CHAPTER XII: VIEWED FROM BOTH SIDES
The team trotted on to the bridge, and then slowed down to a walk. Abovethe dull reverberation of hoofs the listeners below could hear the soundof voices, and an echo of rather forced laughter. Then the carriageemerged into full view. Beside the driver it contained threepassengers--Beaton on the front seat, his face turned backward toward thetwo behind, a man and a woman. Westcott and Miss Donovan, peeringthrough the screen of leaves, caught only a swift glimpse of theirfaces--the man middle-aged, inclined to stoutness, with an unusually redface, smoking viciously at a cigar, the woman young and decidedly blonde,with stray locks of hair blowing about her face, and a vivacious manner.The carriage rolled on to the smooth road, and the driver touched up thehorses with his whip, the lowered back curtain shutting off the view.
The girl seized Westcott's arm while she directed his gaze with her freehand. "Look!" she cried. "The woman is La Rue. And the man--the man isEnright! He is the lawyer I told you of, the one whose hand is not clearin this affair. And he is here!"
"Good!" Westcott exclaimed. "I'm glad they're both here. It means thatthere will be more to observe, and it means that there will beaction--and that, too, quick! They are out here for a definite purposewhich must soon be disclosed. And, Miss Donovan, I may be a littlerock-worn and a little bit out of style, but I think their presence herehas something to do with the whereabouts of Fred Cavendish."
The girl looked straight into his honest, clear eyes. His remark openeda vast field for speculation. "You think he is alive then?" she saidearnestly. "It is an interesting hypothesis. Perhaps--perhaps he may bein this neighbourhood, even. And that," she added, her Irish eyesalight, "would be more interesting still."
"I hadn't finished my argument when that carriage appeared," Westcottanswered. "Do you remember? Well, that might be the answer. Beaton hasbeen in this neighbourhood ever since about the time of that murder inNew York. Nobody knows what his business is, but he is hand-in-glovewith Bill Lacy and his gang. Lacy, besides running a saloon, pretends tobe a mining speculator, but it is my opinion there is nothing he wouldn'tdo for money, if he considered the game safe. And now, with everythingquiet in the East, and no thought that there is any suspicion remaining,Beaton sends for the woman to join him here. Why? Because there is somejob to be done too big for him to tackle alone. He's merely a gunman; hecan do the strong-arm stuff, all right, but lacks brains. There is aproblem out here requiring a little intellect; and it is my guess it ishow to dispose of Cavendish until they can get away safely with the swag."
"Exactly! That would be a stake worth playing for."
"It certainly would; and, as I figure it out, that is their game. JohnCavendish is merely the catspaw. Right now there is nothing for them todo but wait until the boy gets full possession of the property; thenthey'll put the screws on him good and proper. Meantime Frederick mustbe kept out of sight--must remain dead."
"I wonder how this was ever planned out--if it be true?"
"It must have originated in some cunning, criminal brain," he admittedthoughtfully. "Not Beaton's, surely; and, while she is probably muchbrighter, I am inclined to think the girl is merely acting under orders.There is somebody connected with this scheme higher up--a mastercriminal."
Miss Donovan was no fool; newspaper work had taught her to suspect men ofintellect, and that nothing, however wicked, low or depraved, was beyondthem.
"Enright!" she said definitely. "Obviously now. I've thought so fromthe first. But always he worked so carefully, so guardedly, thatsometimes I have doubted. But now I say without qualifications--Enright,smooth Mr. Enright, late of New York."
"That's my bet," Westcott agreed, his hand on her shoulder, forgetful ofhis intense earnestness, "Enright is the only one who could do it, and hehas schemed so as to get John into a hole where he dare not emit a sound,no matter what they do to him. Do you see? If the boy breathes asuspicion he'll be indicted for murder. If they can only succeed inkeeping Frederick safely out of sight until after the court awards theproperty to his heir, they can milk John at their leisure. It's alawyer's graft, all right."
"Then Frederick may be confined not far away?"
"Likely enough; it's wild country. There are a hundred places withinfifty miles where he might be hidden away for years. That is the jobwhich was given to Beaton; he had the dirty work to perform, while thegirl took care of John. I do not know how he did it--knockout drops,possibly, in a glass of beer; the blow of a fist on a train-platform atnight; a ride into the desert to look at some thing of interest--thereare plenty of ways in which it could be quietly done by a man of Mr.Beaton's expert experience."
"Yes, but he does not know this country--if it was only New York now."
"But Bill Lacy does, and these fellows are well acquainted--friendsapparently. Lacy and I are at daggers-points over a mining claim, and hebelieves my only chance is through the use of money advanced by FredCavendish. He'd ride through hell to lick me. Why, look here, MissDonovan, when Bill Lacy had me stuck up against the wall last night atthe hotel with a gun at my head, he lost his temper and began to taunt meabout not getting any reply from my telegrams and letters. How did heknow about them? Beaton must have told him. There's the answer; thosefellows are in cahoots, and if Fred is actually alive, Bill Lacy knowswhere he is, and all about it."
She did not answer. Westcott's theory of the situation, his quickdecision that Frederick Cavendish still lived, completely overturned herearlier conviction. Yet his argument did not seem unfair or hisconclusion impossible. Her newspaper experience had made her aware thatthere is nothing in this world so strange as truth, and nothing sounusual as to be beyond the domain of crime.
"What do you think?" he asked quietly.
"Oh, I do not know; it all grows less comprehensible every moment. Butwhatever is true I cannot see that anything remains for us to do, butwait and watch the actions of these people; they are certain to betraythemselves. We have been here together now longer than we should, and Imust return to the hotel."
"You expect Beaton to seek you?"
She smiled.
"He appeared very devoted, quite deeply interested; I hope it continues."
"So do I, now that I understand," earnestly. "Although I confess yourintimacy was a shock to me this noon. Well, I am going to busy myselfalso and take a scouting trip to La Rosita."
"Is that Lacy's mine?"
"Yes; up the gulch here about two miles. I may pick up some informationworth having. I am to see you again--alone?"
"We must have some means of communication; have you any suggestion?"
"Yes, but we'll take for our motto, 'Safety first.' We mustn't be seentogether, or suspected in any way of being friends. The livery-stablekeeper has a boy about twelve, who is quite devoted to me; a bright,trustworthy little fellow. He is about the hotel a good deal, and willbring me word from you any time. You need have no fear that I shall failto respond to any message you send."
"I shall not doubt." She held out her hand frankly. "You believe in menow, Mr. Westcott?"
"Absolutely; indeed I think I always have. That other thing hurt, yet Ikept saying to myself, 'She had some good reason.'"
"Always think so, please, no matter what happens. I was nearly wilduntil I got the note to you; I was so afraid you would leave the hotel.We must trust each other."
He stood before her, his hat in hand, a strong, robust figure, hisbronzed face clearly revealed; the sunlight making manifest the grey hairabout his temples. To Miss Donovan he seemed all man, instinct withcharacter and purpose, a virile type of the out-of-doors.
"To the death," and his lips and eyes smiled. "I believe in you utterly."
"Thank you. Good-bye."
He watched her climb the bank and emerge upon the bridge. He still stoodthere, bare-headed, when she turned and smiled back at him, waving herhand. Then the slender figure vanished, and he was left alone. A momentlater, Westcott was st
riding up the trail, intent upon a plan to entrapLacy.
They would have felt less confident in the future could they haveoverheard a conversation being carried on in a room of the Timmons House.It was Miss La Rue's apartments, possessing two windows, but furnished ina style so primitive as to cause that fastidious young lady to burst intolaughter when she first entered and gazed about. Both her companionsfollowed her, laden with luggage, and Beaton, sensing instantly what hadthus affected her humour, dropped his bag on the floor.
"It's the best there is here," he protested. "Timmons has held it foryou three days."
"Oh, I think it is too funny, Ned," she exclaimed, staring around, andthen flinging her wraps on the bed. "Look at that mirror, will you, andthose cracks in the wall? Say, do I actually have to wash in that tinbasin? Lord! I didn't suppose there was such a place in the world.Why, if this is the prize, what kind of a room have you got?"
"Tough enough," he muttered gloomily, "but you was so close with yourmoney I had to sing low. What was the matter with you, anyhow?"
"Sweetie wouldn't produce, or couldn't, rather. He hasn't got his handson much of the stuff yet. Enright coughed up the expense money, or mostof it. I made John borrow some, but I needed that myself."
"Well, damn little got out here, and Lacy pumped the most of that out ofme. However, if you feel like kicking about this room, you ought to seesome of the others--mine, for instance, or the one Timmons put that otherwoman in."
"Oh, yes," she said, finding a seat and staring at him. "That remindsme. Did you say there was a girl here from New York? Never mindquarrelling about the room, I'll endure it all right; it makes me thinkof old times," and she laughed mirthlessly. "Sit down, Mr. Enright, andlet's talk. How's the door, Ned?"
He opened it and glanced out into the hall, throwing the bolt as he cameback.
"All right, Celeste, but I wouldn't talk quite so loud; the partitionsare not very tight."
