when anne went up to her room she took a seat by the window where she could see the channel. it was an undecipherable blackness, its farther limit defined by the shore lights. but the night was very still, the sagging weight of cloud hung low pressing down sounds. she could hear the barking of dogs, the cries of children, a snatch of song from the mainland. in this intense quiet the first explosive throbs of a starting launch would be carried clearly across the sounding board of the water.
she kept telling herself that rawson’s absence had nothing to do with joe. she had been telling herself the same thing ever since williams’ remark at supper. she gave her reasons for thinking so, as if she were trying to convince an adversary who was maintaining an opposing position. it was as [pg 220]shine had said, rawson had gone on some business they knew nothing of. there must be endless business connected with such a case. she remembered murder cases she had read of in the papers—accounts of false leads, trails picked up and dropped, legal questions of state and county authority.
then across the water, running along the surface in stuttering reverberations, came the sound of the launch’s engine starting. she saw the light leave the shore and come sliding forward, moving smoothly like a light held in a steady hand. below it a golden dagger stabbed down into the glossy blackness of the current. she watched it approaching, the inside of her mouth like leather, her clenched hands wet.
when it had disappeared round the end of the house she faced the door and stood waiting. her power to argue with herself was gone—if he had found out anything he might come for her. she calculated his movements: in the library now, talking with the others. a long time seemed to pass. [pg 221]the stifling pulsations of her heart died down, and moving with an exquisite quietness as if any sound she made might bridge the space and call them running to surprise her guilty terror, she stole to the door and opened it a crack. the living-room was lighted but empty; they were in the library, shut in. again a time passed and again her heart calmed to a slower beat. it must be business, the business that had nothing to do with joe.
she closed the door and decided now she might rest, not go to bed yet, but lie down and try to get back to courage and control. she took off her dress and put on her negligée, and with hands raised to loosen her hair heard a step on the stairs. it struck upon her ear, heavy and quick, a man’s step, and she remained as she was, her arms lifted, her eyes staring into her reflected eyes in the mirror. she stood thus till it stopped at her door. when the knock came and rawson’s voice spoke her name, the hands dropped and she moved to the door.
[pg 222]
“can you come down-stairs for a minute?” the voice said, low and guarded. “i’m sorry to ask you to get up.”
she opened the door. “i hadn’t gone to bed. yes, of course i’ll come. you want to——”
“just ask you a few more questions. i’m glad i didn’t wake you.”
she followed him along the passage and down the stairs. they crossed the living-room side by side, rawson with long strides, she with short quick steps. there was a sense of hurry in their progress as if they were hastening to some ominous goal. when she entered the library her glance fell on bassett facing her across the room, his brows drawn low over the dark trouble of his eyes. his look told her of anxiety, apprehension and a passionate concern for her. she gave it back, feeling a desperate cold courage run to her fainting senses.
williams indicated an armchair near the desk:
“take a seat, miss tracy. sorry we’ve had to call you down.”
[pg 223]
she fell into it and, as the men settled themselves in theirs, ran her tongue along her dry lips and took a deep breath of air into her lungs. then she raised her chin and looked at them, inquiringly attentive. during the passage of the look she laid the charge on her mind to go cautiously and not be afraid.
“we’ve been making some inquiries about your brother, miss tracy,” rawson began. “about his leaving here. you told us, as i remember, that you knew he went.”
“why, yes, he went.”
“did you see him go?”
“well, no, i didn’t actually see him, but that wouldn’t prevent—” she stopped and looked from one to the other of the watching faces—“what do you mean?”
she must find out what they knew before she ventured.
“then you didn’t see him?”
“no—i didn’t see the boat go, i was up-stairs, but of course he went.”
[pg 224]
“we’ve found out that he didn’t,” said rawson.
“didn’t go, didn’t go back with gabriel? wh—why—” she swept them with an alarmed look which fetched up on bassett. “why, that’s not possible!”
“mr. rawson’s seen gabriel.” bassett spoke very gently. “and he says he didn’t take joe over.”
“but i don’t understand. he was all ready. i said good-by to him.”
“when was that?”
“in his room, just a little while before he went. he was waiting there, everything packed and ready, waiting for the boat.”
“and he said nothing to you about changing his plans?”
“no, i don’t believe he had changed his plans. it was his holiday, he’d been looking forward to it, he was crazy to go.”
“did he make any mention of an interview he’d had with mr. bassett?”
“no—i don’t think he said a thing about mr. bassett.”
[pg 225]
“and he told you he was going, wanted to go. was he jolly and good-humored like a person starting on a holiday?”
