A GLASS OF POISON
Margaret could do nothing but stare at the man before her. He was
heavy-set and powerful, and wont to having his own way.
"Mr. Styles--" she began, but he put his hand over her mouth.
"You are sick--out of your head," he interrupted. "I know what is
best, and you must do as I say. Come on." And he pulled her forward
by the hand.
"Where to?"
"Not very far."
"I--I do not wish to go to your home."
"I'll not take you there, don't fear."
"You are going to hand me over to the--the authorities."
"Never! Come. I won't hurt you."
He led the way through the woods, across a small stream and past a spot
where some wild berries grew. Then they struck a trail leading up a
hillside. The place was new to her.
"I want to know where you are taking me," she said presently, and came
to a halt.
"To a place where you will be safe."
"That isn't answering the question."
"We'll be there in a few minutes, and then you can see for yourself,
Margaret. Cannot you trust me, girl? I'm not going to hurt you. I
love you, and I'll do all I can to help you. Come!" And again he made
her move on.
At last they came in sight of a tumbled-down cottage on the edge of
what had once been a clearing, but which was now overgrown with weeds
and brushwood. As they came up, Margaret's strength gave out, and
suddenly she sank down on her knees.
"All in, are you?" he said, not unkindly, and, stooping, he picked her
up bodily. She tried to resist, but could not, and he took her into
the cottage and placed her on a couch.
"I'll get you a nurse," he said, noting her extreme paleness. "You
need one."
"A--a woman?"
"Yes."
"Thank you," she murmured, and then closed her eyes, for she was too
far gone to say more, or to make a move.
He was as good as his word, and when she roused up once more an old
woman was at Margaret's side. She had administered some sort of
drug--what, the girl did not know--and it had put her into a sound
sleep.
When Margaret looked around again, she was surprised to see that it was
morning. She tried to think, but her mind was almost a blank. Outside
of the broken window a wild bird was singing gayly. She looked around.
The old woman was not in sight.
She had been put to bed, and sat there, trying to think for several
minutes. Then she gave a low call, and the old woman appeared in the
doorway.
"Come awake, have ye, miss?" said she.
"Where am I?" asked Margaret feebly.
"You're safe enough, never fear."
Margaret said no more and the woman went about some little work.
Presently the girl arose and dressed herself. She felt much stronger
than when at the home of Martha Sampson, in spite of what she had
experienced in running away. She sank down in a rocking chair, to
think matters over.
How far was she from Sidham? She knew she must have come a long
distance, but could not tell if it was five miles or fifty. She looked
out of the window, but the scenery was strange to her.
As she sat there she reviewed what had passed, her mind becoming
clearer as she thought. She remembered the scene at the inquest, and
remembered how she had fainted, and how Raymond had supported her and
taken her to the nurse's house. Then she remembered how the coroner's
jury had accused her of the terrible crime, and she gave a deep shudder.
"Poor, dear father," she murmured. "Who could have been so wicked as
to take your life?"
An hour went by, and she prepared to leave the cottage, when a shadow
fell across the window, and Matlock Styles appeared. He spoke a few
low words to the old woman, and the latter walked away.
As the man entered the room, Margaret arose and faced him. The
Englishman was well dressed, and newly shaven, and wore a rosebud in
his buttonhole. Evidently, he had spent some time over his toilet in
honor of the occasion.
"I'm glad to see you up and looking so well," he said pleasantly. "I
was afraid your running away would hurt you."
"I--I must thank you for what you have done for me, Mr. Styles," she
answered.
"Oh, that's all right, Miss Margaret. I'd do as much for you any day.
I think it's a bloomin' shame the way you have been treated."
"Well, I suppose it cannot be helped. But I must be getting back soon.
You will show me the road?"
"Don't be in a hurry to go. You're not strong enough to go.
Besides--" the Englishman paused impressively. "What's the use of
going back? Don't you know things look beastly black for you?"
"Perhaps, but I am not afraid--now. I am not guilty, Mr. Styles."
"Of course not! Of course not! I knew that from the start. But
things do look black, no use of talking. I want to help you." He came
closer, at which she retreated a step.
"Thank you, but I do not see what you can do. I must go back and give
myself up. I--I was not myself when I ran away. It was a very foolish
thing to do."
"If you go back, do you know what they will do? They will surely hang
you?"
"Oh, merciful Heaven? Do not say that!"
"I wouldn't if it wasn't so. But I've been talking to the coroner and
the chief of police, and they have all of the evidence as straight as a
string."
"I am innocent."
"I feel that you are, and that is why I side with you. Besides, you
know my feeling for you. I've loved you for a long time--I told you so
before." He took hold of her arm. "If you'll do what I wish, I'll see
to it that you escape--that you are never bothered any more."
"How can you do that?"
"Never mind how it can be done. Promise to give up Case, and be my
wife, and I will attend to all of the rest. And I'll promise you more
than that. Listen, do you know that I am immensely wealthy? It is so,
and I can easily prove it. Look here." He drew a big roll of bank
bills from his pocket, each bill of a large denomination. "I have ten
thousand dollars here. It shall be yours for the taking--if you will
marry me. I can easily raise five times this amount in forty-eight
hours. We can go to Europe, or Australia, or anywhere we wish. Isn't
that far better than to stay here, to be hung by a lot of country
bumpkins, who don't understand the matter at all?"
She put up her hands, and waved him away. Then she burst into tears.
"Don't speak so, please don't! I--I cannot bear it, I have gone
through so much already!"
"Won't you listen to reason?" Matlock Styles' face darkened. "I am
giving you everything I have, my wealth, my honor, everything! Can a
man do more than that? I love you--love you more than Raymond Case
ever did, or will."
She wrung her hands and his dark eyes seemed to pierce her very soul.
She felt faint and sank on a bench.
"Come, will you accept, Margaret?"
"No, no, I cannot!"
"But think of what is before you."
"If I tried to escape, they would soon be on my track--"
"No, I can prevent that."
"How?"
"Because the world will know that you are innocent."
She gave a start and looked at him wildly, pleadingly.
"Then you know the real murderer?" she panted.
"If I answer that question, will you become my wife?"
Again she shrank back.
"You know the murderer," she repeated. "Perhaps you committed the foul
deeds yourself."
He took a step back as if struck a blow. Then he recovered quickly and
smiled a bitter smile.
"No, I was not near the place, I can prove it. Besides, your folks and
myself were on good terms. There is somebody else, who was around the
house when the affair happened--somebody you know well, a person who
would know all about the drug with which your father and Mrs. Langmore
were killed."
"Who was it?"
"Will you consent to marry me?"
"Tell me first."
"No, afterwards."
"You are fooling me."
"I swear I am not, Margaret. Marry me, and I will clear you as surely
as the sun is shining."
"And if I refuse?"
He came and caught her by the arm, his face blazing with sudden passion.
"Do not dare to do that! Don't you understand the matter? You are in
my power--in my power absolutely. I can hand you over to the police
whenever I will."
"That will not be such a hardship. I said I was going back."
"Bah! If I tell them that I caught you, that you begged me to let you
get away--that you even said you would marry me, if I would aid you,
what then? Everybody will think you guilty, and Raymond Case will
never come near you again."
"You--you monster!"
"Perhaps I am a monster when aroused. You had better think this matter
over."
"I do not want to think it over. My mind is made up. I shall never
marry you, never, no matter what happens. I loathe and despise you!"
There was a moment of silence, and his dark face turned a sickly white
and then red. He breathed heavily through his set teeth.
"You mean that?" he said finally, his eyes shining like those of a
serpent.
"I do."
He glared at her steadily. Then, in a burst of rage, he caught her by
the throat and threw her backward to the floor. She offered no
resistance, and pausing in his madness he realized that she had swooned
away.
"Fainted!" he hissed between his set teeth. "I wish she was dead!
Curse her and her beauty!"
He waited, and as she did not return to consciousness, he picked her
up, and placed her on the bed. Then he hurried outside:
"Go back to the house," he said to the old woman. "You'll not be
needed here any more. And see that you keep your jaw closed over
this," he added harshly. And the woman slunk away as if struck, like a
dog.
Once inside of the cottage, he took up a glass of water standing on the
table, and to this added a powder taken from his pocket, stirring it up
well. Then he looked around to see that there was no other water
around the building.
"When she rouses up she will be dry, and she will drink this," he
muttered to himself. "Half a glass will do the work and she will never
bother me or anybody else any more."
He paused again and took from his pocket several sheets of paper,
closely and carelessly written upon in pencil. The first sheet was
headed:
_Dying Confession of Margaret Langmore._
"A fine forgery, if I do say so myself," he mused. "Mat, you always
were a plum with the pen. I'll add a line telling where she can be
found and then send it to the coroner. That will be better than
leaving it around here. She might find it before she drank that dose."
He paused again. "Perhaps she won't drink it after all. I'll give her
some of it now, and make sure."
He raised up the almost lifeless girl, and forced open her lips. Then
he took the glass, and poured half the contents down her throat. She
spluttered, but swallowed, and he let her form drop back on the bed.
He was in a cold perspiration now, and in sudden fear, he fairly rushed
out of the cottage and down the hillside in the direction of his home.