The Man in Lower Ten

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  CHAPTER XXXI. AND ONLY ONE ARM

  Hotchkiss was the first to break the tension.

  "Mr. Sullivan," he asked suddenly, "was your sister left-handed?"

  "Yes."

  Hotchkiss put away his note-book and looked around with an air oftriumphant vindication. It gave us a chance to smile and look relieved.After all, Mrs. Curtis was dead. It was the happiest solution of theunhappy affair. McKnight brought Sullivan some whisky, and he braced upa little.

  "I learned through the papers that my wife was in a Baltimore hospital,and yesterday I ventured there to see her. I felt if she would help meto keep straight, that now, with her father and my sister both dead, wemight be happy together.

  "I understand now what puzzled me then. It seemed that my sister wentinto the next car and tried to make my wife promise not to interfere.But Ida--Mrs. Sullivan--was firm, of course. She said her father hadpapers, certificates and so on, that would stop the marriage at once.

  "She said, also, that her father was in our car, and that there would bethe mischief to pay in the morning. It was probably when my sister triedto get the papers that he awakened, and she had to do--what she did."

  It was over. Save for a technicality or two, I was a free man. Alisonrose quietly and prepared to go; the men stood to let her pass, saveSullivan who sat crouched in his chair, his face buried in his hands.Hotchkiss, who had been tapping the desk with his pencil, looked upabruptly and pointed the pencil at me.

  "If all this is true, and I believe it is,--then who was in the housenext door, Blakeley, the night you and Mr. Johnson searched? Youremember, you said it was a woman's hand at the trap door."

  I glanced hastily at Johnson, whose face was impassive. He had his handon the knob of the door and he opened it before he spoke.

  "There were a number of scratches on Mrs. Conway's right hand," heobserved to the room in general. "Her wrist was bandaged and badlybruised."

  He went out then, but he turned as he closed the door and threw at me aglance of half-amused, half-contemptuous tolerance.

  McKnight saw Alison, with Mrs. Dallas, to their carriage, and came backagain. The gathering in the office was breaking up. Sullivan, lookingworn and old, was standing by the window, staring at the broken necklacein his hand. When he saw me watching him, he put it on the desk andpicked up his hat.

  "If I can not do anything more--" he hesitated.

  "I think you have done about enough," I replied grimly, and he went out.

  I believe that Richey and Hotchkiss led me somewhere to dinner, andthat, for fear I would be lonely without him, they sent for Johnson.And I recall a spirited discussion in which Hotchkiss told the detectivethat he could manage certain cases, but that he lacked induction. Richeyand I were mainly silent. My thoughts would slip ahead to that hour,later in the evening, when I should see Alison again.

  I dressed in savage haste finally, and was so particular about my tiethat Mrs. Klopton gave up in despair.

  "I wish, until your arm is better, that you would buy the kind thathooks on," she protested, almost tearfully. "I'm sure they look verynice, Mr. Lawrence. My late husband always--"

  "That's a lover's knot you've tied this time," I snarled, and, jerkingopen the bow knot she had so painfully executed, looked out thewindow for Johnson--until I recalled that he no longer belonged in myperspective. I ended by driving frantically to the club and gettingGeorge to do it.

  I was late, of course. The drawing-room and library at the Dallas homewere empty. I could hear billiard balls rolling somewhere, and I turnedthe other way. I found Alison at last on the balcony, sitting much asshe had that night on the beach,--her chin in her hands, her eyes fixedunseeingly on the trees and lights of the square across. She was evenwhistling a little, softly. But this time the plaintiveness was gone.It was a tender little tune. She did not move, as I stood beside her,looking down. And now, when the moment had come, all the thousand andone things I had been waiting to say forsook me, precipitately beata retreat, and left me unsupported. The arc-moon sent little fugitivelights over her hair, her eyes, her gown.

  "Don't--do that," I said unsteadily. "You--you know what I want to dowhen you whistle!"

  She glanced up at me, and she did not stop. She did not stop! She wenton whistling softly, a bit tremulously. And straightway I forgot thestreet, the chance of passers-by, the voices in the house behind us."The world doesn't hold any one but you," I said reverently. "It is ourworld, sweetheart. I love you."

  And I kissed her.

  A boy was whistling on the pavement below. I let her go reluctantly andsat back where I could see her.

  "I haven't done this the way I intended to at all," I confessed. "Inbooks they get things all settled, and then kiss the lady."

  "Settled?" she inquired.

  "Oh, about getting married and that sort of thing," I explained withelaborate carelessness. "We--we could go down to Bermuda--or--orJamaica, say in December."

  She drew her hand away and faced me squarely.

  "I believe you are afraid!" she declared. "I refuse to marry you unlessyou propose properly. Everybody does it. And it is a woman's privilege:she wants to have that to look back to."

  "Very well," I consented with an exaggerated sigh. "If you will promisenot to think I look like an idiot, I shall do it, knee and all."

  I had to pass her to close the door behind us, but when I kissed heragain she protested that we were not really engaged.

  I turned to look down at her. "It is a terrible thing," I saidexultantly, "to love a girl the way I love you, and to have only onearm!" Then I closed the door.

  From across the street there came a sharp crescendo whistle, and avaguely familiar figure separated itself from the park railing.

  "Say," he called, in a hoarse whisper, "shall I throw the key down theelevator shaft?"