The Man in Lower Ten Read online

  CHAPTER X. MISS WEST'S REQUEST

  The surprising change in her held me speechless. All the animation ofthe breakfast table was gone: there was no hint of the response withwhich, before, she had met my nonsensical sallies. She stood there,white-lipped, unsmiling, staring down the dusty road. One hand wasclenched tight over some small object. Her eyes dropped to it from thedistant road, and then closed, with a quick, indrawn breath. Her colorcame back slowly. Whatever had caused the change, she said nothing.She was anxious to leave at once, almost impatient over my deliberatemasculine way of getting my things together. Afterward I recalled that Ihad wanted to explore the barn for a horse and some sort of a vehicle totake us to the trolley, and that she had refused to allow me to look. Iremembered many things later that might have helped me, and did not.At the time, I was only completely bewildered. Save the wreck, theresponsibility for which lay between Providence and the engineer of thesecond section, all the events of that strange morning were logicallyconnected; they came from one cause, and tended unerringly to one end.But the cause was buried, the end not yet in view.

  Not until we had left the house well behind did the girl's face relaxits tense lines. I was watching her more closely than I had realized,for when we had gone a little way along the road she turned to mealmost petulantly. "Please don't stare so at me," she said, to my suddenconfusion. "I know the hat is dreadful. Green always makes me lookghastly."

  "Perhaps it was the green." I was unaccountably relieved. "Do you know,a few minutes ago, you looked almost pallid to me!"

  She glanced at me quickly, but I was gazing ahead. We were out ofsight of the house, now, and with every step away from it the girl wasobviously relieved. Whatever she held in her hand, she never glanced atit. But she was conscious of it every second. She seemed to come toa decision about it while we were still in sight of the gate, forshe murmured something and turned back alone, going swiftly, her feetstirring up small puffs of dust at every step. She fastened somethingto the gate-post,--I could see the nervous haste with which she worked.When she joined me again it was without explanation. But the clenchedfingers were free now, and while she looked tired and worn, the strainhad visibly relaxed.

  We walked along slowly in the general direction of the suburban trolleyline. Once a man with an empty wagon offered us a lift, but after aglance at the springless vehicle I declined.

  "The ends of the bone think they are castanets as it is," I explained."But the lady--"

  The young lady, however, declined and we went on together. Once, whenthe trolley line was in sight, she got a pebble in her low shoe, and wesat down under a tree until she found the cause of the trouble.

  "I--I don't know what I should have done without you," I blundered."Moral support and--and all that. Do you know, my first consciousthought after the wreck was of relief that you had not been hurt?"

  She was sitting beside me, where a big chestnut tree shaded the road,and I surprised a look of misery on her face that certainly my words hadnot been meant to produce.

  "And my first thought," she said slowly, "was regret that I--that Ihadn't been obliterated, blown out like a candle. Please don't look likethat! I am only talking."

  But her lips were trembling, and because the little shams of society areforgotten at times like this, I leaned over and patted her hand lightly,where it rested on the grass beside me.

  "You must not say those things," I expostulated. "Perhaps, after all,your friends--"

  "I had no friends on the train." Her voice was hard again, her tonefinal. She drew her hand from under mine, not quickly, but decisively. Acar was in sight, coming toward us. The steel finger of civilization, ofpropriety, of visiting cards and formal introductions was beckoning usin. Miss West put on her shoe.

  We said little on the car. The few passengers stared at us frankly, anddiscussed the wreck, emphasizing its horrors. The girl did not seem tohear. Once she turned to me with the quick, unexpected movement that wasone of her charms.

  "I do not wish my mother to know I was in the accident," she said. "Willyou please not tell Richey about having met me?"

  I gave my promise, of course. Again, when we were almost into Baltimore,she asked to examine the gun-metal cigarette case, and sat silent withit in her hands, while I told of the early morning's events on theOntario.

  "So you see," I finished, "this grip, everything I have on, belongs toa fellow named Sullivan. He probably left the train before thewreck,--perhaps just after the murder."

  "And so--you think he committed the--the crime?" Her eyes were on thecigarette case.

  "Naturally," I said. "A man doesn't jump off a Pullman car in the middleof the night in another man's clothes, unless he is trying to get awayfrom something. Besides the dirk, there were the stains that you saw.Why, I have the murdered man's pocket-book in this valise at my feet.What does that look like?"

  I colored when I saw the ghost of a smile hovering around the cornersof her mouth. "That is," I finished, "if you care to believe that I aminnocent."

  The sustaining chain of her small gold bag gave way just then. She didnot notice it. I picked it up and slid the trinket into my pocket forsafekeeping, where I promptly forgot it. Afterwards I wished I had letit lie unnoticed on the floor of that dirty little suburban car, andeven now, when I see a woman carelessly dangling a similar femininetrinket, I shudder involuntarily: there comes back to me the memory ofa girl's puzzled eyes under the brim of a flopping hat, the hauntingsuspicion of the sleepless nights that followed.

  Just then I was determined that my companion should not stray back tothe wreck, and to that end I was determinedly facetious.

  "Do you know that it is Sunday?" she asked suddenly, "and that we areactually ragged?"

  "Never mind that," I retorted. "All Baltimore is divided on Sunday intothree parts, those who rise up and go to church, those who rise upand read the newspapers, and those who don't rise up. The first aresomewhere between the creed and the sermon, and we need not worry aboutthe others."

  "You treat me like a child," she said almost pettishly. "Don't try sohard to be cheerful. It--it is almost ghastly."

  After that I subsided like a pricked balloon, and the remainder of theride was made in silence. The information that she would go to friendsin the city was a shock: it meant an earlier separation than I hadplanned for. But my arm was beginning again. In putting her into a cabI struck it and gritted my teeth with the pain. It was probably for thatreason that I forgot the gold bag.

  She leaned forward and held out her hand. "I may not have another chanceto thank you," she said, "and I think I would better not try, anyhow.I cannot tell you how grateful I am." I muttered something about thegratitude being mine: owing to the knock I was seeing two cabs, and twogirls were holding out two hands.

  "Remember," they were both saying, "you have never met me, Mr. Blakeley.And--if you ever hear anything about me--that is not--pleasant, I wantyou to think the best you can of me. Will you?"

  The two girls were one now, with little flashes of white light playingall around. "I--I'm afraid that I shall think too well for my own good,"I said unsteadily. And the cab drove on.