Out of a Labyrinth
- -
- 100%
- +
"Let's give him a lesson," yelled a burly fellow, who, having neither wife, child, nor relative in Trafton was, according to a peculiar law governing the average human nature, the loudest to clamor for summary vengeance. "Let's set an example, an' teach grave robbers what to look for when they come to Trafton!"
"If we don't settle with him nobody will," chimed in another fellow, who doubtless had good reason for doubting the ability of Trafton justice to deal with law-breakers.
Those who said little were none the less eager to demonstrate their ability to deal with offenders when the opportunity afforded itself. Over and again, in various ways, Trafton had been helplessly victimized, and now, that at last they had traced an outrage to its source, Trafton seized the opportunity to vindicate herself.
A few of the fiercest favored extreme measures, but the majority of the mob seemed united in their choice of feathers and tar, as a means of vengeance.
Seeing how the matter would terminate, I turned to Harris, the younger, who had kept his position near me.
"Ask your father to follow us," I said, "and come with me. They are about to attack the doctor."
We went quietly around and entered the house from the front. The doctor and Jim were still at the open window, and in full view of the mob.
Bethel turned toward us a countenance locked in impenetrable self-possession.
"They mean business," he said, nodding his head toward the garden. "Poor fools."
Then he took his pistols from a chair by the window, putting one in each pocket of his loose sack coat.
"Gentlemen," he said, addressing us, "pray don't bring upon yourselves the enmity of these people by attempting to defend me. I assure you I am in no danger, and can deal with them single-handed. Out of regard for what they have left of my furniture, I will meet them, outside."
And he put one hand upon the window sill and leaped lightly out, followed instantly by young Harris.
"Here's the inconvenience of being in charge of the artillery," growled Jim Long, discontentedly. "I'll stay in the fort till the enemy opens fire," and he drew the aforementioned rifle closer to him, as he squatted upon the window ledge.
The clergyman and myself, without consultation or comment, made our exit as we came, by the open front door, and arrived upon the scene just as Bethel, with his two hands in his coat pockets, halted midway between the house and rear garden to meet the mob that swarmed toward him, yelling, hooting, hissing.
If the doctor had hoped to say anything in his own defense, or even to make himself heard, he was speedily convinced of the futility of such an undertaking. His voice was drowned by their clamor, and as many eager hands were outstretched to seize him in their hard, unfriendly grasp, the doctor lost faith in moral suasion and drew back a step, while he suddenly presented, for their consideration, a brace of five-shooters.
The foremost men recoiled for a moment, and Mr. Harris seized the opportunity. Advancing until he stood almost before Dr. Bethel, he began a conciliatory speech, after the most approved manner.
But it came to an abrupt ending, the men rallied almost instantly, and, drowning the clergyman's voice under a chorus of denunciations and oaths, they once more pressed forward.
"Stand down, parson," cried Jim Long, now leaping from the window, rifle in hand, and coming to the rescue. "Your medicine ain't the kind they're hankerin' after."
"You fall back, Tom Briggs," called Charlie Harris, peremptorily, "we want fair play here," and he drew a pistol from his pocket and took his stand beside Bethel.
At the same moment I drew my own weapons and fell into line.
"Gentlemen," I said, "let's give Dr. Bethel a hearing."
And now occurred what we had hardly anticipated. While some of the foremost of the raiders drew back, others advanced, and we saw that these comers to the front were armed like ourselves.
While we stood thus, for a moment, there was a breathless silence and then Jim Long's deep voice made itself heard.
"Some of you fellers are giving yourselves away," he said, with a sneer. "Now, jest look a here; ye mean bluff, we mean business. An' you chaps as has been supplied with shooters by Tom Briggs and Simmons and Saunders hed better drop the things an' quit."
A moment's silence, then a babel of voices, a clamor and rush.
There was the loud crack of a pistol, accompanied by a fierce oath, – a cry of "stop," uttered in a clear female voice, – then another moment of breathless silence.
Two women were standing in our midst, directly between the doctor and his assailants, and Carnes still grasped the pistol hand of Tom Briggs, while the smoke of the averted charge yet hovered above their heads.
One of the two ladies, who had so suddenly come to the rescue, was Miss Adele Manvers. The other a tall, lithe, beautiful blonde, I had never before seen.