“yes—why shouldn’t he be? it was what he’d been longing to do for years. after i left him i went to my room and dressed and when i went down-stairs i saw that his bag and fishing-rod, which he told me he’d left by the entrance, were gone, and i thought of course he was. and he has, he’s gone some other way.”
bassett looked at rawson and murmured:
“that’s the explanation.”
rawson went on without noticing:
“do you know of any adventures, schemes, he might have had in his head that would make him want to fool you, steal off without letting you know?”
“no, but i wouldn’t. he didn’t tell me much. boys don’t like their sisters interfering.”
“when you saw him in his room did he say anything about miss saunders?”
“miss saunders? no—he was talking about his trip. but what are you asking me all these [pg 226]questions for? if he didn’t go the way you thought what does it matter?”
“you’re sure he’s gone?” rawson’s emphasis on the pronoun was heavy.
she looked at him with startled eyes:
“yes, aren’t you? why, you don’t think he’s here?”
it was evident that she had not grasped the sinister aspect of joe’s mysterious actions. it struck bassett as odd, for he knew her intelligence and her anxious doubts of the boy. what she had been through, shock and lack of sleep, had blunted her perceptions. he prayed she would get through the interview without comprehending and he did not see how she could.
“how could he be here?” she went on, that look of naive astonishment fastened on rawson. “what for? and if he was—if he’d missed the boat or changed his mind—wouldn’t he be with us all, here among the rest of us? of course he’s gone—he’s on his way to the woods now where he was going.”
[pg 227]
rawson addressed bassett:
“didn’t you tell me he was to stop to-night in bangor and meet his friend?”
“yes—they were to start out in the morning.”
“where were they staying?”
“some hotel, i don’t know the name. do you remember it, anne?”
she shook her head: “no. if he told me i’ve forgotten. i’ve no idea what it was.”
“hold on a minute,” said williams, stretching out his hand. “shine spoke to me about that. he was asking about a hotel in bangor young tracy recommended—the algonquin inn. that may be it.”
rawson swung the desk chair round and drew the telephone to him:
“we can find out in a minute.”
they sat without moving while rawson made the connection. as he spoke the two men leaned forward, eagerly waiting, the girl drooped back in her chair, her hands in her lap, her glance on the floor.
[pg 228]
“is there a mr. tracy there—joe tracy?” and then a period of listening, punctuated with grunts of assent from rawson. then, “mr. travers has gone—left on the six-fifteen this evening—i see.” a silent stretch and a final “thanks—that’s all i wanted. much obliged.” the receiver clicked into its hook, and rawson swung the chair toward them:
“travers has been there waiting since last night. tracy never showed up. travers had no message from him and left this evening for moosehead lake.”
for a moment there was no comment. anne raised her eyes, the sides of the room looked a long way off and the light seemed to have intensified to a violent glare as if she were sitting in the midst of a dazzling illumination. the men’s faces were turned to her, glazed by the radiance like glistening masks.
“i don’t know what to make of that,” she said, the words dropping slowly with spaces between.
“neither do we, miss tracy,” said rawson, [pg 229]and leaning back, his hands clasped over his stomach, he gazed intently at her through his horn-rimmed glasses.
the glow increased, wrapped her round in a flame-like heat that ran along her skin in prickling points. it shone on the lenses of rawson’s glasses which seemed to grow larger and come nearer, malignly glaring.
“yes, you do,” she said and heard her voice hoarse and changed. “you’ve made something of it already. and what you’ve made is lies—wicked lies.”
then she had seen it. bassett made a step forward, but she leaped to her feet, oblivious of him:
“you think he did it, just because you can’t find him. that’s all he’s done, gone away. you must be crazy. what would he do it for? don’t you have to have a reason to commit murder?”
williams was sorry for her, a pallid panting creature shaken out of her gentle semblance by an unexpected revelation. “come now, miss tracy,” he urged. “don’t get worked up.”
[pg 230]
but she paid no heed, pouring out her words at rawson who remained without change of position, looking fixedly at her.
“they weren’t good friends. i don’t know why—i asked her but she wouldn’t tell me. and what was it—a quarrel, a grievance? but that wouldn’t make him want to kill her!”
“i’ve told them that, anne,” bassett implored; “there’s no use going over it.”
she made a motion for him to keep silent and moved nearer rawson.
“it is strange his going away like that—i’ll admit it. but he did strange things; and does every one always do what’s sensible and reasonable? because he happened to act in a way that we can’t understand is no proof he’s a murderer. he didn’t do it, he couldn’t have done it. and to think that he’s here! where would he be? haven’t you searched the whole island? he’s gone, even if he didn’t meet jimmy travers. he’s gone somewhere else.”
rawson leaned suddenly forward and caught her by the wrist:
[pg 231]
“what did you see last night in the living-room?”
if he had meant to surprise her he failed of his purpose. she hung back from his grip and said with defiant emphasis:
“i saw nothing!”
