of all the people gathered in the house that evening anne had been the most silent. her ravaged face, the contours broken by gray hollows, bearing the stamp of shock and horror, had been unnoticed among the other faces. now and then a pitying glance had been directed to her, grief as sybil’s friend must have added a last unbearable poignancy to the tragedy.
after her question to flora her mind had seemed to blur and cease to function. she had run from the house not knowing what she did, gone hither and thither with the others, looking, speaking, listening in a blind daze. it was not till they returned to the living-room that her faculties began to clear and coordinate. the lights, the familiar setting, the talk that could not leave the subject, shook her back to reality. it was [pg 139]then that she went to the window and sat with her back to the room. she wanted no one to see her face; she was afraid of what it might betray.
her thoughts circled round the image of joe as she had last seen him—the vision of him as some one strange and sinister. and the boat—the boat with only gabriel in it—it kept coming up like a picture revolving on a wheel—going and returning, going and returning. had he stayed and what for? that question revolved with the picture of the boat. she could not get free of them, their obsessing force held her like a somnambulist staring into the night.
she thought of telling bassett and gave that up—with the police expected she could not get him alone, and why add to his burden with her suspicions? yes, that was what it was—nothing but a suspicion. she had no certainty, joe might have been in the boat, joe might have got off the island some other way. to-morrow something might come to light that would make these hideous fancies seem like the dreams of delirium. [pg 140]that was the state of mind she tried to maintain when she went up-stairs and overheard a man was on guard at the causeway.
with that knowledge her outlook changed. her passive rôle was over. she sat down on the side of the bed and with a grim desperate resolution faced what she had tried to flee.
if joe had done it and if he was on the island he would try to get off at low tide. it was safe to assume that he was outside, hidden till the causeway was open. to go out to find him would be useless, he would never reveal himself to her, and if she was seen suspicion would instantly be aroused. she must get somewhere that would command the causeway and its approaches. her mind ran over every nook and angle, every shadow and rock ledge between the house and the shore. impossible—it was too open and the light was like day. the best place—the only place—was the living-room entrance. from there she could see in all directions, the balcony end, the kitchen wing, the pine grove. she would try to wave him [pg 141]back, possibly get to him—she had to take her chances and trust to heaven.
and then he might never come—it might be just an awful nightmare and he was with jimmy travers on his way to the northern woods. she dropped her face in her hands and sent up broken words of pleading that it might be so.
the tide was at full ebb at midnight. at a quarter before she made ready. she took from the bureau a book she had been reading—if she met any one she could say she had come down to find it—and opened her door with the stealth of a burglar. a dead silence reigned as she stole down the stairs and into the living-room. here the great line of windows—the moon not yet upon them—shone in gray oblongs diffusing a spectral light that did not touch the darkness under the galleries.
at the entrance, pressed against the door, she looked out. it was a world of white enchantment, breathlessly still. she could see the patterned surfaces of leaves, the cracks and fissures of the [pg 142]rocks. below the channel lay almost bare, pools glistening like dropped mirrors, mounds of mud casting inky shadows. in the middle—a restless silvery sparkle—ran a narrow stream carrying a glinting line of radiance to the ocean beyond. the pungent smell of mud and seaweed came from it along with the sleepy lisp of rippling water.
she could hear the murmur of the men’s voices from the open library windows, and like the throbbing of a muffled engine, the beating of her own heart.
into that deep enveloping quietude came a sound, so faint, so infinitely small and hushed, that only expectant ears could have caught it. it came from the room behind her, and turning, she slid back against the wall, her body black against its blackness. the sound continued, the opening of a door opposite, the door into the kitchen wing. it seemed no door in the world had ever opened so slowly—creaking, stopping, resuming, dying away. she could see nothing, for the darkness of the gallery lay impenetrable over that furtive entrance.
