CHAPTER XXIV.
JIM LONG SHOWS HIS HAND.
As I ran through the silent, dusky street, keeping to the road inpreference to risking myself, at that pace, over some most uncertain"sidewalks," for pavements were unknown in Trafton, my thoughts werekeeping pace with my heels.
First they dwelt upon the fact that Jim Long, in making his brief, hastyexhortation to me, had forgotten, or chosen to ignore, his nasal twangand rustic dialect, and that his earnestness and agitation had betrayeda more than ordinary interest in Carl Bethel, and a much more thanordinary dismay at the calamity which had befallen him.
Carl Bethel had been shot down at his own door!
How came it that Jim Long was near the scene and ready for the rescue,at eleven o'clock at night? Who had committed the deed? And why?
Some thoughts come to us like inspirations. Suddenly there flashed uponmy mind a possible man and a probable motive.
Blake Simpson was coming back. Contrary to my expectations, he hadprobably entered Trafton on foot, having made the journey by means ofsome sort of conveyance which was now, perhaps, carrying him away fromthe scene of his crime.
This would explain the singular apathy of Dimber Joe. He had walked outearlier in the evening to ascertain that the way was clear and the gamewithin reach, or, in other words, at home and alone. Then perhaps he hadmade these facts known to his confederate, and after that, his part inthe plot being accomplished, he had returned to the hotel, where he hadkept himself conspicuously in sight until after the deed was done. Herewas a theory for the murder ready to hand, and a motive was not wanting.
Only a week since, some party or parties had committed a shamefuloutrage, and the attempt had been made to fasten the crime upon CarlBethel. Fortunately the counter evidence had been sufficient to clearhim in the eyes of impartial judges. The doctor's courage and popularityhad carried him safely through the danger. His enemies had done himlittle hurt, and had not succeeded in driving him from Trafton.Obviously he was in somebody's way, and the first attempt having failed,they had made a second and more desperate one.
Here my mental diagnosis of the case came to an end. I had reached thegate of the doctor's cottage.
All was silent as I opened the door and entered the sitting-room. Ashaded lamp burned softly on the center-table, and beside it stood thedoctor's easy-chair and footrest. An open book lay upon the table, as iflately laid down by the occupant of the chair, who had put a half-filledpipe between the pages, to mark the place where he had stopped readingwhen interrupted by--what?
Thus much I observed at a glance, and then turned toward the inner roomwhere, upon the bed, lay Carl Bethel.
Was he living or dead?
Taking the lamp from the table I carried it to the bedside, and bent tolook at the still form lying thereon. The loose coat of white linen, andalso the vest, had been drawn back from the right shoulder; both wereblood-stained, and the entire shirt front was saturated with blood.
I put the lamp upon a stand beside the bed, and examined closer. Thehands were not yet cold with the chill of death, the breath came feeblyfrom between the parted lips.
What should I do?
As I glanced about the room while asking myself this helpless question,there came a step upon the gravel outside, quick, light, firm. Then thedoor opened, and Louise Barnard stood before me.
Shall I ever forget that woful face, white as the face of death, rigidwith the calmness of despair? Shall I ever banish from my memory thosegreat dark eyes, too full of anguish for tears? It was another mentalpicture of Louise Barnard never to be forgotten.
"Carl, Carl!"
She was on her knees at the bedside clasping the limp hand between herown, bowing her white face until it rested upon his.
"Carl, Carl! speak to me!"
"Carl, Carl! speak to me!"--page 292.]
But there was no word of tenderness in answer to her pitiful appeal, noreturning pressure from the still hand, and she buried her head in thepillows, uttering a low moan of despair.
In the presence of one weaker than myself, my own helplessness forsookme. I approached the girl who knelt there believing her lover dead, andtouched her shoulder lightly.
"Miss Barnard, we have no time now for grief. He is not dead."
She was on her feet in an instant.
"Not dead! Then he must not die!"
A red flush mounted to her cheek, a new light leaped to her eye. Shewaited to ask or give no explanation, but turned once more and laid herhand upon the blood-ensanguined garments.
