MRS. BURKE'S REBUFF
When Harding returned to the bank the next morning, he presented such a
careworn appearance that Wallace was genuinely concerned.
"Hullo," he exclaimed, "you look as if you had had enough of acting
night-nurse to wounded men. It has been too much for you, my lad."
"It has been an anxious night," Harding replied. "At first both were
fairly well, but towards morning old Mr. Dudgeon became very bad. You
have heard all about the affair, I suppose?"
"I have had a visit from Mr. Gale. There was only one thing he could
talk about. You will guess what that was. The heroism of Mrs. Eustace."
A cloud came over Harding's face at the mention of her name.
"I have a message for her from the doctor. She offered to return to-day
if he wanted her help. He asked me to let her know how bad the old man
had been, and is, and say he would be glad if she could go out at once.
I've had no sleep all night and am fairly tired out. If you don't mind,
I'll go and have a few hours' rest."
"Why, of course, my lad, I'll manage the office by myself all right. Go
and get all the sleep you can. You have earned it."
"Will you let her know what the doctor said?"
"I'll send word to Mr. Gale--I've no doubt he'll let her know," Wallace
said with a short laugh.
"But isn't she here?"
"No. Gale said the place was in darkness when they passed and rather
than disturb me she went on to the hotel, where they put her up. Very
considerate of her, I must admit. She seems to have made the most of her
time on the drive back with Gale, for he knew all about her having to
leave the bank premises, and told me he had secured a vacant cottage
there is in the township for her. But don't waste time talking, my lad.
You look worn out. Go and get to bed for a few hours. I'll see she has
the doctor's message."
Harding went to his room with heavy steps. He locked the door and sat
down, took the crumpled letter out of his pocket and read it through
again.
Then, sitting on the side of the bed with the letter in his hand, he
stared at it as he asked himself once more the question which had been
haunting him since the first rush of indignation passed.
What should he do with it?
Had the letter come into his possession the night of the scene in the
boudoir, he would have had no hesitation. But much had happened since
then. He had learned what he believed was the truth about the Eustace
marriage; he had learned that the love he had treasured so dearly was
still his. It was the latter which made it so hard for him to know what
course to follow.
A doubt had come into his mind, a doubt which operated in her favour. To
hand the note over to the police was to admit he had no faith left in
her, and he had faith. He could not bring himself to regard her as being
so absolutely conscienceless as the circumstances suggested. Rather did
he lean towards the idea that, after all, despite the evidence of the
facts as they stood, she was innocent. And on that point he wanted to be
sure rather than sorry.
The opinion of another would be a help to him in coming to the right
conclusion, but to whom could he turn?
He dare not consult Wallace, who was already prejudiced against her;
Brennan was out of the question. There was only one other--Durham--and
he was out of reach, and would be so for some time to come.
So the matter came back to where it started, and Harding, urged one way
by his love and another by his reason, ultimately adopted a middle
course.
He determined to confront her with the letter, and tear the mask of
hypocrisy from her face--if one were there--at the first opportunity.
For the present the letter should be placed where no one but himself
could find it.
Taking off his coat, he cut through the seam of the lining, placed the
letter inside, stitched it to the lining and resewed the seam.
"I will not condemn her unheard," he said. "She shall have the chance of
defending herself to me before I denounce her. But, if this is true,
then God help her--and me too."
He flung himself on the bed. He was too tired to worry further. The
irksome question was shelved--for the moment there was peace, and before
that moment passed Harding was sound asleep.
Before he awakened, Mrs. Eustace visited the bank, received the doctor's
message and went on her way to Taloona.
She came with Gale.
"Has Mr. Harding returned yet?" she asked, before Wallace could speak.
"He was to bring me word whether the doctor wanted me to help to-day."
"He came in about half an hour ago, utterly worn out. I have sent him to
bed for a few hours," Wallace replied. "He left a message for you--old
Mr. Dudgeon is very bad, and the doctor sent word that if you could go
out at once it would be a great help to him."
"Of course I'll go," she exclaimed. "Mr. Gale, you offered to drive me
if I were wanted. Will you go for the buggy while I get some things
together to take with me?"
She turned to Wallace when Gale had left the office.
"I suppose you have no objection to my going upstairs?"
"None whatever," he answered.
"I will get what things I want. The others can be taken away later to
the cottage I am renting. I will give Mr. Gale a list, as he very kindly
offered to see to the removal if I had to go out to Taloona again."
He held the door open while she passed into the residence portion of the
building, and closed it after her. He was not a lady's man, even under
the best of circumstances; with the conviction that Eustace was the
culprit, not only in the bank robbery, but also in the outrage at
Taloona, he wished to have as little to say to her as possible. The
sooner she was out of the place the better he would be pleased.