[pg 143]
there was a footstep, light as the fall of a leaf, and she saw him coming toward her in that high luminous pallor from the windows. he was like a shadow, so evenly dark, a shape without detail, moving with a shadow’s noiseless passage. she saw the outline of the cap on his head and that he carried his shoes in one hand.
she came forward with a hand raised for caution, sending her voice before her in an agonized whisper:
“go back, joe. the causeway’s watched. you can’t get over that way. go!”
he was gone, a fleet flying, vanishing back into the darkness under the gallery. out of it came the soft closing of the door.
the room swayed, pale light and darkness swam and coalesced. she knew she was near a table and put out her hand to steady herself by it, something solid to hold to for one minute. the polished surface slid under her fingers and she groped out with the hand that held the book. the book slipped from her clasp, fell with a thud like [pg 144]a thunderclap, and a grasping snatch to save it swept a lamp crashing to the floor. panic dispelled her faintness and she made a rush for the door. she had gained it. her fingers clutched round the knob, as she heard the steps of the men in the hall and knew it was too late to escape.
they burst in, thrust into the room’s dim quiet as if shot by a blast.
“it’s nothing,” she called, hearing her voice thin and hoarse. “nothing’s happened. it’s only anne tracy.”
the lights leaped out and she saw them, bassett with his hand on the electric button, stricken still, looking this way and that. his eye found her first, backed against the door, a small green-clad figure with an ashen face.
“what’s this mean?” said rawson.
“nothing.” she was afraid the handle would rattle with the shaking of her hand so let it go. “i upset the lamp in the dark. i didn’t see it that’s all.”
“what are you doing here?”
[pg 145]
“i came down to get my book. i forgot and left it when i went up-stairs.”
she could get her breath now and her voice was under control. she felt strength oozing back into her body and with it courage.
“you’re as white as a sheet,” williams blurted out.
“did something frighten you?” demanded bassett.
“no, but a sort of faintness came over me, there by the table, and i grabbed at it and upset the lamp.”
rawson looked at the table with the shattered fragments of the lamp beside it. it was not far from the entrance door.
“did you see anything—anything outside?”
“no, not a thing and i didn’t hear a sound.”
“what do you suppose made you feel faint?”
“oh!” she dared to make a gesture, upraised hands that dropped limply. “hasn’t there been enough here to make anybody faint?”
“you’ve got to remember, rawson,” said bassett[pg 146] who thought the man’s insistence unnecessary, “what a shock this has been—especially to miss tracy who was miss saunders’ friend.”
“i remember.” then to anne: “miss tracy, if you should withhold any information from us you’d get yourself into a very uncomfortable position.”
“i wouldn’t, i wouldn’t,” she breathed.
rawson’s glance remained on her, dubiously intent. bassett noted it with a resentment he found it difficult to hide.
“you can absolutely rely on miss tracy,” he said. “she would be perfectly frank with you if she had anything to tell.”
“no doubt, no doubt,” said the other, and walked to the entrance. “i’m going out to have a look around.” on the sill he turned and addressed anne. “i gave some instructions to you ladies and i expected to have them followed. you’ll please remember them in the future.”
he passed out into the brilliancy of the moonlight. now that he was gone bassett felt he must [pg 147]make her understand. he had been astonished at what she had done. it was so unlike her, a disobedience of orders at such a time as this.
“you must do what they tell you, anne. they have to make these rules and it’s up to us to keep them.”
“i will now. you can trust me. mr. williams, you can see how it was. i couldn’t sleep and my mind was full of this awful thing, and i thought if i could put it on something else—get free from my thoughts even for a few minutes!”
williams grunted his comprehension. he felt rather tenderly toward her, she looked so small and wan and her voice was so pleading.
“where was your book?” he asked.
“on the table behind you. i was feeling round for it and i think i pushed it off with the lamp.”
“what was the name of it?”
“victory, by joseph conrad.”
he went to the table. his back turned, she and bassett exchanged a long look. williams picked up the book and came back with it.
