CHAPTER XXVIII.
AN UNBIDDEN GUEST.
"What tainted people you have to deal with!" she exclaimed,unconsciously continuing her vein of silent thought. "I should craveanother environment, I think."
"Your Christ lived with sinners and publicans. And they are not alltainted, my dear," added the mother, smiling so that Emily might knowwhom she meant to except. "There is so much in common between my son andMr. Floyd. Both proud, serious, too serious, I tell him, and both trueCastilians in honor. But the one looked about wisely and found hima--lady; and the other--"
"The other will grow gray by his good mother's side, I fear," saidShagarach, gently kissing the laughing and delighted old lady. Emilysmiled herself to see John Davidson's sphinx, whose reticence outsidewas indeed a mask of stone, unbending thus to the frankness andsimplicity of a child. The mother's ways were more demonstrative, butwith deep reserves of dignity.
"But you are right, Miss Barlow. The lawyer's profession is one shademore distasteful than the surgeon's, for he handles the moral sores ofhumanity."
"Handles them to cure them," cried Emily, shifting about, like a truewoman.
"Possibly. Though for my own part I agree with those who hold that thelaw perpetrates no less wickedness than it punishes--were it not that itprevents more than it perpetrates," he added, smiling, "we should livein a very troublesome world. It is a profession which uses theconscience as a whetstone upon which to sharpen the intellect. Iattribute the venality of our congress and legislatures partly to thedisproportion among them of lawyers."
"But surely there are exceptions?"
"In the criminal courts," answered Shagarach. Emily asked herself ifthis was Shagarach's destiny, to continue as a criminal lawyer. As if inanswer to her question, he added:
"There alone one can feel at all times that he is either protecting theinnocent or punishing the guilty. This is my working library," hepointed to the thumbed volumes on the shelves. Emily noticed that mostof them were treatises on psychology, the old and the new.
"I do not carry the keys for those," said his mother, gayly.
"Light to illuminate our case," Shagarach took down one of the books."By the way, my correspondent, Mr. Skull-and-Crossbones, has honored meagain."
The two ladies started and the mother seized her son by the arm.
"A black-edged letter, apprising me that I am marked and doomed." Justthen Emily heard the strange tapping that had startled her before. Itcame from the window of the front parlor this time. She shuddered in asudden terror and drew closer to Mrs. Shagarach. The old lady had heardthe sound and blanched a little, but her voice was firm when she spoke:
"Is that a mouse in the wainscoting, my son?"
"I thought it was a tapping at the window, mother."
"Go and look. There may be a stranger in the yard."
Shagarach raised the curtain and looked out, then opened the window. Thecool night air flowed in and heightened Emily's tremors so that theelder lady took pity on her.
"There is no one in sight, mother, but I will put on my hat and go outthe back door."
In a few minutes Shagarach returned by the street entrance.
"I thought I heard footsteps in the passageway and followed them around,but there is no one. The yard is empty."
"I will inform the policeman to-morrow," said his mother. "There aremany loiterers about in these bad times. And you should acquaint themwith the letter you received."
"I have done so, mother. I have considered it strange," he added,turning toward Emily, "that the parties opposed to us in the Floyd caseshould resort to murder. It is a confession of guilt."
"If they are caught."
"Murder will out. Moreover, I do not work alone. I have engaged theassistance of--whom do you think?"
"Of Mr. McCausland," said the mother, breaking in. "It was mysuggestion."
"McCausland investigating Harry Arnold!" exclaimed Emily.
"Is it not amusing? But he will not allow that Arnold is at all open tosuspicion, and of course I have not laid all my evidence before him."
"But surely the letters are connected with our case, and who else couldit be?"
Since the finding of the glove and the testimony of the three gaminsEmily was coming around to Shagarach's view of Harry Arnold's possibleguilt and the attack on Robert's lawyer had aroused her sympathies so asalmost if not quite to convince her.
