by Rex Stout
“I guess there is no ‘why’ in love,” said Lila.
“But there is in—the other thing.” Knowlton drew nearer to her and spoke slowly and earnestly. “Do you remember I told you last night that I wanted to ask you something today? Well—I was going to ask you to marry me. I would have done that, and I would have kept my secret. But now that you know some of it you must know all.”
“No,” said Lila, “not that. Of the future, perhaps, but not of the past. What does it all matter now?”
But Knowlton insisted.
“Yes, I must. I want you to know it. It is not that I would give excuses; there can be none. But you must know my weakness and folly, and then if you can trust me—”
He paced the floor nervously as he continued:
“In the first place, my name is not Knowlton. It is John Norton. My father is the wealthiest citizen of a town named Warton, in Ohio. I am his only child. My mother died ten years ago.
“My father made his money in the manufacturing business, and he earned every cent of it. All his life he has worked like a slave. I can remember, when I was a little chap, how he used to come home late at night completely exhausted, and come to my room to kiss me good night. He would always reply to my mother’s expostulations with the words, ‘It is for him.’
“He wanted me to be a gentleman—in a certain sense of the word—and I was perfectly willing. Still I was not lazy. I studied hard at college, and made as good a showing in the classroom as I did on the athletic field.
“After graduation I made a two years’ tour of the world, and at the age of twenty-four returned to Warton with a somewhat exaggerated idea of my attainments and accomplishments and a varied assortment of opinions and theories.”
Lila was bending forward to listen, with parted lips and glowing eyes. Knowlton stopped pacing the floor and stood in front of her.
“But my father was by no means a fool. Although it was his dearest wish that his wealth should prevent my toiling and laboring as he had done, he did not intend that I should live a life of idleness. He had at first been desirous that I should enter a profession, but, seeing that I was unsuited for either the law or medicine, he left it to my own choice.
“I chose banking, and he was delighted, declaring that nothing could please him better. He owned a portion of the stock of the Warton National Bank, and I was at once placed in its offices. At the end of six months I was made cashier, and at the end of the year a vice president.
“Of course I deserved no credit for my success, for the work was pleasing to me and everything was made easy for me. But my father was highly gratified, and, saying that my future was assured, began to press me on a point which had for some months been a bone of contention between us.”
“He wanted you to marry some one,” Lila said abruptly.
Knowlton gazed at her in amazement. “How in the name of—”
“I don’t know,” Lila smiled. “I seemed to feel it. You see now that you have no chance to keep anything from me. Who—who was she?”
Knowlton’s eyes were still filled with surprise as he continued:
“A Miss Sherman. She was the daughter of a very old friend of my father’s, and our parents had decided long before that we should marry when we had reached a proper age. But, though I had no particular objection to her, still I did not care for her, and was certainly anything but an ardent wooer. My father had often complained to me on account of my lack of appreciation of her charms.”
“What was she like?” Lila demanded.
“Oh, like any girl! She had hair, and eyes—”
“Like me?”
“There is no one in the world like you,” Knowlton declared, but as Lila started to rise he protested:
“No—please—let me finish. When I was elected vice president of the bank my father began to insist that I should marry at once. I demurred. We had many hot discussions on the subject, and it ended by my refusing pointblank to marry Miss Sherman at all.
“Naturally, he was disappointed and angry, but if it had not been for Miss Sherman herself the thing would have soon blown over. She developed an unexpected obstinacy, and declared that I was bound by the agreement made with her father, who had been dead for several years.
“To make matters worse, about this time she received a visit from her brother. This brother had some years before been driven out of Warton on account of some youthful indiscretion, and he had left behind him an exceedingly unsavory reputation. He had gone East—it was said to New York—and had not been heard of for some time until he suddenly put in an appearance at the time I mention.
“He immediately began to threaten me with all sorts of calamities and disasters if I did not marry Miss Sherman. I don’t know whether this was with his sister’s cognizance and approval or not; I doubt it, for she would hardly have so demeaned herself.
“Sherman acted like a sneak. I never once saw him, but he pestered me with letters and messages until I had about decided either to thrash him soundly or have recourse to the courts.”
Lila interrupted eagerly:
“This man—Mr. Sherman—her brother—was he—”
“The same as Mr. Sherman of the Erring Knights? I think so; in fact, I am pretty positive of it, though, as I say, I never saw him in Warton. But he recognized me the first time he saw me at the Lamartine, so there is little doubt of it.”
He resumed his narrative, while Lila’s interest was so intense that she scarcely breathed.
“This went on for two or three months. My father had come over to my side unconditionally. Miss Sherman had prepared to enter a suit for breach of promise, and her brother was making himself as obnoxious as possible. He spread stories concerning me all over the town, and did everything that could suggest itself to his mind—in the dark.
“One night—I shall never forget it—one Wednesday night I was at work in the bank alone. I had been away for the two or three days previous, and a great deal of work had accumulated during my absence. Also, we had that very day received a large shipment of currency from the East, and I had to check that and stow it away in the vault.