"Ah, we must waste no more time. Can you cut away this clothing?"
I nodded and she sprang from the room. I heard a clicking of steel andthe sound of opening drawers, then she was back with a pair of sharpscissors in her hand.
"Use these," she said, taking command as a matter of course, andflitting out again, leaving me to do my work, and as I worked, Imarveled at and admired her wonderful presence of mind--her splendidself-control.
In a moment I knew, by the crack of a parlor match and a responsiveflash of steady light, that she had found a lamp and lighted it.
There were the sounds of another search, and then she was back againwith restoratives and some pieces of linen.
Glancing down at the bed she uttered a sharp exclamation, and all theblood fled out of her face. I had just laid bare a ghastly wound in theright shoulder, and dangerously near the lung.
It was with a mighty effort that she regained her self-control. Then sheput down the things she held, and said, quite gently:
"Please chafe his hands and temples, and afterward try the restoratives.There is a fluid heater out there. I must have warm water before--"
"Long has gone for a doctor," I interrupted, thinking her possiblyignorant of this fact.
"I know; we must have everything ready for him."
She went out and I began my work of restoration.
After some time passed in the outer room, she came back to the bedsideand assisted me in my task.
After a little, a faint sigh and a feeble fluttering of the eyelidsassured us that we were not thus active in vain. The girl caught herbreath, and while she renewed her efforts at restoration I saw that shewas fast losing her self-control.
And now we heard low voices and hurrying footsteps.
It was the doctor at last.
Excepting Bethel, Dr. Hess was the youngest practitioner in Trafton. Hewas a bachelor, and slept at his office, a fact which Jim took intoaccount in calling for him, instead of waking up old Dr. Baumbach, wholived at the extreme north of the village.
Dr. Hess looked very grave, and Jim exceedingly anxious, as the two benttogether over the patient.
After a brief examination, Dr. Hess said:
"I must get at Bethel's instruments. I know he keeps them here, so didnot stop to fetch mine."
"They are all ready."
He turned in surprise. Miss Barnard had drawn back at his entrance, andhe was now, for the first time, aware of her presence.
"I knew what was required," she said, in answer to his look of surprise."They are ready for you."
The doctor moved toward the outer room.
"I must have some tepid water," he said.
"That, too, is ready. I shall assist you, Dr. Hess."
"You!"
"Yes, I. I know something about the instruments. I have helped my fathermore than once."
"But--"
"There need be no objection. I am better qualified than either of thesegentlemen."
He looked at me, still hesitating.
"I think you can trust the lady," I said; "she has proved hercapability."
"Very well, Miss Barnard," said the doctor, more graciously; "it may tryyour nerves;" and, taking up some instruments, he turned toward theinner room.
"I shall be equal to it," she replied, as, gathering up some lint, andgoing across the room for a part of the water, fast heating over thefluid lamp, she followed him.
"Doctor, can't _we_ do something?
" asked Jim Long.
"Nothing at present."
How still it was! Jim Long stood near the center of the room, pantingheavily, and looking down at a dark stain in the carpet,--a splash ofhuman blood that marked the place where Bethel had fallen under the fireof the assassin. His face was flushed, and its expression fiercelygloomy. His hands were clenched nervously, his eye riveted to that spotupon the carpet, his lips moved from time to time, as if framinganathemas against the would-be destroyer.
After a time, I ventured, in a low tone:
"Long, you are breathing like a spent racer. Sit down. You may need yourbreath before long."
He turned, silently opened the outer door, making scarcely a sound, andwent out into the night.
That was a long half hour which I passed, sitting beside the littletable with that splash of blood directly before my eyes, hearing nosound save an occasional rustle from the inner room, and now and then alow word spoken by Dr. Hess.
To think to the purpose seemed impossible, in that stillness where lifeand death stood face to face. I could only wait; anxiously, impatiently,fearing the worst.
At last it was over; and Jim, who evidently, though out of sight, hadnot been out of hearing, came in to listen to the verdict of Dr. Hess.
"It was a dangerous wound," he said, "and the patient was in a criticalcondition. He might recover, with good nursing, but the chances weremuch against him."
A spasm of pain crossed Louise Barnard's face, and I saw her clench hersmall hand in a fierce effort to maintain her self-control. Then shesaid, quite calmly:
"In his present condition, will he not require the constant attention ofa surgeon?"
Dr. Hess bowed his head.
"Hemorrhage is likely to occur," he said. "He _might_ need surgical aidat a moment's notice."
"Then, Dr. Hess, would you object to our calling for counsel--for anassistant?"
He elevated his eyebrows, more in surprise at the pronoun, I thought,than at the suggestion, or request.
"I think it might be well to have Dr. Baumbach in to-morrow," hereplied.
"I was not thinking of Dr. Baumbach," she said. "I wish to send to NewYork for a doctor who is a relative of Mr. Bethel's. I know--it is whathe would wish."
Dr. Hess glanced from her face to mine and remained silent.
"When my father was sick," she went on, now looking appealingly from thedoctor's face to mine, and then over my shoulder at Jim, who hadremained near the door, "Dr. Bethel said that if he had any doubts as tohis case, he should telegraph at once for Dr. Denham, and he added thathe knew of no surgeon more skillful."
Still no answer from Dr. Hess.
Jim Long came forward with a touch of his old impatience and accustomedquaintness in his words and manner.
"_I'm_ in favor of the city doctor," he said, looking, not at Dr. Hess,but straight into my face. "And I'm entitled to a voice in the matter.The patient's mine by right of discovery."
Miss Barnard gave him a quick glance of gratitude, and I rallied fromthe surprise occasioned by the mention of "our old woman," to say:
"I think you said that this gentleman is a _relative_ of Dr. Bethel's;if so, he should be sent for by all means."
"He is Dr. Bethel's uncle," said Miss Barnard.
"Then," I repeated, with decision, "as a relative he should be sent forat once."
"Most certainly," acquiesced Dr. Hess, who now saw the matter in, tohim, a more favorable light. "Send for him; the sooner the better."
"Oh," breathed the anxious girl, "I wish it could be done at once."
"It can," I said, taking my hat from the table as I spoke. "Fortunatelythere is a new night operator at the station; he came to-night, or wasexpected. If he is there, we shall save time, if not, we must get Harrisup."
"Oh, thank you."
Dr. Hess went to take a look at his patient, and came back, saying:
"I will remain here until morning, I think."
"And I will come back as soon as possible," I responded, turning to go.
Jim Long caught up his hat from the floor, where he had flung it onentering.
"I reckon I had better go along with you," he said, suddenly assuminghis habitual drawl; "you may have to rout Harris up, and I know rightwhere to find him."
I was anxious to go, for a reason of my own, and I was not sorry to haveJim's company. "Now, if ever," I thought, "is the time to fathom 'thetrue inwardness' of this strange man."
We waited for no more words, but set out at once, walking brisklythrough the night that seemed doubly dark, doubly silent and mysterious,at the witch's hour of one o'clock.
We had walked half the distance to the station; in perfect silence, andI was studying the best way to approach Jim and overcome his reticence,when suddenly he opened his lips, to give me a glimpse of his "trueinwardness," that nearly took me, figuratively, off my feet.
"Men are only men, after all," he began, sententiously, "and_detectives_ are only common men sharpened up a bit. I wonder, now, howyou are going to get the address of this Dr. Denham?"
I started so violently, that he must have perceived it, dark though itwas.
What a blunder! I had walked away from the cottage forgetting to ask forDr. Denham's address.
Uttering an exclamation of impatience, I turned sharply about.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"I'm going back after the address, of course."
"I wouldn't do that; time's precious. Do you go ahead and send themessage. I'll run back and ask after the address."
"Long," I said, sharply, "what do you mean?"
"I mean this," he replied, his tone changing suddenly. "I mean thatit's time for you and I to understand each other!"
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