"Friends, neighbors," said this fair stranger, in clear, sweet, but imperious tones, "you have made a terrible mistake. Dr. Bethel was with my father from sunset last night until one hour ago. They were together every moment, at the bedside of Mr. James Kelsey, on the Willoughby road."
Evidently this fair young lady was an authority not to be questioned. The crowd fell back in manifest consternation, even Tom Briggs' tongue was silent.
Miss Manvers stood for a moment casting glances of open contempt upon the crowd. Then, as the doctor's fair champion ceased speaking and, seeing that her words had been effective, drew nearer to Mr. Harris, flushing and paling as if suddenly abashed by her own daring, the brilliant owner of the treasure-ship riches turned to Dr. Bethel.
"Doctor, you are our prisoner," she said, smiling up at him. "Dr. Barnard is half frantic since hearing of this affair, and he commissioned us to bring you to him at once."
Miss Manvers had not as yet noted my presence among the doctor's handful of allies. Wishing to give my eyes and ears full play, I drew back, and, using Jim Long as a screen, kept near the group about the doctor; but out of view. I had noted the sudden flash of his eyes, and the lighting up of his face, when the fair unknown came among us. And now I saw him clasp her hand between his two firm palms and look down into her face, for just a moment, as I could have sworn he had never looked at any other woman.
I saw her eyes meet his for an instant, then she seemed to have withdrawn into herself, and the fearless champion was merged in the modest but self-possessed woman.
I saw the haughty Adele Manvers moving about among the raiders, bestowing a word here and there, and I saw Mr. Harris now making good use of the opportunity these two fair women had made. I noted that Tom Briggs and his loud-voiced associates were among the first to slink away.
Dr. Bethel was reluctant to quit the field, but the advice of Mr. Harris, the earnest entreaty of Miss Manvers, and, more than all the rest, the one pleading look from the eyes of the lovely unknown, prevailed.
"Long," he said, turning to Jim, "here are my keys; will you act as my steward until – my place is restored to quiet?"
Jim nodded comprehensively.
"I'll clear the premises," he said, grimly. "Don't ye have any uneasiness; I'll camp right down here."
"Bethel," said Charlie Harris, "for the sake of the ladies, you had better go at once; those fellows in the rear there are trying to rally their forces."
"Since my going will be a relief to my friends, I consent to retreat," said the besieged doctor, smiling down at the two ladies.
They had driven thither in a dashing little pony phæton, owned by Miss Manvers; and as they moved toward it the heiress said:
"Doctor, you must drive Miss Barnard home; I intend to walk, and enjoy the society of Mr. Harris."
Dr. Bethel and the blonde lady entered the little carriage, and, after a few words addressed to Harris and Miss Manvers, drove away.
The heiress looked about the grounds for a moment, addressed a few gracious words to Harris, the elder, smiled at Jim Long, and then moved away, escorted by the delighted younger Harris.
"Wimmen air – wimmen," said Jim Long, sententiously, leaning upon the rifle, which he still retained, and looking up the road after the receding plumes of Miss Manvers' Gainsborough hat. "You can't never tell where they're goin' ter appear next. It makes a feller feel sort a ornary, though, ter have a couple o' gals sail in an' do more business with a few slick words an' searchin' looks, then he could do with a first-class rifle ter back him. Makes him feel as tho' his inflouence was weakening."
"Jim," I said, ignoring his whimsical complaint, "who was the fair haired lady?"
"Doctor Barnard's only darter, Miss Louise."
"I never saw her before."
"'Spose not; she's been away nigh onto two months, visitin' her father's folks. Old Barnard must a had one of his bad turns this morning, so's he couldn't git out, or he'd never a sent his gal into such a crowd on such an errand. Hullo, what's that Mick o' your'n doin'?"
Glancing in the direction indicated by Jim, I saw that Carnes was engaged in a fisticuff bout with Tom Briggs, and hastened to interpose; not through solicitude for Carnes so much as because I wished to prevent a serious rupture between the two.
"Barney," I said, severely, "you have been drinking too much, I am sure. Stop this ruffianism at once."
"Is it ruffianism yer callin' it, ter defend yerself aginst the murtherin' shnake; and ain't it all bekase I hild up his fist fer fear the blundherin' divil ud shoot yees by mishtake! Och, then, didn't I make the illigant rhyme though?"
