"It"s his affair, not mine. He thinks he has a certain interest in you."
Then he turned in exasperation to the sheriff. "Can you give me a little information, Mr. Kellar? What has that Swede to do with me? Why am I arrested for the murder of my own self--preposterous! I, a man as alive as you are? You can see for yourself that I am Elder Craigmile"s son. You know me?"
"I know the Elder fairly well--every one in Leauvite knows him, but I can"t say as I"ve ever taken particular notice of his boy, and, anyway, the boy was murdered three years ago--a little over--for it was in the fall of the year--well, that"s most four years--and I must say it"s a mighty clever dodge, as Mr. Stiles says, for you to play off this on us. It"s a matter that will bear looking into. Now you sit down here and hold on to yourself, while I go through your things.
You"ll get them all, never fear."
Then Harry King sat down and looked off through the open window, and paid no heed to what the men were doing. They might turn his large valise inside out and read every sc.r.a.p of written paper. There was nothing to give the slightest clew to his ident.i.ty. He had left the envelope addressed to the Elder, containing the letters he had written, at the bank, to be placed in the safety vault, and not to be delivered until ordered to do so by himself.
As they finished their search and restored the articles to his valise, he asked again that the handcuffs be left off as he walked through the streets.
"I have no desire to escape. It is my wish to go with you. I only wish I might have seen the--my father first. He could not have helped me--but he would have understood--it would have seemed less--"
He could not go on, and the sheriff slipped the handcuffs in his pocket, and they proceeded in silence to the courthouse, where he listened to the reading of the warrant and his indictment in dazed stupefaction, and then walked again in silence between his captors to the jail in the rear.
"No one has ever been in this cell," said Mr. Kellar. "I"m doing the best I can for you."
"How long must I stay here? Who brings accusation?"
"I don"t know how long: as this is a murder charge you can"t be bailed out, and the trial will take time. The Elder brings accusation--naturally."
"When is he expected home?"
"Can"t say. You"ll have some one to defend you, and then you can ask all the questions you wish." The sheriff closed the heavy door and the key was turned.
Then began weary days of waiting. If it had been possible to get the trial over with, Harry would have been glad, but it made little difference to him now, since the step had been taken, and a trial in his case would only be a verdict, anyway--and confession was a simple thing, and the hearing also.
The days pa.s.sed, and he wondered that no one came to him--no friend of the old time. Where were Bertrand Ballard and Mary? Where was little Betty? Did they not know he was in jail? He did not know that others had been arrested on the same charge and released, more than once.
True, no one had made the claim of being the Elder"s own son and the murdered man himself. As such incidents were always disturbing to Betty, when Bertrand read the notice of the arrest in the _Mercury_, the paper was laid away in his desk and his little daughter was spared the sight of it this time.
But he spoke of the matter to his wife. "Here is another case of arrest for poor Peter Junior"s murder, Mary. The man claims to be Peter Junior himself, but as he registered at the hotel under an a.s.sumed name it is likely to be only another attempt to get the reward money by some detective. It was very unwise for the Elder to make it so large a sum."
"It can"t be. Peter Junior would never be so cruel as to stay away all this time, if he were alive, no matter how deeply he may have quarreled with his father. I believe they both went over the bluff and are both dead."
"It stands to reason that one or the other body would have been found in that case. One might be lost, but hardly both. The search was very thorough, even down to the mill race ten miles below."
"The current is so swift there, they might have been carried over the race, and on, before the search began. I think so, although no one else seems to."
"I wish the Elder would remove that temptation of the reward. It is only an inducement to crime. Time alone will solve the mystery, and as long as he continues to brood over it, he will go on failing in health. It"s coming to an obsession with him to live to see Richard Kildene hung, and some one will have to swing for it if he has his way. Now he will return and find this man in jail, and will bend every effort, and give all his thought toward getting him convicted."
"But I thought you said they do not hang in this state."
"True--true. But imprisonment for life is--worse. I"m thinking of what the Elder would like could he have his way."
"Bertrand--I believe the Elder is sure the man will be found and that it will kill his wife, when she comes to know that Peter Junior was murdered, and that is why he took her to Scotland. She told me she was sure her son was there, or would go to see his great aunts there, and that is why she consented to go--but I"m sure the Elder wished to get her out of the way."
