A CUP OF TEA.
It was growing dusk before I saw Carnes again that day. I had remained
in my room since dinner, wishing to avoid as much as possible the gossip
and natural inquiry that would follow the denouement of the raid against
Dr. Bethel, lest some suspicious mind should think me too much
interested, considering the part I had taken in the affair.
Carnes came in softly, and wearing upon his face the peculiar knowing
grin that we at the office had named his "Fox smile." He held in his
hand a folded slip of paper, which he dropped upon my knee, and then
drew back, without uttering a comment, to watch my perusal of the same.
It was very brief, simply a penciled line from Dr. Barnard, asking me to
tea at seven o'clock. It was almost seven as I read.
"Where did you get this?" I asked, rising with sudden alacrity, and
beginning a hurried toilet. "Read it Carnes, if you haven't already; I
should have had it earlier."
Carnes took up the note, perused it, and tossed it on the bed, then,
seating himself astride a chair, he told his story, watching my
progressing toilet with seeming interest the while.
"After my tender parting with Briggs, I sherried over and made myself
agreeable to Jim Long, and as I was uncommon respectful and willin' to
be harangued, he sort o' took me as handy boy, an' let me stay an help
him tidy up Bethel's place. He cleared out the multitude, put the yard
into decent order, and then, while he undertook to rehang the doctor's
front door, I'm blest if he didn't set _me_ to pilin' up the hay stack.
Don't wear that beast of a choker, man, it makes you look like a
laughing hyena."
I discarded the condemned choker, swallowed the doubtful compliment, and
Carnes continued, lapsing suddenly into broad Irish:
"Prisintly he comes out to the shtack, as I was finishin' the pile,
tellin' me as he must have some new hinges to the doctor's door, an'
axin would I shtay an' kape house till he wint up fer the iron works. I
consinted."
"Yes!" eagerly.
"And I made good use of the opportunity. I wint over that place in a way
to break the heart of a jenteel crook, an' I'm satisfied."
"Of what, Carnes?"
"That there's no irregularity about the doctor. If there was a track as
big as a fly's foot wouldn't I have hit it? Yes, sir! There ain't no
trace of the detective-in-ambush about those premises, Tom Briggs to the
contrary notwithstanding. He's a regular articled medical college
graduate; there's plenty of correspondence to prove him Dr. Carl Bethel,
and nothing to prove him anything else."
"Quite likely," I replied, not yet wholly convinced; "Bethel is not the
man to commit himself; he'd be very sure not to leave a trace of his
'true inwardness' about the premises, if he _were_ on a still hunt. How
about the note, Carnes?"
"Oh, the note! Well, when Jim came back, about fifteen minutes ago, or
so, he gave me that, saying that he called at Dr. Barnard's to ask for
instructions from Bethel, and was handed that note to leave for you. Jim
says that he forgot to stop with the note; but I'm inclined to think
that he wanted to dispose of me and took this way to avoid hurting my
feelings."
"Well, I shall be late at Dr. Barnard's, owing to Jim's notions of
delicacy," I said, turning away from the mirror and hurriedly brushing
my hat. "However, I can explain the tardiness. By-by, Carnes; we will
talk this day's business over when I have returned."
Dr. Barnard's pleasant dwelling was scarce five minutes' walk from our
hotel; and I was soon making my bow in the presence of the doctor, his
wife and daughter, Miss Manvers, and Dr. Bethel.
As I look back upon that evening I remember Louise Barnard as at once
the loveliest, the simplest and most charmingly cultivated woman I have
ever met. Graceful without art, self-possessed without ostentation,
beautiful as a picture, without seeming to have sought by artifices of
the toilet to heighten the effect of her statuesque loveliness.
Adele Manvers was also beautiful; no, handsome is the more appropriate
word for her; but in face, form, coloring, dress, and manner, a more
decided contrast could not have been deliberately planned.