“I had just completed this task, and had not yet closed the vault—it was about eleven o’clock—when I heard some one pounding on the outer door. I called out, asking who it was, and heard in a woman’s voice a name which astonished me: ‘Alma Sherman.’
“Not knowing what else to do, I opened the door, drawing the heavy steel bolts, and she entered. Before I had time to speak or move she seized me by the arm and drew me over to a private room on the left. ‘Wait,’ I said, ‘I must close the door.’
“But she would not let me go. She seemed half insane, clinging to me and entreating—well, I can’t tell you what she said. In fact, the whole thing is in my memory as a nightmare, indistinct and horrible.
“I don’t know what I was thinking of, not to have insisted on going back to close the door, but she must have carried me completely off my feet.
“Gradually she became calmer, but still was unable to tell me what she had come for or indeed to speak intelligently at all. I had begun to think she was really out of her mind, when she suddenly sprang to the door and disappeared as mysteriously as she had come.
“I looked for her through the window, but the night was very dark and I could see nothing. She had been with me, I think, about twenty minutes.
“I was roused and curious, of course, but I finished my work nevertheless, locked the vault and the outer doors, and went home.
“The next morning the cashier ran in to me with a face of terror and announced that there was twenty thousand dollars missing from the vault.”
Lila gasped involuntarily, and Knowlton answered the question in her eyes:
“No, I don’t think Alma Sherman had anything to do with it intentionally. But I think her brother did, and that she was an unconscious accomplice. I don’t know. I thought at the time that someone happening to pass by had seen the open door and taken advantage of it.
> “There is no use in giving you the details of what followed. I shall come to the end as rapidly as possible.
“Of course, all was confusion and speculation in the bank—and as soon as the news got around in the town. At first I was not suspected; I was considered above it. But it was inevitable.
“I had been left in the bank alone, I had locked the vault myself after it had been checked up by the cashier, and there was no evidence of any kind that it had been tampered with. I made no mention to anyone of Alma Sherman’s visit; I did not see how it could do any possible good, and I thought the least I could do was to shield her name.
“Even then I did not know that I was suspected. I discovered later that I had been followed and investigated by detectives. A week after the robbery ten thousand dollars of the missing money was found hidden in a closet in my room in my father’s house.”
Lila sprang to her feet with a cry of astonishment; but Knowlton, not heeding her, continued:
“Of course, that settled it. What need to tell of the terrible scene with my father—his grief and anger, and my protestations of innocence? I stood convicted by facts, delusive and stubborn.
“Now, when it was too late, I told of the visit paid me by Alma Sherman, being convinced that her brother was at the bottom of the plot against me. I was jeered at for my pains. They asked why I had not mentioned it before, and reminded me that I had declared that no one had been with me at the bank on the night of the robbery.
“I insisted that they search for William Sherman. His sister told them that he had returned to New York, and declared that my statement that she had called on me at the bank was false!
“My father paid the shortage, arranged that I should not be prosecuted, and then—disowned me and drove me from his house.”
As he said this Knowlton’s voice trembled for the first time. He hesitated, then conquered his emotion with a visible effort, and resumed:
“Well, there I was. For a time I stayed in Warton, determined to prove my innocence, or, if that were impossible, live down the accusation. But everyone was against me.
“By my youthful assumption of superiority I had made many enemies, unknown to myself, and they were implacable. It was unbearable, horrible! I stood it as long as I could, then came to New York embittered, cynical, and penniless.
“I had one or two friends here, but as soon as I told them of my troubles—and I concealed nothing—they promptly forgot me. Getting a position in my own line—in a bank—was of course out of the question. They require references. At the end of a week I was about ready to go down to the sea by way of the Hudson, when I accidentally met Red Tim.
“It doesn’t matter who Red Tim is. There are thousands of him. He is everywhere. We talked for an hour, and met again the following day. I was still well-dressed, and I had a fairly good appearance. At our third meeting he showed me a stack of counterfeit ten-dollar bills.
“You know the rest. I don’t want you to think it was all weakness. It was partly bitterness and partly despair, and I think I was even so far gone as to repeat, ‘I have the name, I’ll have the game.’ I think I was temporarily insane; no one can feel more horror at it now than I feel.
“When I met Sherman at the Lamartine I began to devise schemes for revenge and for clearing my name. But what could I do? I had no friends, nor evidence, nor much hope of getting either. Perhaps some day—
“I had been passing counterfeit money for a month when I met you. During the two months that followed my feelings were indescribable. Whenever I looked at you I felt unspeakable self-contempt. But I said bitterly that I wanted to get even with the world.
“Then—do you remember the first evening we dined together? And the play? Well, after that I despised myself indeed. I felt that I was not worthy to speak to you, to breathe the same air with you. But—you know—I could not stay away.
