When Horace ushered Brimbecomb into his home, so firm was his belief
that the young lawyer had been instrumental in removing Fledra that he
restrained himself with difficulty from wringing a confession from the
man by violence. For many moments he could not bring himself to broach
the subject of which his mind was so full. Everett, however, soon led to
the disappearance of the girl.
"I'm glad you telephoned me so soon after your arrival," said
Brimbecomb. "I was just starting for the station. If you hadn't, I
shouldn't have seen you. I had something to say to you."
"And I have something to say to you," said Horace, his eyes steadily
leveled at the man before him. "Where is Fledra Cronk?"
Everett's confidence gave him a power that was not to be daunted by this
direct question.
"My dear fellow," he replied calmly, "I don't exactly know where she is;
but I can say that I've had a note from her father, telling me that she
was with him in New York, and safe. I suppose it won't be necessary to
tell you that she was not compelled to go?"
Horace whitened with suppressed rage. He was now convinced that the
suavity of his colleague concealed a craftiness he had never suspected,
and he felt sure that Everett had taken advantage of his absence to
strike an underhanded blow. Banishing a desire to fell the other to the
floor and then choke the secret from him, he decided to ply all the
craft of his profession, and draw the knowledge from Brimbecomb by a
series of pertinent queries.
"May I see the communication you have received from Cronk?"
Everett seemed to have expected the question; for he made a brave
pretense of looking through his wallet for the fictitious letter. He
took up the space of several minutes, arranging and rearranging the
documents. Then, as he looked at Horace, a paper fluttered to the floor,
unobserved by him.
"On second thought," said he, "I think it wouldn't be quite right to
show you a private letter from one of my clients. I have told you enough
already. I'm sorry, but it's impossible for me to let you see it."
Everett mentally congratulated himself upon his diplomacy, while Horace
bit his lip until it was ridged white. In his disappointment he cast
down his eyes, and then it was that his attention was called to the
paper Brimbecomb had dropped on the floor. He changed his position, and
when he came to a standstill his foot was planted squarely on the paper.
For a moment Horace was under the impression that Everett had seen him
cover the letter; but the unruffled egotism on the face of the other
betrayed no suspicion.
"Who ordered the withdrawal of the deputy?" Horace demanded.
Everett knew that the lies he told would have to be consistent; so he
repeated what he had said to Ann.
"I don't know," Everett said. "I didn't."
Horace gazed at his companion for several seconds.
"Something tells me that you're lying," he said finally.
An evil change of expression was the only external sign of Brimbecomb's
longing to throttle Horace.
"A compliment, I must say, my dear Shellington," he said; "and the only
reason I have for not punching you is--Ann."
The other's eyes narrowed ominously.
"Ann is the one who is keeping me from thumping you, Brimbecomb. If you
know anything of Fledra Cronk, I want you to tell me."
"I've told you all I know," Everett answered.
"For Ann's sake, I hope you've told me the truth; but, if you haven't,
and have done anything to my little girl, then God protect you!"
The last words were uttered with such emotional decision that Everett's
first real fear rose within him. With difficulty he held back a torrent
of words by which he might exonerate himself. Instead, he said:
"Some day, Shellington, you'll apologize to me for your implied
accusation. You have taken--"
"Pardon me," Horace interrupted, "but I must ask you to leave. I'm going
to Governor Vandecar."
No sooner had his visitor closed the door than Horace stooped and picked
up the paper from under his foot. Going to the window, he opened the
sheet, smoothed it out, and read:
"_Mr. Brimbecomb_.--
"I told you I got the letter you wrote me, and you know I can't
ever love you. I hate your kisses--they made me lie to Sister Ann,
and I couldn't tell Brother Horace how it happened. I am going back
to Lem and Pappy Lon to Ithaca because you and Pappy Lon said as
how I must or they would kill Brother Horace. But I hate you, I
hate you--and I will always hate you.