Miss Barnard was the lovely lady; Miss Manvers, the daintily clad, fair
woman of fashion.
Miss Barnard was tall, slender, dazzlingly beautiful, with soft fair
hair and the features of a Greek goddess. Miss Manvers was a trifle
below the medium height, a piquant brunette, plump, shapely, a trifle
haughty, and inclined to self-assertion.
Miss Barnard wore soft flowing draperies, and her hair as nature
intended it to be worn. Miss Manvers wore another woman's hair in
defiance of nature, and her dress was fashion's last conceit,--a
"symphony" in silks and ruffles and bewildering draperies.
Miss Barnard was dignified and somewhat reticent. Miss Manvers was
talkative and vivacious.
They had learned from Jim Long all that he could tell them concerning
the part I had taken in the affair of the morning. The elder physician
desired to express his approbation, the younger his gratitude. They had
sent for me that I might hear what they had to say on the subject of the
grave robbery, and to ask my opinion and advice as to future movements.
All this was communicated to me by the voluble old doctor, who was
sitting in an invalid's chair, being as yet but half recovered from his
neuralgic attack of the morning. We had met on several occasions, but I
had no previous knowledge of his family.
"There will be no further trouble about this matter," said Dr. Barnard,
as we sat in the cool, cosy parlor after our late tea. "Our people have
known me too long to doubt my word, and my simple statement of my
absolute knowledge concerning all of Bethel's movements will put out the
last spark of suspicion, so far as _he_ is concerned--but," bringing the
palm of his large hand down upon the arm of his chair with slow
emphasis, "it won't settle the question next in order. _Who are the
guilty ones?_"
"That I shall make it my business to find out," said Dr. Bethel,
seriously, "I confess that at first I was unreasonably angry, at the
thought of the suspicion cast upon me. On second thought it was but
natural. I am as yet a stranger among you, and Trafton evidently
believes it wise to 'consider every man a rogue until he is proved
honest.'"
"From what I have heard since coming here," I ventured, "I should say
Trafton has some reason for adopting this motto."
"So she has; so she has," broke in the old doctor. "And some one had a
reason for attempting to throw suspicion upon Bethel."
"Evidently," said Bethel. "I am puzzled to guess what that reason can
be, and I dispose of the theory that would naturally come up first,
namely, that it is a plot to destroy the public confidence in me, set on
foot by rival doctors, by saying, at the outset, that I don't believe
there is a medical man in or about Trafton capable of such a deed. I
have all confidence in my professional brethren."
"Why," interposed Miss Manvers, "the sentiment does you honor, Dr.
Bethel, but--I should think the other doctors your most natural enemies.
Who else could,"--she broke off abruptly with an appealing glance at
Louise Barnard.
"I think Dr. Bethel is right," said Miss Barnard, in her low, clear
contralto. "I cannot think either of our doctors capable of a deed so
shameful." Then turning to address me, she added, "You, as a stranger
among us, may see the matter in a more reasonable light. How does it
look to you?"
"Taking the doctor's innocence as a foregone conclusion," I replied, "it
looks as though he had an enemy in Trafton," here I turned my eyes full
upon the face of Bethel, "who wished to drive him out of the community
by making him unpopular in it."
Bethel's face wore the same expression of mystified candor, his eyes
met mine full and frankly, as he replied:
"Taking _that_ as a foregone conclusion, we arrive at the point of
starting, Who are the guilty ones? Who are my enemies? I have been
uniformly successful in my practice; I have had no differences,
disagreement, or disputes with any man in Trafton. Up to to-day I could
have sworn I had not an enemy in the town."
"And so could I," said Dr. Barnard. "It's a case for a wiser head than
mine."
"It's a case for the detectives," said Dr. Bethel, firmly. "If this
unknown foe thinks to drive me from Trafton, he must try other measures.
I intend to remain, and to solve this mystery."
A moment's silence followed this decided announcement.
The old doctor nodded his approval, his daughter looked hers.