As he returned to his work, which, at the moment, was a lengthy report
he was preparing for despatch to the head office in condemnation of
Eustace, she went through to the kitchen, where she found Bessie.
"I am leaving the bank to-day, Bessie, and all my things are going away.
I have taken Smart's cottage and am going to live there. Although I
engaged you, if you think you will do better for yourself by staying
here, don't let me prevent you."
"Stay on here, Mrs. Eustace? What, after you've gone? No, ma'am, no! If
you don't want me any longer, there may be someone else in Waroona who
does, but if this is the only place where I can stay, I'm off to
Wyalla," Bessie exclaimed.
"I would not like them to think I took you away, Bessie."
"I'm not the Bank's servant; I'm yours. Shall I help you get the
furniture ready now?"
"No, not just at once. I am going out to Taloona to help the doctor
nurse Mr. Dudgeon. I only want to take enough with me for a few days.
Mr. Gale will arrange for removing the rest, but I would like you to see
they are all taken."
"I'll see that they're taken, and go with them, too, Mrs. Eustace. I
don't want to stay in a place where everything I do is spied on and made
bad of. Let me come and help you now."
By the time they had packed a small box, Gale drove up in front of the
bank.
"I'll take this down," Bessie exclaimed. "It's not heavy."
Mrs. Eustace followed her out of the room.
At the door she stopped. On the other side of the landing was Harding's
room. She glanced at the closed door.
Stepping over to it, she tapped. There was no response. She turned the
handle; the door was locked.
She did not want to go without a word for him. She opened her bag to see
if she had a scrap of paper or a card on which she could scribble a
line. As she did so, Bessie came up the stairs to ask if there was
anything else she could do.
"No, that is all, Bessie. You might tell Mr. Harding I have gone. He is
asleep at present."
Bessie sniffed, with her nose in the air, as she followed her mistress
down the stairs. Tell Mr. Harding? Tell the man who was, in Bessie's
mind, the person solely responsible for the indignity placed upon her
and Mrs. Eustace of being locked in their own rooms by Constable
Brennan! All the message he would ever receive through her would do him
good, she told herself.
In the office Wallace heard the buggy drive away and caught a glimpse of
it as it passed the door. Mrs. Eustace was sitting beside Gale, looking
up at him and smiling.
The sound of another vehicle driving up to the door interrupted him. He
looked up from his work as Mrs. Burke came into the office.
"Good morning, Mr. Wallace," she exclaimed, "I've looked in as I was
passing, to inquire what is the latest news about the scoundrels. Have
they got them yet? Is there any word of my papers?"
"Have you not heard? Has no one----"
"Heard? Heard what? Heavens about us, man, you're not going to tell me
my papers have been destroyed?"
"Oh, no, I'm not going to tell you that, Mrs. Burke. As the news is all
over the place, I fancied you must have heard it also. I forgot you were
away in the bush. Taloona was stuck up last night and burnt to the
ground; old Mr. Dudgeon was shot and is lying dangerously ill, while
Mr. Durham had his skull fractured and is at death's door."
Mrs. Burke reeled.
"Oh, my God!" she gasped.
Before Wallace could reach her she lurched heavily forward and fell,
striking her face against the edge of the counter.
Rushing to the door leading to the house, Wallace called to Bessie.
"Come quickly," he cried, "Mrs. Burke has fainted."
He was raising her from the floor as Bessie came.
"Help me to get her into the dining-room," he exclaimed. "What a silly
woman! I'm afraid she has hurt her face rather badly. She struck it
against the counter."
Bessie lent a somewhat unwilling aid. She disliked Mrs. Burke as
cordially as she disliked Wallace, but she helped to support the
semi-conscious woman, and undertook to revive her as soon as they had
placed her on the sofa.
Wallace returned to the office, leaving the two together. Presently Mrs.
Burke came back, pale and agitated, and with a pronounced discolouration
on her face where it had come in contact with the counter.
"I must apologise, Mr. Wallace," she began, as soon as she entered the
office. "Sure it's only us poor weak women who know the cruel pain of
an unexpected blow. You'll not believe me, but when I heard the
terrible news, it just turned my heart to stone, it did. Poor Mr.
Durham! A fine, brave, clever gentleman if ever there was one, Mr.
Wallace, and to think of him with all his brains scattered. It's no
wonder I fainted."
"But I did not tell you that, Mrs. Burke. I said his skull was
fractured, and that he is at death's door."
"Well, isn't that what I was saying?"