"Strange--strange," said Bertrand. "After all, it is better to forgive. No one knows what transpired, and Richard is the real sufferer."
"Do you suppose he"ll leave Hester there, Bertrand?"
"I hardly think she would be left, but it is impossible to tell. A son"s loss is more than any other--to a mother."
"Do you think so, Bertrand? It would be hardest of all to lose a husband, and the Elder has failed so much since Peter Junior"s death."
"Peter Junior seems to be the only one who has escaped suffering in this tragedy. Remorse in Richard"s case, and stubborn anger in the Elder"s--they are emotions that take large toll out of a man"s vitality. If ever Richard is found, he will not be the young man we knew."
"Unless he is innocent. All this may have been an accident."
"Then why is he staying in hiding?"
"He may have felt there was no way to prove his innocence."
"Well, there is another reason why the Elder should withdraw his offer of a reward, and when he comes back, I mean to try what can be done once more. Everything would have to be circ.u.mstantial. He will have a hard time to prove his nephew"s guilt."
"I can"t see why he should try to prove it. It must have been an accident--at the last. Of course it might have been begun in anger, in a moment of misunderstanding, but the nature of the boys would go to show that it never could have been done intentionally. It is impossible."
CHAPTER x.x.x
THE ARGUMENT
"Mr. Ballard, either my son was murdered, or he was a murderer. The crime falls upon us, and the disgrace of it, no matter how you look at it." The Elder sat in the back room at the bank, where his friend had been arguing with him to withdraw the offer of a reward for the arrest. "It"s too late, now--too late. The man"s found and he claims to be my son. You"re a kindly man, Mr. Ballard, but a blind one."
Bertrand drew his chair closer to the Elder"s, as if by so doing he might establish a friendlier thought in the man"s heart. "Blind?
Blind, Elder Craigmile?"
"I say blind. I see. I see it all." The Elder rose and paced the floor. "The boys fought, there on the bluff, and sought to kill each other, and for the same cause that has wrought most of the evil in the world. Over the love of a woman they fought. Peter carried a blackthorn stick that ought never to have been in my house--you know, for you brought it to me--and struck his cousin with it, and at the same instant was pushed over the brink, as Richard intended."
"How do you know that Richard was not pushed over? How do you know that he did not fall over with his cousin? How can you dare work for a man"s conviction on such slight evidence?"
"How do I know? Although you would favor that--that--although--" The Elder paused and struggled for control, then sat weakly down and took up the argument again with trembling voice. "Mr. Ballard, I would spare you--much of this matter which has been brought to my knowledge--but I cannot--because it must come out at the trial. It was over your little daughter, Betty, that they fought. She has known all these years that Richard Kildene murdered her lover."
"Elder--Elder! Your brooding has unbalanced your mind."
"Wait, my friend. This falls on you with but half the burden that I have borne. My son was no murderer. Richard Kildene is not only a murderer, but a coward. He went to your daughter while we were dragging the river for my poor boy"s body, and told her he had murdered her lover; that he pushed him over the bluff and that he intended to do so. Now he adds to his crime--by--coming here--and pretending--to be--my son. He shall hang. He shall hang. If he does not, there is no justice in heaven." The Elder looked up and shook his hand above his head as if he defied the whole heavenly host.
Bertrand Ballard sat for a moment stunned. Such a preposterous turn was beyond his comprehension. Strangely enough his first thought was a mere contradiction, and he said: "Men are not hung in this state. You will not have your wish." He leaned forward, with his elbows on the great table and his head in his hands; then, without looking up, he said: "Go on. Go on. How did you come by this astounding information?
Was it from Betty?"
"Then may he be shut in the blackest dungeon for the rest of his life.
No, it was not from Betty. Never. She has kept this terrible secret well. I have not seen your daughter--not--since--since this was told me. It has been known to the detective and to my attorney, Milton Hibbard, for two years, and to me for one year--just before I offered the increased reward to which you so object. I had reason."
"Then it is as I thought. Your offer of ten thousand dollars reward has incited the crime of attempting to convict an innocent man. Again I ask you, how did you come by this astounding information?"
"By the word of an eyewitness. Sit still, Mr. Ballard, until you hear the whole; then blame me if you can. A few years ago you had a Swede working for you in your garden. You boarded him. He slept in a little room over your summer kitchen; do you remember?"
"Yes."