the first witness. He described in his own fashion the
finding of Archibald McBride's body. Then a few skilful questions by
Moxlow brought out the fact of his having met John North on the Square
immediately before his own gruesome discovery. The little lamplighter
was excused, and Colonel Harbison took his: place. He, in his turn,
quickly made way for Andy Gilmore. Moxlow next interrogated Atkinson,
Langham's client, who explained the nature of his business relations
with McBride which had terminated in the payment of three thousand
dollars to him on Thanksgiving afternoon, the twenty-seventh of
November.
"You are excused, Mr. Atkinson," said Moxlow.
For an instant his eyes roved over the room; they settled on Marshall
Langham, who stood near the door leading into the hall. By a gesture he
motioned him to the chair Atkinson had vacated.
Langham's testimony was identical with that which he had already given
in the informal talk at Moxlow's office; he told of having called on
Archibald McBride with his client and, urged on by Moxlow, described
his subsequent conversation with North.
Up to this point John North had felt only an impersonal interest in the
proceedings, but now it flashed across him that Moxlow was seeking to
direct suspicion toward him. How well the prosecuting attorney was
succeeding was apparent. North realized that he had suddenly become the
most conspicuous person in the room; whichever way he turned he met the
curious gaze of his townsmen, and each pair of eyes seemed to hold some
portentous question. As if oblivious of this he bent forward in his
chair and followed Moxlow's questions and Langham's replies with the
closest attention. And as he watched Langham, so Gilmore watched him.
"That will do, Mr. Langham. Thank you," said Moxlow at last.
North felt sure he would be the next witness, and he was not mistaken.
Moxlow's examination, however, was along lines quite different from
those he had anticipated. The prosecuting attorney's questions wholly
concerned themselves with the sale of the gas bonds to McBride; each
detail of that transaction was gone into, but a very positive sense of
relief had come to North. This was not what he had expected and dreaded,
and he answered Moxlow's queries frankly, eagerly, for where his
relations with the old merchant were under discussion he had nothing to
hide. Finally Moxlow turned from him with a characteristic gesture.
"That's all," he said.
Again his glance wandered over the room. It became fixed on a grayish
middle-aged man seated at Gilmore's elbow.
"Thomas Nelson," he called.
This instantly revived North's apprehensions. Nelson was the janitor of
the building in which he had roomed. He asked himself what could be
Moxlow's purpose in examining him.
There was just one thing North feared, and that--the bringing of Evelyn
Langham's name into the case. How this could happen he did not see, but
the law dug its own channels and sometimes they went far enough afield.
While this was passing through his mind, Nelson was sworn and Moxlow
began his examination.
Mr. Nelson was in charge of the building on the corner of Main Street
and the Square,--he referred to the brick building on the southeast
corner? The witness answered in the affirmative, and Moxlow's next
question brought out the fact that for some weeks the building had had
only two tenants; John North and Andrew Gilmore.
What was the exact nature of his duties? The witness could hardly say;
he was something of a carpenter for one thing, and at the present time
was making certain repairs in the vacant store-room on the ground floor.
Did he take care of the entrance and the two halls? Yes. Had he
anything to do with the rooms of the two tenants on the first floor?
Yes. What?
Sometimes he swept and dusted them and he was supposed to look after the
fires. He carried up the coal, Moxlow suggested? Yes. He carried out the
ashes? Again yes. Moxlow paused for a moment. Was he the only person who
ever carried out the ashes? Yes. What did he do with the ashes? He
emptied them into a barrel that stood in the yard back of the building.
And what became of them then? Whenever necessary, the barrel was carted
away and emptied. How long did it usually take to fill the barrel? At
this season of the year one or two weeks. When was it emptied last? A
week ago, perhaps, the witness was not quite sure about the day, but it
was either Monday or Tuesday of the preceding week. And how often did
the ashes from the fireplaces in Mr. North's and Mr. Gilmore's rooms
find their way into the barrel? Every morning he cleaned out the grates
the first thing, and usually before Mr. North or Mr. Gilmore were up.
Again Moxlow paused and glanced over the room. He must have been aware
that to his eager audience the connection between Mr. North's and Mr.
Gilmore's fireplaces and the McBride murder, was anything but clear.
"Did you empty the ashes from the fireplaces in the apartments occupied
by Mr. North and Mr. Gilmore on Friday morning?" he asked.
"Yes; that is, I took up the ashes in Mr. North's rooms."
"But not in Mr. Gilmore's?"
"No, sir, I didn't go into his rooms Friday morning."
"Why was that,--was there any reason for it?"
"Yes, I knew that Mr. Gilmore's rooms had not been occupied Thursday
night; that was the night of the murder, and he was at McBride's house,"
explained the witness.
"But you emptied the grate in Mr. North's rooms?"
"Yes, sir."
"And disposed of the ashes in the usual way?"
"Yes, sir."
"In the barrel in the yard back of the building?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you notice anything peculiar about the ashes from Mr. North's rooms
on Friday morning?"
The witness looked puzzled.
"Hadn't Mr. North burnt a good many papers in his grate?"
"Oh, yes, but then he was going away."
"That will do,--you are excused," interposed Moxlow quickly.
The sheriff was next sworn. Without interruption from Moxlow he told his
story. He had made a thorough search of the ash barrel described by the
witness Thomas Nelson, and had come upon a number of charred fragments
of paper.
"We think these may be of interest to the coroner's jury," said Moxlow
quietly.
He drew a small pasteboard box from an inner pocket of his coat and
carefully arranged its contents on the table before him. In all there
were half a dozen scraps of charred or torn paper displayed; one or two
of these fragments were bits of envelopes on which either a part or all
of the name was still decipherable. North, from where he sat, was able
to recognize a number of these as letters which he had intended to
destroy that last night in his rooms; but the refuse from his grate and
the McBride murder still seemed poles apart; he could imagine no
possible connection.
The president of Mount Hope's first national bank was the next witness
called. He was asked by Moxlow to examine a Mount Hope Gas Company bond,
and then the prosecuting attorney placed in his hands a triangular piece
of paper which he selected from among the other fragments on the table.
"Mr. Harden, will you kindly tell the jury of what, in your opinion,
that bit of paper in your hand was once a part?" said Moxlow.
Very deliberately the banker put on his glasses, and then with equal
deliberation began a careful examination of the scrap of paper.
"Well?" said Moxlow.
"A second, please!" said the banker.
But the seconds grew into minutes before he was ready to risk an
opinion.
"We are waiting on you, Mr. Harden," said Moxlow at length.
"I should say that this is a marginal fragment of a Gas Company bond,"
said the banker slowly. "Indeed there can be no doubt on the point. The
paper is the same, and these lines in red ink are a part of the
decoration that surrounds the printed matter. No,--there is no doubt in
my mind as to what this paper is."
"What part of the bond is it?" asked Moxlow.
"The lower right-hand corner," replied the banker promptly. "That is why
I hesitated to identify it; with this much of the upper left-hand corner
for instance, I should not have been in doubt."
"Excused," said Moxlow briefly.
The room became blank before John North's eyes as he realized that a
chain of circumstantial evidence was connecting him with the McBride
murder. He glanced about at a score of men--witnesses, officials, and
jury, and felt their sudden doubt of him, as intangibly but as certainly
as he felt the dead presence just beyond the closed door.
"We have one other witness," said Moxlow.
And Joe Montgomery, seeming to understand that he was this witness,
promptly quitted his chair at the back of the room and, cap in hand,
slouched forward and was duly sworn by the coroner.