"Mr. McCausland is very keen--a wonderful man--of deceptive exterior,but like the rest of us, he sometimes makes mistakes," said Shagarach."His defect is that he uses the logical method only and ignores thepsychological. It is necessary first to find out if the accused iscapable of the crime. I first became sure of Robert Floyd's innocencewhen I saw him through the cell-bars of the jail. He is incapable of thecrime."
"My son so admires your lover," added Mrs. Shagarach.
"These other friends of mine," continued her son, taking down thethumbed volume which he had put back when the tapping startled them,"commit the opposite error. They are strictly physiological. Theypredict too much from a man's physical peculiarities."
The book he opened for Emily was a treatment on criminology, illustratedwith villainous heads in profile and full face. It was in Italian, soShagarach exchanged it for another.
"Behold the brands of the true criminal--'enormous zygomae,' 'ear lobesattached to the cheek,' 'spatulate fingernails----'"
"That takes in Mr. McCausland," said Emily, roguishly. She had got overher fright by this time and the allusion to spatulate fingernailsrecalled the whole train of events which had ended in the inspector'sdiscomfiture.
"The refutation of such theorists," said Shagarach, "is simple. We needonly point to the fact that the greatest crimes are committed by men whoare not professional criminals at all and who do not belong to thecriminal type."
"Like this man," said the mother, going to a closet at one side anddrawing forth a bundle of photographs. One of them she showed to Emily.It was Harry Arnold, bold and handsome, with the shaggy cape coat throwncarelessly over his shoulders.
"Has he enormous zygomae, ear-lobes attached to his cheek?" she asked.
"I wish I could see his fingernails," laughed Emily.
"Arnold's face in repose does not show much capacity for evil. But itlights up badly. I have seen him crossed and in passion."
"I think he looks as if he were veined of evil and good," said Emilyfrankly, studying the portrait long, as she loved to do. She had seenHarry once when he was at his best. Besides, her service in thephotograph studio had made her something of a physiognomist, too, thoughnot, of course, such a soul-reader as Shagarach.
"His crimes are of the preventable order and therefore the moreculpable. There are men born to crime, as the theorists argue; othersdriven to crime. For both of these classes it is hardly more than amisplaced emphasis, a wrong direction of energies."
"Here is another volume--I am showing you all my workshop. Does itfatigue you?"
"Nothing which helps to clear up the mystery is dull to me," answeredEmily.
"This treatise deals with 'Incidental Homicide.' Rather legal thanclinical. The cases are all parallel to ours. The indictment, by theway, has just been given out. The weakest count charges Robert Floydwith arson and murder in the second degree. The punishment for that isonly imprisonment for life."
"Only! Robert says he would rather be hanged."
"Let him have no fear of either," said Mrs. Shagarach, cheerily.
"The newspapers tell us that the government offered much new evidence,"said Shagarach.
"I should like to know what it was," cried Emily, eagerly.
"So should I. Ordinarily, the grand-jury room is leaky enough, but Mr.McCausland, who is the government in this case, appears to have found away to seal it hermetically."
"Perhaps he padlocked the jurors' lips," suggested Emily, whereat allthree were merry.
From time to time during the conversation relapses of the old shudderhad come back to Emily, though the
tapping had utterly ceased sinceShagarach investigated the yard. He had left the curtain half-raised, sothat any one approaching the window would be visible from within. It wasjust at this moment that she happened to change her seat, bringing herface around to the darkened window. Before the others could catch her,she had risen, pointed to the window and fallen to the floor with aterrified shriek.
Shagarach started to raise her, but the terrible detonation of a pistolrung out, sacrilegiously invading their quietude. Then all was darkness,a noise of crashing glass telling that the lamp had been shattered andextinguished. Another report followed and another. Mrs. Shagarach,trembling, heard her son quickly crossing to the window. The panesseemed to be broken, and there were sounds of a scuffle, mingled with agnashing of teeth and growls more animal than human. Suddenly, with aripping sound, the scuffle ceased, and rapid footsteps were heardpattering away. Then her son spoke to her in the loud, firm voice whichhe used in all practical affairs.
"Light the little lamp, mother. It is safe now. There are matches on themantel."
"Are you hurt, Meyer?" she asked, anxiously, while lighting the lamp.
