"FATHOM HER MOTIVES, PHILIP."
"Philip!" she cried, eagerly, and came forward, her hands held out in
greeting, and then, as if struck by some sudden remembrance, and with a
return to her old imperious manner, she dropped her hands, and turning,
walked away from him towards a small table that stood at the further end
of the room.
Mr. Tremain remained motionless just within the door, his senses taking
in by degrees the surroundings, and growing accustomed to the half gloom
that served as an apology for daylight, and that made its way through
the narrow barred casement set high up in the whitewashed wall.
The room was too large to be called a cell, and if sparsely furnished,
was not uncomfortable. Philip noted an easy-chair and a rug spread
beneath the table, while on the table were writing materials and books,
and a vase of delicate-hued roses; the counterpart of those he had seen
in Esther's boudoir the night before. It touched him strangely to see
this proof of Esther's love and Esther's faith; the golden blossoms
came, he knew, from the rose-houses at the Folly, and spoke eloquently
of Mrs. Newbold's belief in Patricia's innocence, since their presence
in that prison-room--fraught as they were with so many memories--must,
if she were guilty, prove a scourge rather than a comfort.
It took Philip some moments to realise his position and to adjust his
faculties; when at last he roused himself and looked across the
dimly-lighted room, it was to meet Patricia's eyes fixed upon him with
an expression of proud endurance, that was more pathetic than tears.
She had seated herself at the table and was leaning forward, her hands
folded across the portfolio that lay open before her. She was dressed in
black, and the severe lines and folds of the yielding cashmere seemed to
mark with painful accuracy the increased slenderness of her form--a
slenderness, it struck Philip, that had almost reached attenuation. Her
face was very pale; only the vivid burning scarlet of her lips, and the
blue fire of her eyes beneath the straight dark brows, redeemed it from
absolute pallor.
The confinement, added to the tropical heat without, and the close
atmosphere within, had told visibly upon her freshness and vigour; there
was a lassitude about her attitude and a weariness in the lines of her
face that bespoke mental as well as physical exhaustion, and now that
the sudden flush, called up at sight of him, had died out of her cheeks,
Philip perceived how hollow they had grown, and how the circles under
her eyes had darkened. Her hands as they rested on the open portfolio
were stripped of all their wonted brave array of rings, and looked as
white as the paper beneath them, the blue veins painfully apparent.
It was thus that he saw her again; it was thus that they met after that
parting on the night of the theatricals when she, radiant, beautiful,
sparkling with jewels, triumphant and successful, had laughed aside his
love, and swept by him with a light jest and indifferent word, that
wounded deeper than she might ever know. He had gone from her then,
smarting under his humiliation, and in the hour of his pain proffered
the love she had rejected to another woman, who could scarcely be called
her rival, and yet who influenced him as potentially as she.
And what the result had been of that second wooing he dared not now
remember, for even as he recalled his bondage to Adèle Lamien, and as he
looked upon the wrecked beauty, the stained loveliness of the woman
before him, so, too, he realised that he loved her and her only, loved
her better in this her hour of disgrace and misery than ever before;
and that never in reality had his true allegiance swerved from this one
woman of his heart--Patricia Hildreth.
The silence between them grew oppressive, embarrassing; it was she who
first broke through it, saying, in a voice that trembled somewhat, and
with a little laugh that was but a pitiful mockery of its old gaiety,
and that ended in a half sob:
"So you have come at last to see me, Philip. Well, and is it not absurd
that you should seek and find me--here?" She emphasized her words by a
swift glance up at the grated window and around the bare un-homelike
room.
At her voice Philip awoke as it were to life, his eyes followed hers in
that momentary, but comprehensive glance, and he understood only too
well the meaning of the quickly-repressed sigh, that half escaped her,
as she caught the gleam of yellow light upon the roses in the tall
vase.
He crossed the room quickly, and standing beside her, rested his hand
near hers, bending over her and speaking rapidly, in a voice whose deep
emotion was only kept in check by his strong will.
"Patty," he said, "believe me, I came as soon as I could. I knew nothing
of your trouble until last evening, when Miss Dick came to me about it.
I lost no time then. I, we, came to--to this place late as it was, but
we were not permitted to see you, we were obliged to go away and wait
until the morning."
At the sound of her homely, familiar diminutive her lips trembled,
though she answered with a little smile:
"Yes, the rules of this--this institution are rigorously observed;" then
with a sudden transition to the old mocking raillery: "Ah, Philip, in
all your gloomy prognostications for my future you never once thought of
me as coming to--this--did you?"
The flippant words and manner jarred on him, he drew back from her
mentally, and found himself wondering if there could be any situation
in life, however tragic, that she would take seriously; and as he
thought this, Patricia was noting the difference between his hand and
hers, as they rested on the table side by side. Hers so white and
dainty, luxurious, useless, with rounded nails and rosy finger-tips; his
strong and nervous, with fine lines in the long firm fingers and
well-modelled wrist. Were they not fitting types of their two
characters?