"No. I did not say his brains were knocked out. As a matter of fact,
they are all in his head where I hope they will always remain, so that
he can complete his task of catching your friends who were so
considerate as to carry off your papers."
"My friends, do you call them, Mr. Wallace? Sure I'd teach them a new
form of friendship if I had my hands on them for a few minutes. But tell
me now, what's being done with those poor wounded creatures? The girl
told me the old man had had his leg blown off. Well, well! He won't
refuse a chair next time he comes to see you, I'll wager. Or maybe he'll
have his twenty-five thousand sovereigns made into a special wooden leg
to take the place of the other live one he's lost."
"His leg was not blown off--he was shot."
"It's all the same. He won't be able to walk about any more, and sure
that's bad enough for any man to have to put up with, isn't it, Mr.
Wallace? How would you like to have it happen to you now? Having to go
about on a wooden stump or just sit about in the same place from
morning to night and never a chance of stretching a leg or crossing the
road."
"But it's not that at all, Mrs. Burke," Wallace exclaimed impatiently.
"What I said was----"
"Oh, I know, I know," she interrupted. "Well now, don't you think it a
terrible thing for them to be lying out there without a single woman's
hand to soothe them in their agony? Only a doctor to look after them and
maybe a bushman or so to boil a billy and make some tea between whiles.
It's more than I can bear to think of, Mr. Wallace."
"You don't feel faint again, do you?" he asked.
"Oh, no, not at all, Mr. Wallace. Bessie was very good to me. She would
be better out there helping to relieve those poor wounded creatures
instead of idling away her time here, I think; but still, she does her
best, poor thing, such as it is. But do you know what I thought of
doing? As soon as I heard the news I said to myself, there was only one
thing I could do unless I were just a mere bloodless image of a woman.
I'm going to drive straight away now to Taloona and soothe the pain of
those poor unfortunates. It's the sound of a woman's voice that is
cheering to a lonely man when he's in pain, Mr. Wallace."
"Is it?" Wallace said curtly. "I hope you are right, Mrs. Burke, for you
see Mrs. Eustace is there already."
"Mrs. Eustace! Out at Taloona? Mr. Wallace, it's enough to bring down
the wrath of Heaven to think of that woman--that--well, I'll not say
it; but there's her husband robbing me of my papers and the bank of its
money and maybe robbing and murdering that poor old gentleman as well,
and she--she of all women on the face of the earth--nursing his victims
back for him to slay a second time. Sure, I'd--oh, I'd--I don't know
what I wouldn't do, Mr. Wallace, to a woman like that."
"It will be an interesting meeting between you," Wallace observed drily.
"I am sorry I cannot come to see it."
"But it's not the old gentleman she's after, Mr. Wallace. I suppose they
robbed him of his gold?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Burke."
"Oh, you may be sure they did. So there's no more to be had out of him;
but what would it be worth to that villain of a husband of hers if
Sub-Inspector Durham were below ground? The only chance I have of ever
seeing my papers again, Mr. Wallace, is with him. I'll go and drive him
out to Waroona Downs and nurse him myself. I'll not let it be said that
Nora Burke forgot a friend in his hour of need."
"I am afraid the doctor will not let him be moved. I suggested bringing
them in here, but Mr. Gale tells me the doctor said it would be fatal to
move either at present."
"Then I'll stay and nurse him there. Sure it's that woman I'll watch.
I'll go away at once."
He did not detain her. He did not even suggest she was going on a
useless journey. But he sighed deeply as she left the office.
"Little wonder she is a widow," he murmured to himself. "I wonder how
long the late Mr. Burke managed to survive it? I hope they keep her at
Taloona for a month."
But she did not reach there that day.
On the way she met Gale returning.
"And what's the news of the poor injured creatures?" she cried as she
reined in.
Gale shook his head.
"You were not thinking of going out there, were you?" he asked.
"I'm going out to do what I can to soothe the suffering of the
unfortunates," she answered. "Mr. Wallace was telling me. What a
frightful thing to happen to them, Mr. Gale. Sure the awful news was too
much for me to bear, and I just fell like one dead at the sound of it.
You'll see the mark on my face. They tell me I fell against the counter
in the bank and might have killed myself entirely with the terrible
smash I came against the wretched sharp edge, only that I struck it with
my face instead of the back of my head, though it's little thanks to the
bank, seeing the way they made the clumsy thing."
"It's no use your going out to Taloona," Gale exclaimed. "No one is
allowed near the huts where they are. The doctor and Mrs. Eustace are
the only persons allowed to see the patients."
"And by what right is that woman there?"
"The best right of all, Mrs. Burke. Had it not been for her splendid
courage, they would both have been dead long before the doctor could
reach them. She is the only one Mr. Dudgeon will bear near him."