Miss Manvers sat with eyes fixed upon a spot in the carpet, biting
nervously at her full red under lip, and tapping the floor with the toe
of her dainty boot.
I had no desire to take a prominent part in the discussion which
followed, and became as much as I could a mere observer, but, as after
events proved, I made very good use of my eyes that night.
Having exhausted the subject of the grave robbery without arriving at
any new conclusions, the social old doctor proposed a game of whist,
cards being his chief source of evening pastime. The game was made up,
Miss Manvers taking a seat opposite Dr. Barnard, and Dr. Bethel playing
with Mrs. Barnard.
After watching their game for a time, Miss Barnard and myself retired to
the piano. She sang several songs in a tender contralto, to a soft,
well-rendered accompaniment, and as I essayed my thanks and ventured to
praise her singing, she lifted her clear eyes to mine, saying, in an
undertone:
"Don't think me odd, or too curious--but--will you answer a
question--frankly?"
I promised, recklessly; and she ran her pretty fingers over the keys,
drowning our voices, for other ears, under the soft ripple of the notes,
while she questioned and I replied.
"As a stranger, and an unprejudiced person," she began, "how does this
shameful charge against Dr. Bethel appear to you? Judging him as men
judge men, do you think he _could_ be guilty of such a deed?"
"Judging him by my limited knowledge of human nature," I replied, "I
should say that Dr. Bethel is incapable of baseness in any form. In this
case, he is certainly innocent."
She looked thoughtfully down at the white, gliding fingers, and said:
"We have seen so much of Dr. Bethel since he came to Trafton, that he
seems quite like an old friend, and because of his being associated with
father, it makes his trouble almost a personal matter. I do hope it will
end without further complications."
She looked up in my face as if hoping that my judgment accorded with her
wish, but I made no reply, finding silence easier and pleasanter than
equivocation when dealing with a nature so frank and fearlessly
truthful.
The game of whist being at an end, Miss Manvers arose almost immediately
and declared it time to go. She had sent her phaeton home, her house
being less than a quarter of a mile from Dr. Barnard's, and according to
the custom of informal Trafton, I promptly offered myself as escort, and
was promptly and smilingly accepted.
"What a day this has been," said Miss Manvers, as the doctor's iron gate
closed behind us. "Such a terrible charge to bring against Dr. Bethel.
Do you really think," and, spite her evident intention to make the
question sound common-place, I could detect the genuine anxiety in it,
"Do you really think that it will--injure his practice to the extent
of--driving him from Trafton?"
"You heard what he said, Miss Manvers."
"Oh, yes--but if I am rightly informed, Dr. Bethel is, in a measure at
least, dependent on his practice. Is not this so?"
"You are better advised than I, Miss Manvers; I know so little of Dr.
Bethel."
"And yet you were his warmest champion to-day."
"I assure you I felt quite cool," I laughed. "I should have done as much
for the merest stranger, under the same circumstances."
"Then you are not prejudiced in his favor?"
"I am not prejudiced at all. I like Bethel."
"And so do I," replied the heiress, heartily, "and I like the spirit he
shows in this matter. Is not this--a--exhuming of a subject, a frequent
occurrence?"
"Undoubtedly."
"I mean--is it not often done by medical men?"
"By them, or persons employed by them. I suppose so."
She drew a little nearer, lifting an earnest face to meet my gaze.
"Candidly, now," she said, "as if I were not Miss Manvers, but a man to
be trusted. Do you think it impossible that Dr. Bethel has done this
thing? Viewed from a scientific and practical standpoint, does such a
deed appear to you to be the horrible thing _some_ seem to think it?"
[Illustration: "Candidly, now," she said, "as if I were not Miss
Manvers, but a man to be trusted. Do you think it impossible that Dr.
Bethel has done this thing?"--page 129.]