“For another month I wavered and hesitated, then got a position that was at least honorable, though you hardly seemed to think so. You didn’t know how happy I was in it, and how I worked to earn the right to ask you—to tell you my love! I—really, I am proud of it!
“One thing more, and I am done. I had met Red Tim once each month. That was my own arrangement—I didn’t care to see him oftener. Well, I saw him for the last time last night, and told him I was through.
“But there is still something.” He pointed to a package wrapped in brown paper lying on the trunk. “That is—I had that left. I should have destroyed it long ago. I am going to tonight.”
Lila gazed at the package curiously.
“Is it—how much is there?”
“About ten thousand dollars.”
She rose and walked over to him and laid her hand on his arm.
“Destroy it now—at once,” she said in a tone half frightened.
Knowlton objected:
“But there is no way. It is best to be safe, and I shall take it to the river. Never fear! But you have not told me what I want to know.”
Lila questioned him with her eyes, and he continued:
“I have told you my story. And now?”
At first Lila did not understand; then her eyes filled with light and she raised herself on tiptoe, placing her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
“I love you,” she said.
“Will you marry me?”
Her head was on his shoulder. She nodded.
“My darling Lila! I—really, I can’t believe it.”
“Pooh!” said she scornfully. “You have known it all the time.”
“No. I have hoped—and feared. But, ah, I could never have lived without you!”
“And yet”—Lila looked up at him quickly—”you were going away.”
Whereupon Knowlton protested that she was unkind, and she admitted it and begged his forgiveness with a kiss. There was a long silence. Finally Knowlton gave a deep sigh and spoke of the future.
He began by saying that he would go away somewhere—anywhere—and make a place and a home for Lila. She interrupted him at once:
“No, no! I will go with you. Why should you go alone? Will we not be stronger together? You think I will be in the way? You do not know me, then.”
He tried to argue with her, but she would not listen. He pleaded; there were hardships to be endured which he could not ask her to share; it would cost him his newly regained self-respect. He was crushed, he must have time to get on his feet, he was practically penniless.
Lila replied:
“I have saved a little—enough to last until—until you get—”
“Good Heaven!” he cried in utter humiliation. “And you think that I—no, you do not know me. Can’t you understand? Call it pride, if you will, and if you think I have a right to any. There are some things I must do myself. Do you think the confession I have just made has not been painful to me? If you only knew!”
Lila murmured:
“I do not want to hurt you, but I want to be happy, and if you leave me I shall not be.”
“Dearest, do I not know?” Knowlton forced himself to be more calm. “And without you every minute will seem a year to me. That is why I shall work all the harder and send for you as soon as I can. And then—”
“And then—” Lila repeated.
“And then I will be the happiest man in the world—happier far than I deserve. And as soon as I can get—”
At that moment a bell in the next room rang violently.
Lila glanced round, startled, and Knowlton turned with an expression of alarm, which speedily gave way to one of relief.
He reassured Lila:
“It is nothing. I ordered a cab to take me to the station.”
He ran to the front and looked out on the street below.
“Yes,” he said, returning, “it is the cab. It is in front. And that’s lucky, for it is dinnertime. Shall we go—”
He was interrupted by a loud knocking on the hall door a few feet away.
He thought it was the cabdriver, and wondered
how he had gotten in the outer door below.
He called sharply:
“Who is it?”
There was no answer, but after an interval the knocking was repeated.
“Who is it?” he repeated angrily.
Another short pause, during which Knowlton fancied he heard whispering in the hall outside; then came the reply in a peremptory tone:
“Open in the name of the law!”
CHAPTER XII.
The Long Night
LILA GAVE A GASP OF TERROR AND SEIZED Knowlton’s arm convulsively, while the young man stood speechless with surprise and alarm.
What did he see in that one flash of horror and regret? He saw Lila accused, arrested, dishonored—and all for him. The thought petrified him; he was unable to move.
No care for himself or concern for his own danger could have moved him to anything save reckless courage or stoical acceptance; but it stunned his every sense to think that Lila would be caught in the net he had spread for himself.
But Lila, seeing his helplessness, acted for herself. For a second only she stood rooted to the spot with terror; then she glanced with a flashing eye round the room, while her brain worked with the rapidity of lightning.
She saw, a few feet to the right, a curtained alcove; then, as she turned, her eye fell on the package of counterfeit money lying on the trunk. With silent swiftness she crossed the room and picked up the package, and as swiftly sped back to the side of Knowlton.
She held her mouth close, very close against his ear, that no sound might reach the other side of the door, and whispered:
“Get them into the other room—all of them—as far away as possible.”
She saw that he did not comprehend her meaning, but there was no time to explain further. She must trust to his sagacity as soon as he recovered his wits.
With one last glance about the room to make sure that there was nothing in it to reveal her presence, she pressed his hand swiftly and disappeared behind the curtain of the alcove. All this had taken but three or four seconds.
The knocking on the door and the command to open were repeated. Knowlton turned the knob of the catch-lock and the door flew open.