"No objections to a cigarette, I suppose," and she produced a case."Thanks; now I feel better--certainly, light up. Well, Ned, the firstthing I want to know is, who is this other New York skirt, and how didshe happen to blow in here just at this time?"
Beaton completed the lighting of his cigar, flinging the match carelesslyout of the window.
"Oh, she's all right," he said easily. "Just an innocent kid writer for_Scribbler's_ who's trying to make good writing about the beautifulscenery around here. I was a bit suspicious of her at first myself, butpicked her up this morning an' we had quite a talk. Mighty pretty littlegirl."
Miss La Rue elevated her eyebrows, watchfully regarding him through smokewreaths.
"Oh, cut it, Ned," she exclaimed curtly. "We all know you are a perfectdevil with the women. The poor thing is in love with you, no doubt, butthat doesn't answer my question, who is she?"
"Her name is Donovan."
"That sounds promising; what do you make it, shanty Irish?"
"I should say not," warmly. "She's a lady, all right. Oh, I know 'em,if I don't meet many of that kind. We got chummy enough, so she told meall about herself--her father's a big contractor and has money to burn."
"Did you ever hear the beat of that, Enright? Neddy is about to featherhis nest. Well, go on."
"That's about all, I guess, only she ain't nothin' you need be afraid of."
"Sure not, with a watch-dog like you on guard. But if you ask me, Idon't like the idea of her happening in here just at this time. This isno place for an innocent child," and she looked about, her lip curling."Lord, I should say not. Do you happen to remember any New Yorkcontractor by that name, Mr. Enright?"
The rotund lawyer, his feet elevated on the window-sill, a cigar betweenhis lips, shook his head in emphatic dissent.
"Not lately; there was a Tim Donovan who had a pull in the subwayexcavation--he was a Tammany man--but he died, and was never married.There may have been others, of course, but I had tab on most of them.Did she mention his name, Beaton?"
"No; anyhow, I don't remember."
"What's the girl look like?"
"Rather slender, with brown hair, sorter coppery in the sun, and greyeyes that grow dark when she's interested. About twenty-three or four, Ishould say. She's a good-looker, all right; and not a bit stuck up."
"Did you get her full name?"
"Sure; it's on the register--Stella Donovan."
Enright lowered his feet to the floor, a puzzled look un his face, histeeth clinched on his cigar.
"Hold on a bit till I think." he muttered. "That sounds mightyfamiliar--Stella Donovan! My God, I've heard that name before somewhere;ah, I have it--she's on the New York _Star_. I've seen her name signedto articles in the Sunday edition." He wheeled and faced Miss La Rue."Do you remember them?"
"No; I never see the _Star_."
"Well, I do, and sometimes she's damn clever. I'll bet she's the girl."
"A New York newspaperwoman; well, what do you suppose she is doing outhere? After us?"
Enright had a grip on himself again and slowly relit his cigar, leaningback, and staring out the window. His mind gripped the situation coldly.
"Well, we'd best be careful," he said slowly. "Probably it's merely acoincidence, but I don't like her lying to Beaton. That don't look justright. Yet the _Star_ can't have anything on us: the case is closed inNew York; forgotten and buried nearly a month ago. Even my partner don'tknow where I am."
"I had to show John the telegram in order to get some money."
"You can gamble he won't say anything--there's no one else?"
"No; this game ain't the kind you talk about."
"You'd be a fool to trust anybody. So, if there's no leak we don't needto be afraid of her, only don't let anything slip. We'll lay quiet andtry the young lady out. Beaton here can give her an introduction to MissLa Rue, and the rest is easy. What do you say, Celeste?"
"Oh, I'll get her goat; you boys trot on now while I tog up a little fordinner; when is it, six o'clock?"
"Yes," answered Beaton, still somewhat dazed by this revealment of MissDonovan's actual identity. "But don't try to put on too much dog outhere, Celeste; it ain't the style."
She laughed.
"The simple life, eh! What does your latest charmer wear--a skirt and ashirtwaist?"
"I don't know; she was all in black, but looked mighty neat."
"Well, I'll go her one better--a bit of Broadway for luck. So-long, bothof you, and, Enright, you better come up for me; Ned, no doubt, has aprevious engagement with Miss Donovan."
Mr. Enright paused at the door, his features exhibiting no signs ofamusement.
"Better do as Beaton says, make it plain," he said shortly. "The lessattention we attract the less talk there will be, and this is too damnserious an affair to be bungled. You hear?"
She crossed over and rested her hands on his arm.
"Sure; I was only guying Ned--it's a shirt-waist for me. I'll play thegame, old man."
The Strange Case of Cavendish Page 12