"Oh."
For once the voluble Irish tongue was reduced to the use of a simple
monosyllable, but into the word there was thrown as much venom as would
have taken a hundred of the snakes St. Patrick banished from the island
to supply.
"So it is fortunate I met you, otherwise you would have had a drive for
nothing," Gale added.
"And how's the sub-inspector?"
"The doctor tells me he is doing as well as one can expect."
"I was going to see if I could not take one of them out to Waroona
Downs--it's good nursing they'll want, and that they'll get if they're
in a place where they are properly looked after."
"They are getting that now," Gale retorted shortly.
"I'll go and see for myself."
"If you want to tire your horse, do so, but that is all which will
happen."
"And why am I to be shut out when that woman is allowed to be there,
with her husband probably hanging about the place all the time to see
who else there is to shoot and maim?"
"You have no right to say that," Gale cried angrily. "There is only
suspicion against her husband, and even if there were more, it would
not affect her. A noble-hearted woman such as she is should have
sympathy, not unjust accusation."
"Sure Mr. Eustace would be pleased to know how well his deserted wife is
getting on with all the admirers she has in the place traipsing after
her wherever she goes," she retorted.
"You cannot go on even if you wish to," Gale exclaimed. "One of the
troopers will stop you before you reach the huts."
"Oh, the troopers are there too, are they? It's well to be a miserly old
skinflint to have the State providing troopers at the ratepayers'
expense to watch over one. Or maybe they're also giving sympathy to the
poor distressed lady. Well, I'll interrupt them."
"You will do nothing of the kind, Mrs. Burke. I tell you the doctor sent
to stop me from driving up to the huts where they are. You would do no
good by going there; you may do a great deal of harm."
"Oh, indeed. And pray what is there about me that is likely to do harm
to any man?"
"You know Mr. Dudgeon's character. The doctor says he is in a most
critical condition. For him to see you now would probably mean his
death. You remember how bitterly he resented the sale of Waroona Downs
to you--your presence now would only irritate him and then----" he
shrugged his shoulders.
"My presence? And what of the presence of the woman whose husband----"
"You must not say that," Gale exclaimed quickly. "It is
unjust--unwomanly----"
The grey eyes flashed like steel.
"Unwomanly?" she cried. "Me unwomanly?"
She snatched up the buggy whip and in her anger cut at him, but the lash
fell short, striking one of the horses. The animal plunged at the sting
and its companion also started.
By the time Gale had them under control, Mrs. Burke was vanishing down
the road in a cloud of dust.
Where the track to the station branched off the main road one of the
troopers met and stopped her. The man recognised her from the previous
day.
"Very sorry, Mrs. Burke," he said, "but I've been sent to stop anyone
going near the place."
"Why can't I go? I want to know how they are and whether I can't help to
nurse them," she said.
"They're both pretty bad, I believe," the trooper answered. "I don't
think you could do anything now, because there's the doctor and Mrs.
Eustace and my mate looking after them. But I'll tell the doctor, and
maybe to-morrow----"
Mrs. Burke slowly wheeled her horse.
"I shall not come to-morrow," she said. "It is evident I'm not wanted.
But I shall come in a few days and take one of them away with me to my
house. I'm sure Mr. Durham would be much better away from here. Tell the
doctor I say so. Who is taking Mr. Durham's place?"
"Taking up his work do you mean?"
"Yes--who is looking for the man who stole my deeds from the bank? Why
aren't you doing it, instead of wasting your time here?"
"Oh, that'll be all right, Mrs. Burke. We've got a clue--don't you be
uneasy."
"I shall be uneasy until Mr. Durham is able to look after it again. He
is the only hope I have of ever seeing my papers again."
"You're right," the trooper exclaimed. "He's the smartest man for the
job there is. That's why he's lying there now--we know for certain he
was on their track when he got here, and as soon as they saw who it was
after them, they went for him. It wasn't the fault of the chap who tried
to brain him that the sub-inspector is alive to-day."
"He is very badly hurt?" Mrs. Burke asked.
"The chap who hit him saw to that--I'd just like to have my hands on him
for a few minutes, the mean hound. There was probably more than one, and
while the sub-inspector was facing the others, this one must have crept
up behind him and tried to brain him from the back. But we'll get him,
and then he will know something."
"You think you will catch them?"
"Catch them? Of course we shall. But it's the chap who knocked the
sub-inspector on the head we want mostly."
"You'll punish him when you do catch him?" she asked, with a gleam in
her eyes.
"Ah!" he exclaimed.
She leaned forward.
"I hope you do," she said. "I would--if I were a man--even if they had
not stolen my papers."