[pg 148]
“here it is,” he said, giving it to her. “and just make a note of the fact that you’re not to go round the house at night after books or anything else.”
she assured him she would not, she would give them no more trouble, and opening the door she slipped away. they remained without speaking till she came out on the gallery and walked to her room. bassett stood looking up after she had disappeared, the memory of her face as they burst in upon her added a new peculiar distress to his harrowed state.
“well,” said williams, “her book was there.”
bassett stared at him:
“was there! why shouldn’t it be?”
williams gave an upward hitch of his shoulders:
“words come easy, mr. bassett.”
“good god!” exclaimed bassett in horrified amaze. “you have any idea she was lying? if you have, get it out of your head. i’ve known miss tracy for three years and she could no more [pg 149]say what wasn’t true than—well, she couldn’t, that’s all.”
“i don’t think she did. it sounded to me a perfectly straight story.”
“it was. you can take my word for that.”
they were back in the library when rawson reappeared with shine. shine, unable to sleep, had been sitting by his window when rawson, scouting, had stopped to inquire if he had seen any one. shine had not, but had volunteered to join in a hunt and the two had been about the house and the immediate vicinity. nothing had been discovered and patrick had seen no sign of life or heard no sound. now they had come back for the electric torch and were going to extend their search. a person concealed on the seaward side of the island might be moving at this hour when the causeway was free. bassett said he would go with them and the three men left the room by one of the long windows.
williams opened the library door and turned off the lights. the noise of the departing trio [pg 150]would suggest to any one on the watch that the house was free of police supervision and there might be developments. he took the desk chair as easier to rise from than the deep-seated leather ones and settled himself to a resumé of what they had so far gathered.
he was convinced of mrs. stokes’ guilt and ran over the reasons. a hysterical woman, frantic with jealousy—that alone was enough. but that woman had been the only member of the party who at the time of the shooting had been some distance from the house. she had taken the pistol with the intention of using it if an occasion offered. her walk had been undertaken with the hope that she might find that occasion in the hour before supper when they were all in their rooms. the occasion had offered. miss saunders, unable to resist the beauty of the evening, had gone to the point alone. he set no store by rawson’s opinion that the woman’s state of mind was too genuinely distracted. he considered it as part of a premeditated plan carried through with nerve and skill. [pg 151]she would have known that the report of the pistol would have been heard at the house. this, when miss saunders did not return, would have suggested foul play. and she, mrs. stokes, was the only person out on the island. a later entrance, with an assumption of ignorance, would have turned suspicion on her like a pointing finger. she was too intelligent for that—had called her abilities as an actress to her aid and put them all off with her screaming excitement.
another point that he wanted to look into was the length of time she had been at the shore after the report—a great deal too long for what she said she had done. too paralyzed to think or move, her explanation was stunned. williams was divided in his opinion as to that—either pulling herself together for the grand-stand play she was to make or possibly pushing the body into the water.
it was at this juncture that he suddenly cocked his head and let his hands drop softly to the arms of the chair. from the stairs outside came a [pg 152]faint creak, a pause and then again, step by step a bare or stockinged foot in gradual descent.
the big man arose as noiselessly as he could and made for the hall. but his bulk and his boots were not adapted to rapid movements or silent surprise. as he reached the hall he heard the pattering flight of light feet and cursed under his breath as he felt for the electric button. her room—the one he had seen miss pinkney put her in—was just beyond the stair-head to the right. and her husband’s—he turned and faced the secretive panels of its closed door.
williams dropped his head and trod thoughtfully back to the library, but this time he left the hall lights on. also he lit the library ones and allowed himself the solace of a cigar. “she won’t try that again to-night,” he said to himself and dropped into an easy chair.
then stokes must know. they had had opportunity for private conference in that hour after the murder when the others were out of the house. she had either told him or he had accused her; for [pg 153]all they knew he might have seen her do it. anyway she wanted to get speech with him and it might be support, counsel, the matching up of their stories—but whatever it was she must have been in dire straights to take such a risk.
williams smoked on, comfortably sprawled in the deep chair, thinking out a line of attack on the stokeses.