What spirit prompted my answer? I never knew just what impelled me, but
I looked down into the pretty, upturned face, looked straight into the
dark, liquid eyes, and answered:
"Candidly, Miss Manvers--as you are certainly as much to be trusted as
if you were a man--when I went to Bethel's defense, I went supposing
that, for the benefit of science and the possible good of his
fellow-beings, he _had_ exhumed the body."
She drew a short, quick breath.
"And you have changed your opinion?" she half asserted, half inquired.
I laid the fingers of my gloved left hand lightly upon hers, as it
rested on my arm, and bent lower toward the glowing brunette face as I
answered:
"I have not said so."
She dropped her eyes and mused for a moment, then--
"Do you think he will _actually_ call in a detective--to--to make his
innocence seem more probable?"
"I hope he will not," I replied, sincerely this time, but with a hidden
meaning.
"I don't think that Mr. Beale will desire further investigation. The
matter will die out, undoubtedly. Mr. Barnard is a man of powerful
influence in the community, and 'Squire Brookhouse will use _his_
influence in behalf of Dr. Bethel, I am sure." Then, looking up again,
quickly: "Do you not admire Miss Barnard?"
"Miss Barnard is 'a thing of beauty,'" I rejoined, sententiously; then,
with a downward glance that pointed my sentence, "I admire all lovely
women."
She laughed lightly, but said no more of Miss Barnard, or Dr. Bethel,
and we parted with some careless badinage, supplemented by her cordial
hope that I would prolong my stay in Trafton, and that she should see me
often at The Hill.
Going slowly homeward, through the August darkness, I mentally voted the
treasure-ship heiress a clever, agreeable, and charming young lady, and
spent some time in trying to decide whether her delightful cordiality
was a token that I had pleased, or only amused her. Such is the vanity
of man!
I found Carnes wide awake, smoking and waiting.
"Have ye done wid yer gallivantin'?" queried he, the instant I made my
appearance. "Now, thin, be shquare; which is the purtyest gurl?"
"How do you know there were two, sir?"
"Inshtinct," he retorted, shamelessly. "I knew by the peculiar feelin'
av the cords av me arums. I say, what a thunderin' lot o' snarly bushes
old Barnyard kapes about his windys!"
"What! you were up there?" I cried, in astonishment.
"Worrunt I," he retorted, complacently. "_An' I wasn't the only one!_"
"Carnes!"
"Och, take off yer mittens an' sit down," he said, grinning offensively
at my mighty efforts to draw off a pair of tight and moist kid gloves.
"Warn't I up there, an' I could ave told ye all about the purty gals
mysilf, an' what sort av blarney ye gave till em both, if it had not
been fer the murtherin' baste of a shnake as got inter the scrubbery
ahead av me."
I threw aside the damp gloves, and seated myself directly in front of
him.
"Now, talk business," I said, impatiently. "It's getting late, and
there's a good deal to be said."
Carnes reached out for the pipe which he had laid aside at my entrance,
lighted it with due deliberation, and then said, with no trace of his
former absurdity:
"I don't know what sent me strolling and smoking up toward Dr. Barnard's
place, but I did go. My pipe went out, and I stopped to light it,
stepping off the sidewalk just where the late lilacs hang over the fence
at the foot of the garden. While I stood there, entirely hidden by the
darkness and the shade, a man came walking stealthily down the middle of
the road. His very gait betrayed the sneak, and I followed him,
forgetting my pipe and keeping to the soft grass. He seemed to know just
where to go for, although he moved cautiously, there was no hesitation.
Well, he passed the gate, climbed the fence, sneaked up to the front of
the house, skulking between the trees and rose bushes directly
underneath the parlor window. I took the bearings as well as I could
from a distance, and I made up my mind that the fellow, if he heard
anything, could hardly catch the thread of the discourse, and I reckon I
was right in my conclusions for, after a good deal of prospecting
around, he sneaked away as he came, and I followed him back to Porter's
store."
[Illustration: "Well he passed the gate, climbed the fence, sneaked up
to the front of the house, skulking between the trees and rose bushes
directly underneath the parlor window."--page 132.]
"And you knew him?" I questioned, hastily.
"I used to know him," said Carnes, with a comical wink, "but recently
I've cut his acquaintance."
For a moment we stared at each other silently, then I asked, abruptly:
"Old man, do you think it worth our while to go into this resurrection
business?"
"What for?"
"To satisfy ourselves as regards Bethel's part in it."
"You needn't go into it on my account," replied Carnes, crossing his
legs and clasping his two hands behind his head; "I'm satisfied."
"As how?"
"He never did it."
"Ah! how do you reason the case?"
"First, he isn't a fool; second, if he had taken the body he would have
made use of it that night; it was fast decomposing, and before to-night
would be past pleasant handling. Then he, being called away, if he had
instructed others to disinter the body, would never have instructed them
to hide it on his own premises, much less to disrobe it for no purpose
whatever. Then, last and most conclusive, there's the pick and spade."
"And what of them?"
"This of them," unclasping his hands, setting his two feet squarely on
the floor, and bringing his palms down upon his knees. "You know old
Harding, the hardware dealer?"
I nodded. Old Harding was the elder brother of the Trafton farmer who
had excited my eagerness to see Trafton by discussing its peculiarities
on the railway train.
"Well," leaning toward me and dropping out his words in stiff staccato.
"After the crowd had left Jim Long and myself in possession of the
doctor's premises, old Harding came back. I saw that he wanted to talk
with Jim, and I went out into the yard. Presently the two went into the
barn, and I skulked around till I got directly behind the window where
those tools were found. And here's what I heard, stripped of old
Harding's profanity, and Jim's cranky comments. Last year Harding's
store was visited by burglars, and those identical tools were taken out
of it along with many other things. You observed that they were quite
new. Harding said he could swear to the tools. Now, if others had
exhumed the body _for_ the doctor, they would not have left their tools
in his stable and in so conspicuous a place. If the doctor exhumed it,
how did he obtain those tools? _They were stolen before he came to
Trafton._"
"Then here is another thing," I began, as Carnes paused. "A man of
Bethel's sense would not take such a step without a sufficient reason.
Now, Dr. Barnard, who certainly is authority in the matter, says
positively that there were no peculiar symptoms about the child's
sickness; that it was a _very_ ordinary case; therefore, Dr. Bethel, who
can buy all his skeletons without incurring disagreeable labor and risk,
could have had no motive for taking the body."
"Then you think----"
"I think this," I interrupted, being now warm with my subject. "Dr.
Bethel, who is certainly _not_ a detective, is suspected of being one,
or feared as one. And this is the way his enemies open the war upon him.
I think if we can find out who robbed that little girl's grave and
secreted the body so as to throw suspicion upon Bethel, we shall be in a
fair way to find out what we came here to learn, viz., what, and where,
and who, are the daring, long existing successful robbers that infest
Trafton. This is their first failure, and why?"
"It's easy to guess _why_," said Carnes, gravely. "The old head was out
of this business; for some reason it has been entrusted to underlings,
and bunglers."
"But won't old Harding give these rascals warning by claiming his stolen
property?" I asked, dubiously.
"Not he," replied Carnes. "Harding's too cute and too stingy for that.
He reasons that the thieves, having begun to display their booty, may
grow more reckless. He is one of the few who think that the body was not
placed in the hay by the doctor's hirelings; he intends to keep silent
for the present and look sharp for any more of his stolen merchandize."
"Then, Carnes, we have no bars to our present progress. To-morrow we get
down to actual business."
Again we sat late into the night discussing and re-arranging our
plans, only separating when we had mapped out a course which we, in our
egotistical blindness, felt assured was the true route toward success;
and seeking our slumbers as blissfully unconscious of what really was to
transpire as the veriest dullard in all Trafton.