"You have made yourself very offensive to me, sir, by the part you have taken in this affair," I retorted, with additional sternness; "and so long as you remain in my service you will please to remember that I desire you to avoid the society of loafers and brawlers."
"Meanin' me, I suppose?" snarled Tom Briggs.
"Meaning you in this instance," I retorted, turning away from the two, with all the dignity I could muster for the occasion.
"Bedad, he's got his blood up," muttered Carnes, ruefully, as I walked away. "Old Red Top, shake! Seein' as I'm to be afther howldin' myself above yees in future, I won't mind yer airs jist now, an' if iver I git twenty dollars ahead I'll discharge yon blood an' be me own bye."
Satisfied that this bit of by-play had had the desired effect, and being sure that Carnes would not leave the premises so long as there remained anything or any one likely to prove interesting, I turned my steps townward, musing as I went.
I had made, or so I believed, three discoveries.
Dr. Carl Bethel was the victim of a deep laid plot, of which this affair of the morning was but the beginning.
Dr. Carl Bethel was in love with the fair Miss Barnard.
And the brilliant owner of the treasure-ship jewels was in love with Dr. Carl Bethel.
Whether Bethel was aware of the plot, or suspected his enemies; whether he was really what he seemed, or only playing a part like myself; whether to warn him and so risk bringing myself under suspicion, or to let matters take their natural course and keep a sharp lookout meantime; – were questions which I asked myself again and again, failing to find a satisfactory answer.
On one thing I decided, however. Bethel was a self-reliant man. He was keen and courageous, quite capable of being more than he seemed. He was not a man to be satisfied with half truth. I must give him my fullest confidence or not seek his.
CHAPTER XI.
A CUP OF TEA
It was growing dusk before I saw Carnes again that day. I had remained in my room since dinner, wishing to avoid as much as possible the gossip and natural inquiry that would follow the denouement of the raid against Dr. Bethel, lest some suspicious mind should think me too much interested, considering the part I had taken in the affair.
Carnes came in softly, and wearing upon his face the peculiar knowing grin that we at the office had named his "Fox smile." He held in his hand a folded slip of paper, which he dropped upon my knee, and then drew back, without uttering a comment, to watch my perusal of the same.
It was very brief, simply a penciled line from Dr. Barnard, asking me to tea at seven o'clock. It was almost seven as I read.
"Where did you get this?" I asked, rising with sudden alacrity, and beginning a hurried toilet. "Read it Carnes, if you haven't already; I should have had it earlier."
Carnes took up the note, perused it, and tossed it on the bed, then, seating himself astride a chair, he told his story, watching my progressing toilet with seeming interest the while.
"After my tender parting with Briggs, I sherried over and made myself agreeable to Jim Long, and as I was uncommon respectful and willin' to be harangued, he sort o' took me as handy boy, an' let me stay an help him tidy up Bethel's place. He cleared out the multitude, put the yard into decent order, and then, while he undertook to rehang the doctor's front door, I'm blest if he didn't set me to pilin' up the hay stack. Don't wear that beast of a choker, man, it makes you look like a laughing hyena."
I discarded the condemned choker, swallowed the doubtful compliment, and Carnes continued, lapsing suddenly into broad Irish:
"Prisintly he comes out to the shtack, as I was finishin' the pile, tellin' me as he must have some new hinges to the doctor's door, an' axin would I shtay an' kape house till he wint up fer the iron works. I consinted."
"Yes!" eagerly.
"And I made good use of the opportunity. I wint over that place in a way to break the heart of a jenteel crook, an' I'm satisfied."
"Of what, Carnes?"
"That there's no irregularity about the doctor. If there was a track as big as a fly's foot wouldn't I have hit it? Yes, sir! There ain't no trace of the detective-in-ambush about those premises, Tom Briggs to the contrary notwithstanding. He's a regular articled medical college graduate; there's plenty of correspondence to prove him Dr. Carl Bethel, and nothing to prove him anything else."
"Quite likely," I replied, not yet wholly convinced; "Bethel is not the man to commit himself; he'd be very sure not to leave a trace of his 'true inwardness' about the premises, if he were on a still hunt. How about the note, Carnes?"