"Patricia," he said again, and even more gently because of his half
criticism of her, "it is a very terrible grief to me to find you here,
and to know the--the reason of it all. I have come now because I want
you to hear one thing from my own lips, and that is, Patty, that all I
have, or can give you at this time, is yours without the asking, if you
care to make use of it. I know I may be too late in offering you my
services--indeed, I may be too late to be of any practical advantage to
you--but in any case, as a lawyer, or a friend, I beg you will command
me. You can surely trust my friendship."
At the last word she smiled, and raising her eyes met his, with a sudden
leaping to life of the old blue fire in her own.
"Yes," she said slowly. "Yes, oh yes, I am quite sure I can rely upon
the disinterestedness of your--friendship." Then, after a moment's
silence: "Have you seen Esther? How is she? These are her roses. Are
they not exquisite, and redolent of the Folly?"
"They are redolent of _my_ folly," he answered sharply, and then
continued, hurriedly withdrawing his hand from its close proximity to
hers, "I saw Mrs. Newbold last evening; she has made herself quite ill
by grieving over you and your present position. She is a most loyal
friend, Patricia."
"And loyalty is so priceless an ingredient in--friendship," replied Miss
Hildreth, "one should put a fictitious value upon it when one finds it.
Will you find a chair, Philip, and sit down? I believe I shall make use
of your protestations now."
He crossed the room in answer to her invitation, bringing back with him
the one other chair afforded by official regulations. Her eyes followed
his movements, and a smile, half tender, half wistful, trembled about
her lips, fleeting in its gentleness as was her mood; for, when Philip
returned and seated himself at some little distance from her, the fine
well-cut lips were closed firmly and with something of sternness in
their expression.
"Philip," she began, in a low distinct voice, and looking at him with
resolute decision, "let us have done with this beating round the bush;
let us be quite frank with one another for this one half-hour at least.
You know why I am here; you know I have been arrested on a warrant for
complicity in a murder."
He made a hurried gesture of appeal, and would have spoken, but she
appeared not to heed him.
"They are ugly words; it is an ugly charge to bring against me, but
since it has been brought I should like you to tell me, Philip, just
what will be the course pursued. What will be the next move in the game?
I have been here now--in prison--three days; ah, it does not do to mince
one's words, my friend! And so far I am absolutely in the dark regarding
my possible fate. What will happen to me next, Philip? What is the next
step usual in such cases?"
For a moment Mr. Tremain looked at her in unfeigned amazement. Her
coolness, her almost indifference staggered him. He had expected to find
her overcome with apprehension and dismay, full of fears for the future;
dependent, humble, imploring. Instead of which she met him with her
accustomed ease and grace, and with even a touch of that old badinage
which had always jarred somewhat upon him.
He could not but contrast Dick Darling's passionate pleading, and
Esther's tears, with the calmness and self-possession of the friend for
whom they wept and pleaded. Was she worthy of the intense devotion it
seemed her prerogative to call forth? With this question his old doubt
of her reawakened, and when he answered her it was with a possession no
less assured than her own.
"To reply with anything like accuracy I must be professional," he said.
"That you will understand?"
She made a little gesture of assent.
"It is useless for me to cite any usual course of procedure," he
continued, "because all the details and circumstances surrounding this
case are of so peculiar a character as to admit of no ordinary
precedent. You have been arrested, not under the law strictly speaking,
but under what is defined as the comity of nations; that is, that
sufficient evidence of an incriminating character has been lodged
against you to induce the authorities to accede to the pressing request
of a foreign Power and to issue a warrant for your arrest. This arrest
will be followed by an official inquiry, which consists chiefly in an
examination of the warrant, to determine its regularity, and the
identity of the person therein named with the person arrested."
"And this examination," she interrupted, "where does it take place?"
"Before the District Judge. Undoubtedly it will come under his
jurisdiction."
"And this particular inquiry--my inquiry? How soon shall _I_ be inquired
into?" she asked again, with a scornful inflection of voice, and a
little smile.
"Judge Anstice is the District Judge for New York," he replied, in his
coldest and most professional manner; "this particular examination will
come on next week at the latest, it has only been delayed on account of
Anstice's unavoidable absence."
"I see," she answered. "And what happens next, Philip? You must forgive
my utter ignorance, the situation is a novel one for me."
Again there was a sufficiency of mockery in her voice to strike Mr.
Tremain afresh with the complete incongruity of the entire situation. It
was evident she either did not, or would not, comprehend the gravity of
her position; she was still looking at it as an outsider and not as the
principal actor, the pivot upon which all turned; just as she forgot or
put aside the terrible nature of the charge, and the fearful
compensation demanded should that charge be substantiated.
"Good heavens," thought Philip; "she cannot realise it is for complicity
in a murder that she stands accused! She cannot realise the nature of
the obstacles that lie between her and acquittal, or how awful will be
the consequences should our efforts in her behalf fail."
"Well," she said again, "what happens next, Philip? What is the next
proceeding of the law? You have brought me as far as the Judge and the
inquiry, what follows after?"
"Should there be any fault in the warrant papers," answered Mr. Tremain,
speaking against his will, and in short detached sentences, "or should
the evidence brought forward by those who obtained the arrest fail to be
of such a character as to justify the person under arrest being put on
trial, that person would be discharged, and therefore freed from any
further action. The arrest in fact falls to the ground, unsubstantiated,
there being no _primâ facie_ case."
"And if otherwise, Philip? If the evidence is of such a nature as to
prove a _primâ facie_ case, what then?"
She asked this question very slowly, looking at him steadily with
unflinching eyes.
"Then," he answered as slowly, and with every line of his stern face
tense and drawn, "then I fear--I believe, that the person under arrest
would be dealt with in the same manner as though legally proved guilty;
the accused would doubtless be sent back to the country from which the
request for arrest emanated, and where the crime was committed, for
trial according to that country's laws."
"I understand," she said, after a moment's absolute silence; "and in
this particular case--in my case--that would mean--Petersburg?"
He made no other reply save an assenting gesture of his hand.
For a long interval there was silence between them; a silence in which
each was lost to the other's presence, and which was so full of dark
meaning, so pregnant with dread possibilities, as to leave upon each
like traces to those once impressed indelibly upon the countenance of a
saint of old, who for one brief second was permitted to gaze into the
bottomless pit of anguish.
Again it was the woman who first broke the silence, and though it was
but the lightest whisper it pierced Philip's soul with dismay.
"Petersburg," she murmured, "and that means the mercies of the Imperial
Chancellerie!"
"Patty," cried Philip with sudden passion, "this terrible alternative
must never come to pass--it must be averted at all costs; do you hear
me?--_must_ be. You must be frank with me now, as frank as though your
last hour had come. Answer me with absolute truth the questions I shall
ask. I can only save you if you will save yourself."
She was not slow to read his meaning beneath his words, and the smile
that curved her lips was bitter enough as she exclaimed:
"So you doubt me, Philip--you!" Then, with a quick indrawn breath: "Ask
any questions you like, I will answer them."
"You know by whom your arrest has been accomplished?" he said quickly,
avoiding any definite answer to her reproach.
"Yes, by Count Vladimir Mellikoff."
"And the charge?"
"For being an accomplice in the murder of Count Stevan Lallovich," she
answered quietly.
"Did you ever know this Count Stevan Lallovich?"
"Yes."
"Did you know of his murder?"
"Yes."
"Do you know the circumstances connected with it?"
"Yes."
"Will you tell them to me?"
"I had rather not do so--now."
"Very well, let that pass. Did you ever know Count Mellikoff previous to
meeting him at the Folly?"
"No, I think not. One meets so many people in the course of one's life;
but I am quite sure I had never met Count Mellikoff before."
"Do you know of any reason he might have for enmity against you?"
"No, indeed; none whatever."
"It is very extraordinary," Mr. Tremain continued after this brief
colloquy. "I cannot but think there is some other person mixed up in
this affair besides Count Mellikoff, some one who has perhaps personal
motives to serve in bringing this charge against you. Can you think of
any one who has sufficient cause against you to make such a course
possible? Any woman, let us say, to whom the blackening of your
character would give a vindictive satisfaction?"
"Ah," she replied, with a scornful gesture, and the superiority of a
beautiful woman over her plainer sisters, "I cannot follow you there. We
all have our feminine enemies without doubt; but who of us can put our
finger on the most venomous of them?"
"All the same we must find this one, Patricia; when we find her we shall
perhaps unearth the secret of her spleen. I am convinced Count Mellikoff
has a woman for his ally."
Miss Hildreth shrugged her shoulders, but made no further reply.
Presently, however, she turned a little more towards him, leaning still
further across the table, and looking full into his eyes, said, with
sudden directness:
"Why do you ask nothing concerning your friend, Adèle Lamien, Philip? Do
you not know that she, too, is implicated in this affair?"
"Adèle Lamien!" he exclaimed, taken off his guard by the unexpectedness
of the assault. "Good Heavens! what has she to do with all this?"
"Ah, what indeed?" answered Miss Hildreth, slowly. "Fathom her motives,
Philip, and you will lay bare the secret of my arrest."
"Patricia," he cried again, strangely moved and excited by her words and
manner, and by the sudden return of that vague, intangible influence,
evoked by the mere mention of Mdlle. Lamien's name, that had from the
first played so distinct a part in his intimacy with her, "Patricia,
what do you mean? Explain yourself. What can Adèle Lamien have to do
with you?"
"Ah, what indeed?" she answered, in the same measured tones, still
looking at him earnestly. "What indeed? All--or nothing,--Philip. Simply
that."
"I must know more," he exclaimed, almost roughly. "You must tell me what
you mean. I must find her."
"That may prove more difficult than you imagine," answered Miss
Hildreth, quietly, and as she said the words, Woods the warder entered,
and Philip understood the end of his interview had come.
He got up mechanically and held out his hand. "It is best I should go
for a little while," he said. "I will come back again. After all, we
have settled very little."
"I should say we had settled a great deal," she answered, with another
of those quick, mocking smiles.
Then she bade him good-bye; and it was not until he had walked up the
longer half of Broadway, that Mr. Tremain remembered two things.
Patricia had calmly ignored his outstretched hand, and he had forgotten
to inquire of the superintendent the nature of Mdlle. Lamien's
complicity in the charge brought against Miss Hildreth.