“are you sure it was a book you came down for?”
“it was a book, as i told you.”
“you could read a few hours after your friend was murdered?”
“i could try to read—it was better than thinking.”
“you’ve got a pretty cool head, miss tracy,” he added, and relinquished her hand. she fell back in her chair as if his hold upon her had been all that sustained her in an upright position. he rose, looking down at her, curious and unsatisfied:
“i guess we’ll call a halt for a while. we’ve other work to attend to. but wait here till we come back; we may have to do some more talking.” he turned to williams and gave a jerk of [pg 232]his head toward the hall. “come on, we’ll go up there now.”
he walked to the door, williams following him. as it shut after them bassett went to her and bent over her chair. she held him off with a hand on his breast and whispered:
“where are they going?”
“up-stairs, to the top story.”
she clutched the lapels of his coat:
“he’s there, he’s up there.”
“he—who?”
“joe!”
bassett stared into her eyes. he thought her senses were giving way:
“anne, darling, what’s the matter? joe’s not here—you’ve just said so yourself.”
“i said what wasn’t true—he’s there.”
he caught her arms and drew her to her feet:
“what do you mean?”
“i know it, i’ve seen him.”
“seen joe himself?”
“last night when i came down for the book. [pg 233]he’s hiding up there—i thought he was safe. and now they’ll find him.”
bassett knew she was telling the truth. his mind took a sweep backward over the last twenty-four hours—she had known it all along, played a desperate game single-handed. in flashes of retrospect came her questions to him in the garden, her ashen face when they had burst in upon her the night before. the situation, accepted and familiar, was suddenly shaken apart like the pattern in a kaleidoscope and had fallen into another shape, a shape so unexpected and horrible that he stood frozen looking over her shoulder into its unfolding dreadfulness.
“what can i do—what can i do?” her whisper pierced to his brain and her hands jerked at his coat in frantic urgency.
“nothing now. they’ve gone, we can’t stop them. but tell me the rest—how did you know—tell me everything.”
“i saw the launch go without him and i was going to speak to you, but shine was there and i [pg 234]couldn’t. then she was killed and i didn’t know what to think, where he’d gone, anything! but that night i heard them say there was a man on guard at the causeway, and i came down to tell him in case he was here and would try to get across. and then i saw him.”
“where?”
“in the living-room. he came from the door into the kitchen wing and i whispered it.”
“did he say anything?”
“no—just ran the way he’d come in. and then i knew—” she stopped and closed her eyes. “oh, i didn’t know it but i thought it. can it be true—could he have done it? one minute i’m sure and then i can’t believe it; and i don’t know, i don’t know.”
she pressed her face against his chest and he held her close, saying anything he could think of that might sustain her—they knew nothing yet—it was all guesswork—something might turn up that would explain it. he did not believe what he said—knowing more than she he had no doubts—and[pg 235] under his words his thoughts searched wildly for possible ways of coming to her aid.
“oh, god grant it, god grant it!” she groaned, and drawing away from him ran to the door, and opening it, stood listening. he followed her and with pauses for that tense listening, she told him of her visit to the top floor.
“he didn’t answer you?” he said. “then he might not have been there.”
“where else could he be?”
“outside. he could see us going over the island from one of those upper windows. after we’d finished he could have slipped out again, knowing he was safe there.”
she saw the possibilities of this and hung on them, left the door and conning them over, paced about the room. presently they could bear the shut-in space no longer and crept through the hall to the living-room. they stood on the threshold, subduing their breathing that no sound might interfere with their entranced attention. the silence of the house lay round them like an enshrouding[pg 236] essence. far away the rhythm of the waves came and went, faint and regular, like the pulsing of the world’s heart tranquilly beating in some infinitely remote realm of peace.
they returned to the library and, as the minutes passed and the strain increased, stood motionless and dumb as statues, waiting, listening. they felt as if everything but that room and their suspense had ceased to exist, as if time had stopped and this one fearful hour was to stretch out forever.
then a sound from the distant reaches of the house broke it—the descending feet of the men. bassett pulled her away from the door, closed it and drew her to the middle of the room.
“will you help me?” she whispered. “will you help me whatever happens?”
he nodded, there was no time now for words. he motioned her to sit down, and moved back from her, listening to the steps which were crossing the living-room, entering the hall. were they louder than they had been going up, were [pg 237]there three pair of feet where there had been two? they stopped at the door, it opened and rawson and williams entered.
williams threw an electric torch on the desk and said to bassett with a sardonic grin:
“nothing doing.”
rawson spoke to anne:
“you can go up-stairs, miss tracy. we’ll put off the rest of our talk till to-morrow. you better try to get some rest. and kindly remember to stay in your room. i don’t want any mistakes made about that to-night.”
she murmured words of compliance and rising with pale composure left the library.
when the door shut on her bassett said: “you got nothing up there at all?”
it had been difficult to frame the question. since they had left his position with regard to them had undergone a horrible change. he did not know how horrible till this first moment of encounter when he saw them ready to meet him in his old rôle. he felt a surge of repudiation and [pg 238]then heard anne’s whisper at his ear. it drowned the call of his conscience, was louder than the guiding voices that had heretofore governed his life. she was fighting alone, she had begged his help and he was her lover.
“not a thing,” answered rawson. “but we were at a disadvantage; not enough light, and it’s a good-sized place. there’s a big store-room full of junk, messed up with stuff, and one of the electric bulbs is broken. we couldn’t go over that thoroughly, and he may have found a cache there. we’ll comb it over to-morrow morning by daylight. of course he could have got out on the island—all that kitchen wing’s kept open. he might have been lying low up there all yesterday and have come down last night.”
“and his sister saw him.” williams laughed with good-humored derision. “you didn’t get anything out of her, rawson.”
“no, i didn’t. she’s either a very smart young lady, or an entirely innocent one. i’m not sure which. but she did lead us to believe he’d gone when he hadn’t, she did come down-stairs on a [pg 239]pretty fishy errand, and she did forget the name of the hotel he’d gone to. all quite possible but—well, we’ll know to-morrow.” he walked to the window and looked out. “dark as a pocket!” he turned to bassett: “when the tide’s full out could a person get across that channel except by the causeway?”
“there are places where they might swim the stream in the middle. it’s a deep strong current but a good swimmer could do it.”
“he might try it—he must be pretty keen about getting off here. you know this shore-line. suppose you go down and take up a station below the boat-house among those juniper bushes. that’s a place a person might use as a sheltered start for a get-away. you can’t see but you can hear. take williams’ gun, and if there’s a sound, challenge, if there’s no answer, shoot. i’ll come down with you, i want to take a look at patrick and i’ll stay round myself for a while.”
he stepped to the sill of the window but williams, feeling for his revolver, stopped him:
“hold on a minute. i got an idea that i think’ll [pg 240]help a bit. i’ve been thinking of it all day and if i’m not mistaken it’ll land your man or your woman neater and easier than lying in wait for them outside where they know by this time we’ve got a guard.”
rawson turned back into the room:
“let’s hear it—we want to clear this up to-night. but, mr. bassett, you go on. stop and tell patrick what you’re doing and see that he’s on the job. i’ll be down with him later, unless williams’ idea opens up something new.”
bassett took the revolver and stepped out of the window.
the night was muffling dark; beyond the long squares of light the windows cast, it lay a velvet blackness, the murmurs of the falling tide issuing from it as if it had a voice which was whispering its secrets.
the outside darkness had a reflex on his own soul. as his body moved forward into its shadowless density, his spirit sank deeper into an enshrouding gloom. he saw anne in a circling whirlpool, being sucked nearer and nearer to the [pg 241]vortex. she knew joe had never gone, had connived at his concealment, had lied to them at every turn—accessory after the fact. if they got the boy there was no way of extricating her and it was impossible that they should not get him, held here, all means of escape cut off. to-night, at the latest to-morrow, joe would be haled before them. he thought of anything he could do, any wild act within the compass of human daring and ingenuity, and could find nothing.
he reached the boat-house and groped his way about it to find patrick. coming round the angle where the man was stationed he pronounced his name and was surprised to get no answer. he stretched a feeling hand which came in contact with a large warm bulk, immovable under his touch and giving forth a sound of heavy regular breathing. his own breathing stifled, his movements noiseless as a cat’s, he struck a match and sheltering it with his curved hand, held it out. in its glow he saw patrick huddled on the bench, his shoulders braced against the wall, his head drooped forward in profound sleep.
[pg 242]
he dropped the match and put his foot on it. with the extinguishing of its tiny gleam the darkness closed blacker than before and he had to feel for the wall behind him, drawing close against it. the thought of his trust rose hazy in the hinterlands of his mind like the memory of some distant state of being in which he once had existed.
pressed against the wall, he calculated the distances about him. the approach to the causeway was to his right, an incline of rocky steps, and in the stillness he could hear the lightest foot descending them. on such a night joe might venture again—would venture if his nerve still held. if he did it would be within the next hour, and if patrick slept and rawson did not come he would go by unchallenged.
a fitful breeze arose, carrying sea odors. he saw the lights in the house go out, and the darkness close, solid and even, over where they had been. he heard the murmurings of the tide growing lower, fainter, till they sunk to silence and he knew the bed of the channel was uncovered.