"Oh, the note! Well, when Jim came back, about fifteen minutes ago, or so, he gave me that, saying that he called at Dr. Barnard's to ask for instructions from Bethel, and was handed that note to leave for you. Jim says that he forgot to stop with the note; but I'm inclined to think that he wanted to dispose of me and took this way to avoid hurting my feelings."
"Well, I shall be late at Dr. Barnard's, owing to Jim's notions of delicacy," I said, turning away from the mirror and hurriedly brushing my hat. "However, I can explain the tardiness. By-by, Carnes; we will talk this day's business over when I have returned."
Dr. Barnard's pleasant dwelling was scarce five minutes' walk from our hotel; and I was soon making my bow in the presence of the doctor, his wife and daughter, Miss Manvers, and Dr. Bethel.
As I look back upon that evening I remember Louise Barnard as at once the loveliest, the simplest and most charmingly cultivated woman I have ever met. Graceful without art, self-possessed without ostentation, beautiful as a picture, without seeming to have sought by artifices of the toilet to heighten the effect of her statuesque loveliness.
Adele Manvers was also beautiful; no, handsome is the more appropriate word for her; but in face, form, coloring, dress, and manner, a more decided contrast could not have been deliberately planned.
Miss Barnard was the lovely lady; Miss Manvers, the daintily clad, fair woman of fashion.
Miss Barnard was tall, slender, dazzlingly beautiful, with soft fair hair and the features of a Greek goddess. Miss Manvers was a trifle below the medium height, a piquant brunette, plump, shapely, a trifle haughty, and inclined to self-assertion.
Miss Barnard wore soft flowing draperies, and her hair as nature intended it to be worn. Miss Manvers wore another woman's hair in defiance of nature, and her dress was fashion's last conceit, – a "symphony" in silks and ruffles and bewildering draperies.
Miss Barnard was dignified and somewhat reticent. Miss Manvers was talkative and vivacious.
They had learned from Jim Long all that he could tell them concerning the part I had taken in the affair of the morning. The elder physician desired to express his approbation, the younger his gratitude. They had sent for me that I might hear what they had to say on the subject of the grave robbery, and to ask my opinion and advice as to future movements.
All this was communicated to me by the voluble old doctor, who was sitting in an invalid's chair, being as yet but half recovered from his neuralgic attack of the morning. We had met on several occasions, but I had no previous knowledge of his family.
"There will be no further trouble about this matter," said Dr. Barnard, as we sat in the cool, cosy parlor after our late tea. "Our people have known me too long to doubt my word, and my simple statement of my absolute knowledge concerning all of Bethel's movements will put out the last spark of suspicion, so far as he is concerned – but," bringing the palm of his large hand down upon the arm of his chair with slow emphasis, "it won't settle the question next in order. Who are the guilty ones?"
"That I shall make it my business to find out," said Dr. Bethel, seriously, "I confess that at first I was unreasonably angry, at the thought of the suspicion cast upon me. On second thought it was but natural. I am as yet a stranger among you, and Trafton evidently believes it wise to 'consider every man a rogue until he is proved honest.'"
"From what I have heard since coming here," I ventured, "I should say Trafton has some reason for adopting this motto."
"So she has; so she has," broke in the old doctor. "And some one had a reason for attempting to throw suspicion upon Bethel."
"Evidently," said Bethel. "I am puzzled to guess what that reason can be, and I dispose of the theory that would naturally come up first, namely, that it is a plot to destroy the public confidence in me, set on foot by rival doctors, by saying, at the outset, that I don't believe there is a medical man in or about Trafton capable of such a deed. I have all confidence in my professional brethren."
"Why," interposed Miss Manvers, "the sentiment does you honor, Dr. Bethel, but – I should think the other doctors your most natural enemies. Who else could," – she broke off abruptly with an appealing glance at Louise Barnard.
"I think Dr. Bethel is right," said Miss Barnard, in her low, clear contralto. "I cannot think either of our doctors capable of a deed so shameful." Then turning to address me, she added, "You, as a stranger among us, may see the matter in a more reasonable light. How does it look to you?"
"Taking the doctor's innocence as a foregone conclusion," I replied, "it looks as though he had an enemy in Trafton," here I turned my eyes full upon the face of Bethel, "who wished to drive him out of the community by making him unpopular in it."