"A little," he answered.
"You were shot, my son?" she cried, embracing him.
"No. Let us revive Miss Barlow. Some water, Rachel," he said to the oldservant who had come to the door.
When Emily came to she found Mrs. Shagarach sponging her forehead, whileher son was washing his hands in a basin of bloody water.
"Wrap the cotton around them quickly, Rachel," he was saying. "I mustnotify the police."
"Meyer, it is not safe."
Emily heard the mother protesting, then swooned again. When fullconsciousness returned the lawyer was gone and the three women werealone in the room. Rachel began picking up the fragments of the lamp.Only its chimney and globe had been broken, the metal being stillintact. The windowpanes showed great ragged holes, which explained thelaceration of Shagarach's hands.
"Poor lady," cried the mother. "This is ill treatment we give you. Butwe are not to blame. It is the wicked enemies who are pursuing usall--your lover and my son." With terms of endearment she petted theweak girl back into a coherent understanding of her position. But everynow and then the remembrance of something would cause her to shudderagain visibly; whereat the elder lady would renew her caresses.
"I have notified the policeman. That was the best I could do," saidShagarach, re-entering. He looked extremely grave. It was a narrowescape for one or more of the three. "This is all I have to identifyhim by. It was detached in the struggle."
He laid a common coat button down on the table, with a piece of clothadhering.
"That face! Who could ever forget it?" cried Emily.
"You saw him, then?" asked son and the mother in one breath.
"Shall I call it 'him'? Was it a man?" answered Emily. "Rather amonster, no more than half-human."
"It had the form of a man," said Shagarach, "as I felt it through theglass."
Rachel was busy bandaging his cuts with plaster during thisconversation, but they bled through, calling for the surgeon's thread.
"But it snarled like a tiger," said the mother.
"Oh the wild, blue eyes! They were staring at me through the cleft ofthe draperies. And the demon leer, and the forehead, retreating like afrog's----"
"It is the oaf I passed on the pier," cried Shagarach, interruptingEmily. "We have found Mr. Skull-and-Crossbones."
"Oaf? What is oaf?" asked the mother.
"An idiot, a monster."
She shuddered.
"A man of that description cannot long elude search," said the son in amore hopeful tone.
"They are often very cunning," replied the mother.
"Can it be Harry Arnold would employ such an agent?" asked Emily, stilltrembling.
"Twice," said Shagarach, as if speaking to himself. "A cap and a button.Men have been captured on slighter clews."
"You will give the button to Mr. McCausland," said the mother.
"Yes; since it fits with the cap."
"Maybe he will help you to bring Harry Arnold to justice."
"And so to acquit Robert Floyd," said Shagarach, smiling to cheer hisguest.
The mention of her lover restored the wilted girl, who was brave enoughwhen there was anything definite to be done. Shagarach showed her thebook on "Arson" which he had been holding when the first shot was fired.The bullet had pierced it on its career toward the lamp.
"The bullets will be evidence also," he said, "and I will measure thefootprints before the rain comes down and washes them away."
"You will wish to go home, poor child," said Mrs. Shagarach to Emily."Not yet, but soon, when you are stronger. Rachel!"
The soothing words of the mother warmed Emily quite as much as the winewhich Rachel brought. Meanwhile two policemen entered and began toexamine the premises. Shagarach visited the yard in their company andsoon returned with a tape measure and a paper block, on which he hadrecorded the lengths of the footprints.
He was assiduous in his regrets and inquiries toward Emily and insistedon accompanying her home in a carriage, which the mother, however, wouldnot allow them to enter until she had exacted from her visitor a promisethat she would come again on an appointed evening, and pressed upon herin true oriental fashion a certain rose-embroidered gossamer scarf forwhich Emily had expressed admiration.
At her own door the sweet girl heard Shagarach order the hackman todrive to Dr. Lund's, and she guessed that his cuts would be somewhatworse for the delay in stitching them. That night she saw gorgon facesleering in at her window, and her dreams were of new-moon scimiters andthe rocking of the camel ride.
The Incendiary: A Story of Mystery Page 28