Bethel's face wore the same expression of mystified candor, his eyes met mine full and frankly, as he replied:
"Taking that as a foregone conclusion, we arrive at the point of starting, Who are the guilty ones? Who are my enemies? I have been uniformly successful in my practice; I have had no differences, disagreement, or disputes with any man in Trafton. Up to to-day I could have sworn I had not an enemy in the town."
"And so could I," said Dr. Barnard. "It's a case for a wiser head than mine."
"It's a case for the detectives," said Dr. Bethel, firmly. "If this unknown foe thinks to drive me from Trafton, he must try other measures. I intend to remain, and to solve this mystery."
A moment's silence followed this decided announcement.
The old doctor nodded his approval, his daughter looked hers.
Miss Manvers sat with eyes fixed upon a spot in the carpet, biting nervously at her full red under lip, and tapping the floor with the toe of her dainty boot.
I had no desire to take a prominent part in the discussion which followed, and became as much as I could a mere observer, but, as after events proved, I made very good use of my eyes that night.
Having exhausted the subject of the grave robbery without arriving at any new conclusions, the social old doctor proposed a game of whist, cards being his chief source of evening pastime. The game was made up, Miss Manvers taking a seat opposite Dr. Barnard, and Dr. Bethel playing with Mrs. Barnard.
After watching their game for a time, Miss Barnard and myself retired to the piano. She sang several songs in a tender contralto, to a soft, well-rendered accompaniment, and as I essayed my thanks and ventured to praise her singing, she lifted her clear eyes to mine, saying, in an undertone:
"Don't think me odd, or too curious – but – will you answer a question – frankly?"
I promised, recklessly; and she ran her pretty fingers over the keys, drowning our voices, for other ears, under the soft ripple of the notes, while she questioned and I replied.
"As a stranger, and an unprejudiced person," she began, "how does this shameful charge against Dr. Bethel appear to you? Judging him as men judge men, do you think he could be guilty of such a deed?"
"Judging him by my limited knowledge of human nature," I replied, "I should say that Dr. Bethel is incapable of baseness in any form. In this case, he is certainly innocent."
She looked thoughtfully down at the white, gliding fingers, and said:
"We have seen so much of Dr. Bethel since he came to Trafton, that he seems quite like an old friend, and because of his being associated with father, it makes his trouble almost a personal matter. I do hope it will end without further complications."
She looked up in my face as if hoping that my judgment accorded with her wish, but I made no reply, finding silence easier and pleasanter than equivocation when dealing with a nature so frank and fearlessly truthful.
The game of whist being at an end, Miss Manvers arose almost immediately and declared it time to go. She had sent her phæton home, her house being less than a quarter of a mile from Dr. Barnard's, and according to the custom of informal Trafton, I promptly offered myself as escort, and was promptly and smilingly accepted.
"What a day this has been," said Miss Manvers, as the doctor's iron gate closed behind us. "Such a terrible charge to bring against Dr. Bethel. Do you really think," and, spite her evident intention to make the question sound common-place, I could detect the genuine anxiety in it, "Do you really think that it will – injure his practice to the extent of – driving him from Trafton?"
"You heard what he said, Miss Manvers."
"Oh, yes – but if I am rightly informed, Dr. Bethel is, in a measure at least, dependent on his practice. Is not this so?"
"You are better advised than I, Miss Manvers; I know so little of Dr. Bethel."
"And yet you were his warmest champion to-day."
"I assure you I felt quite cool," I laughed. "I should have done as much for the merest stranger, under the same circumstances."
"Then you are not prejudiced in his favor?"
"I am not prejudiced at all. I like Bethel."
"And so do I," replied the heiress, heartily, "and I like the spirit he shows in this matter. Is not this – a – exhuming of a subject, a frequent occurrence?"
"Undoubtedly."
"I mean – is it not often done by medical men?"
"By them, or persons employed by them. I suppose so."
She drew a little nearer, lifting an earnest face to meet my gaze.
"Candidly, now," she said, "as if I were not Miss Manvers, but a man to be trusted. Do you think it impossible that Dr. Bethel has done this thing? Viewed from a scientific and practical standpoint, does such a deed appear to you to be the horrible thing some seem to think it?"
What spirit prompted my answer? I never knew just what impelled me, but I looked down into the pretty, upturned face, looked straight into the dark, liquid eyes, and answered: