Chapter XII: A Door Is Opened

As Mr. Converse entered the library he stopped short almost on the threshold, conscious of a sudden shock. Could that nonchalant, self-possessed girl be the innocent--

Before the thought was complete his feelings took a pendulum sweep backward: from extreme surprise and acute disappointment that his sympathies had been wasted, to admiration and pity, and a satisfying conviction that, after all, his sympathies were greatly needed. He bent upon her a keener, more discerning look, and all at once comprehended that a wealth of profound and conflicting emotions were possible behind the marble exterior presented to him.

Joyce cast at him a look of such dumb terror that for once he was at a complete loss how to proceed. He realized the many and varied potentialities for evil with which her imagination must have invested him--what a terrible monster he must appear to her--and felt keenly the disadvantage of his vocal infirmity, anticipating that it would further prejudice him in her estimation. Yet he must speak, and she must be made to hear him.

With the revulsion of feeling he advanced into the room. And as he did so he perceived a tremor pass over the slight frame; she groped an instant, blindly, with her left hand until it found and interlocked with her brother's.

The Doctor was seated in the Morris chair, while his sister stood close by his right side. Now that she required its support, his stronger masculine nature had asserted itself, and, save for the haggard visage, Doctor Westbrook was quite his natural self again. Whatever had passed between them during the last half-hour, they had undoubtedly arrived at an agreement to brave out the present interview together.

She was robed in a simple morning-gown of a dead and dull black. The hint of fragrance, which seemed an aura of her presence, had apparently lost its interest for Mr. Converse.

"Miss Westbrook," he began, and beheld his fears justified by another shudder at the first sound of his sibilant voice. But he went on as evenly and as gently as his vocal defect would permit. "Miss Westbrook, I have asked for this interview out of a consideration for you and your family, which the Doctor understands, I believe, and which you will understand also, no doubt before we are through. As a detective I am often called upon to do things that are distasteful to myself, and this is not the least disagreeable task I have ever found before me. But I can't shirk a plain duty, Miss Westbrook; so if I attempt to perform that plain duty in a manner that will be the least distressing to yourself, may I count upon your coöperation and approval?"

Without altering her attitude, or the slightest change in her pale countenance, she slowly and silently inclined her head the merest trifle in acquiescence.

"Very good, Miss Westbrook; thank you. You make it lighter for all of us. Now, may I suggest that you be seated? At best we shall be engaged for some time."

Her left hand was still clasped in her brother's; but further than to indicate with her free hand a chair in which Mr. Converse was at liberty to seat himself if he chose, she made no response. He took advantage of the opportunity to the extent of resting one knee on the chair-seat and his elbows on the back--the straight-backed chair which had stood by the veranda window.

"Now then, Miss Westbrook, let us go back to the evening of November fourth," Converse proceeded. He found no encouragement in her frozen attitude; but his own manner could have been no more cheerful, yet tempered by a sense of his surroundings and the occasion, nor have betrayed more of an easy confidence, had he known that the locked lips were to open, and by a word exorcise the spell of mystery which held them all. "During the evening of November fourth--Wednesday--were you not in the Nettleton Building?"

So promptly that it would have staggered a man less used to surprises, came the reply:

"I refuse to answer."

Even the Captain was taken aback, although it was not in his immobile features to yield a hint of the fact. As he put the question, he noted a convulsive tightening of the hand that still clasped the Doctor's; but the soft eyes did not waver nor the beautiful face alter its expression. The words were faintly spoken; nevertheless they were vibrant with a determined and set purpose, and Converse was overwhelmed with that sense of helpless impatience which is apt to assail one in the face of mistaken obstinacy.

"This is very unfortunate," he observed with deepened gravity. "Miss Westbrook, I would not presume to advise you, but you are wrong, wrong--and how can I convince you?" He regarded the still figure, as unresponsive as a waxen image. No assistance there. He glanced at Doctor Westbrook, only to meet another pair of eyes showing an unalterable purpose.

"This conversation might as well end here and now," he at length concluded, addressing the Doctor; and added with pointed deliberation, "You know what that means."

Doctor Westbrook glanced at the silent, motionless figure beside him, and moved uneasily. Was is possible that the uncompromising attitude of this mere girl, and it alone, was responsible for the deadlock? To a certain extent she was herself a mystery, an enigma, and what with her immobility and silence, her dimness of outline in the darkened library, she was as intangible and inscrutable as Paquita. Out of the shadow that marked where she stood the violet eyes glowed like two stars, the beautiful features, surrounded by their halo of ebon hair, now only a denser shadow, loomed as pallid as death, and the Captain was irritatingly aware of his inability so far to grasp at anything definite by which to frame his speech. At any rate, whether or no she was the controlling spirit, it would seem the Doctor endeavored to temporize.

"Mr. Converse," he began presently, "you have called our attention to the fact that you are simply performing a duty,--that you are doing so with a delicate consideration for our feelings which perhaps we don't deserve,--but I assure you, sir, we do appreciate your tact and thoughtfulness, and it must appear that we are making a poor return for such kindness. But consider this: there are possible issues to this crisis that may prove disastrous to persons entirely unblameworthy. Can you not imagine the possibility of a situation in which we should be compelled to move with the utmost caution, wherein we must rely solely upon our own judgment? Good God!" he suddenly exploded, "think of Joyce--my sister--think of a fair young girl being entangled in anything so damnable!"

Converse cast a covert glance at the girl, to note the effect of this outburst; but her manner revealed not the slightest alteration. It was plain that such determination would betray nothing by either a word or sign. But why? Speculation upon this question led swiftly and surely to the darkest possibilities--nay, probabilities--that might elucidate her conduct.

He made another effort.

"If you would but dismiss the idea that I am an enemy--"

"Ah," interrupted the Doctor, quickly; "I understand your impersonal attitude exactly, Mr. Converse. You are not an enemy. If the way were clear before you to do so, I think we could count on you as a trustworthy friend to extricate us from our difficulties. On the other hand--well, to be brief, it is this impersonal attitude which may prove inimical to us. I--I--pardon me, I can't be more explicit."

"I might construe such a statement to mean that, were I to perform my duty in the light of actual facts, the operation would be--well, disagreeable to you."

The response was a lifting of the brows and a shrug of the shoulders, which said quite plainly--perhaps more plainly than the Doctor intended,--"I cannot prevent your placing any construction upon my words you may see fit."

"If you will permit the observation, Doctor," Converse remarked, dryly, "your words are contradictory to come from a man entirely innocent."

A flash from the physician's eyes gave warning of an angry rejoinder; but another unconscious movement of the hand which held his so tightly brought his sister sharply to mind, it would seem, and the words, when uttered, betrayed a note of helplessness.

"My God!" he exclaimed, "don't I know it? But what do mere denials amount to in the face of this suspicion?"

"Yet there is something within your knowledge, and arising out of these crimes, which you unequivocally refuse to tell me."

"I have nothing to say, Mr. Converse."

"Not even in the face of evidence seriously compromising Miss Westbrook?"

Of a sudden the alert Captain became aware of a change in the statue-like girl. It was slight, indefinable--telepathic rather than openly perceptible,--but he fancied the fixed look with which she regarded him assumed an added intentness at this stage. He even felt for one brief instant that she meant to speak; but if such had been her purpose, a second thought prevailed, and she remained motionless and silent. He turned abruptly to her.

"Miss Westbrook," said he, "is it of any use for me to make another appeal to you?"

Although he waited for an answer, she made no sign that would indicate she had heard. With an air of finality, he presently pushed back the chair and stood upright.

"Well," he went on, "after the course this talk has taken there remains but one thing for me to do. I regret that you feel you would be conferring a favor instead of accepting an opportunity--which happens to be the situation; but I--"

Doctor Westbrook raised a protesting hand.

"Just a moment," he interposed with anxious haste. "You assert that my sister's situation is critical." Again the Captain had the feeling that Miss Westbrook's impassivity cloaked a strained attention; but, as before, if the emotion existed, her frozen attitude yielded no token of it. Was she anxious for an expression of his views upon this point? "Suppose," the Doctor continued, "the least admission on our part would lead to complications which would hopelessly involve her, is it our place to speak? If the situation is such that a full explanation cannot be given,--tell me, is not our position onerous--unbearable? ... Now then, Mr. Converse, be candid," he concluded, with an abrupt, confidential dropping of his voice, "is it not the truth that you would not have asked her if she was present that evening, if you could prove that she was? And tell me, what has all this to do with last night's crime?"

For a moment Converse felt a tide of anger rising within him; he all at once realized that, as an officer of the law--as a mere machine operating in a fixed routine--he had made a mistake; he had allowed a generous impulse to interpose and thwart an end of great importance; and now, when it was too late, he must make an effort to remedy his error. Without the least warning, he fastened his compelling, probing regard full upon Joyce. It was a look that had made hardened criminals tremble, and at last the girl's impassiveness gave way. With an involuntary clutching of the clasped hand she shrank closer to her brother. For a moment she returned the look; then her glance wavered--fell; the sooty lashes swept her cheeks, where two spots of color began slowly to appear, and the statue was quickened into life.

"And would you really care to know, Miss Westbrook, what I think of it?" he asked, with a significant quietness that startled her into speech.

"Yes--I--I--" she faltered and stopped. She looked wildly from the Doctor to the terrible figure confronting her; then with a mighty effort she regained control of herself, and concluded in a voice firmer, but very low, "It is of no interest to me."

Mr. Converse acknowledged the reply with a bow of exaggerated deference.

"You overlook Mr. Clay Fairchild," he remarked, dryly.

Another tightening of the clasped hands, and another tremor through the girl's slight frame, were the sole responses to this final chance shot, until Doctor Westbrook's voice broke in.

"Pardon me, I have not," said he. "But I wasn't aware that he was under consideration."

"Perhaps not," was the crisp retort, "openly. He is an important factor, however." His glance swerved to Joyce with a light that asked quite plainly, "Is he not?"

But only the Doctor replied. "Indeed?" with ingenuous surprise. "But he seems quite effectually to have effaced himself."

Converse shot another glance at Joyce.

"Well, as for that," he said, slowly, "I have reason to believe that I might have laid hands upon him, if I had been in this neighborhood last night between--h-m-m-m--between ten and twelve o'clock." If he expected this avowal of what he imagined the circumstances to be to make any impression upon the girl he was disappointed; for she was again the frozen image, not to be swayed by any influence under his control.

But not so the Doctor. He looked at the detective, with knitted brow, for a moment; then, after a hasty side-glance at his sister, "I see," he said; "I am merely a peg upon which to hang references to things of which I am entirely ignorant. Come, Mr. Converse, you expect frankness from us; be open yourself."

The Captain shrugged his shoulders. "My attempt at frankness met with rather a cool reception"--with some sarcasm--"but I will adopt your suggestion, and have done.... Miss Westbrook, at what time last night did you leave Mrs. Farquier's?" The abruptness of the address startled her again momentarily; but somewhat to Mr. Converse's surprise, she answered almost at once.

Her recital agreed in all essentials with what Mr. Converse already knew of her movements. She had heard the shots, but had been unable to locate them; and it was but a minute or two thereafter that she had come upon her father's stark body in the library.

At this juncture a knock sounded upon the library door.

"Allow me," the Captain interposed, quickly, addressing the Doctor; "I think it is one of my men."

He opened the door, disclosing McCaleb, who appeared much less ornate in the more sober garments of the ordinary citizen.

"Wait just outside the door until I call you, Mac," said Converse, in an aside clearly audible to the Doctor and Joyce; "I think I shall need you in a minute." He unceremoniously closed the door in the young man's face.

"Now then, Miss Westbrook," he resumed, turning again to her, "will you tell me what you were doing on the premises--in the yard--between ten and twelve o'clock at night?"

"See here, Mr. Converse," the Doctor broke in, rather sharply; "I don't know what this is all about, but I protest against the personal nature of this question. My sister is neither on the witness-stand nor accused--"

With a single imperative gesture, the speaker was silenced.

"Tell me, Miss Westbrook, were you alone?"

The lovely, subdued eyes flashed forth a startled look; but Joyce made no reply.

"Miss Westbrook, I will go further in offering you this opportunity: I will say that I know you were not alone. Come, now, who was with you?"

Still silence. The mention of Fairchild's name had produced no effect; it might be well to try another.

"Was it Mr. Lynden?"

The girl responded precisely as she had to the first question, the same words uttered in the same tone:

"I refuse to answer."

Another shrug of the shoulders signalized the end of Mr. Converse's forbearance. He strode hastily to the door, but turned and paused with his hand upon the handle.

Was it a stifled cry that had reached his ears? The girl was now standing with the back of her free hand pressed tightly to her lips, and in her eyes was a look of despair that smote him to the heart. Great heavens, what did she mean? Was man ever confronted by such perverseness, or beset by a more irritating perplexity! Why did she not speak?

"I make one more appeal to you," he said, after regarding her a moment. "Do not misconstrue this. If you do not speak, my alternative is to arrest you. Do you comprehend that? When I open this door, it will be to introduce an officer who will become your custodian. Will you not believe that my motives in thus appealing to you are prompted solely by a desire to spare you the distress that will be inflicted if you do not open your lips? Consider before you answer; will you give me your confidence? Shall the door remain closed--or shall I open it?"

For one brief moment Joyce had all the appearance of some hunted thing hopelessly cornered. She looked wildly from the officer to her brother, who sat with set and rigid features, and back to the officer again. All at once, it seemed, her resolution was made; or, if she had hesitated, strength was given her to maintain her purpose. Her agitation vanished, and she returned Mr. Converse's look fearlessly and half defiantly.

"I have nothing to confide," was the response, uttered with firmness and the quiet of a determination not to be swayed.

With a bow, Converse threw open the door.

"Come in, McCaleb," he said, his manner now brisk and business-like; then, turning to the Doctor: "This man is an officer who, for the present, will be responsible for Miss Westbrook's movements. Now then, Doctor, hear my final word. I have made one mistake in allowing consideration for your sister--young and inexperienced as she is--to come between me and my duty. I am going to assume the risk again by offering you another opportunity. I see that you feel the matter keenly, but this issue of our conference is the fault of you two. Still, it is terrible thus to thrust the stigma of such a crime upon a mere girl--little short of the crime itself,--and in the hope that I can soon clear up this fog of mystery, I am going to be guilty of a dereliction. Give me your word that Miss Westbrook will neither attempt to leave the house nor communicate with anybody outside, without first reporting to McCaleb, and for the present--until it becomes unavoidable to act otherwise--she may remain here."

With a sudden movement, Doctor Westbrook released Joyce's hand, and pressed his own hand to his brow.

"Good God!" he groaned, "this is intolerable. Joyce--dear sister--tell--"

But he got no further. The final word acted like the touch that releases a taut spring, and she fairly precipitated herself upon him, sending one look of such utter terror and desperation at Mr. Converse that his perplexity deepened into blank amazement, and at the same time she clapped a hand over her brother's mouth.

"You swore you would not," she whispered, almost fiercely. "Mobley, you swore. If they were to tear me limb from limb before your eyes I would not consent to have you tell."

The Doctor's head dropped, and with a gentle movement he took the small hand from out his beard, kissed it tenderly, and sat abstractedly caressing it.

Joyce's lovely countenance grew beatific in its exultation.

"Converse," despairingly, "I give you my word."

"Unless you or the young lady cause it to be otherwise," said the Captain, softly, "the matter may remain private among us four--unless, of course," he supplemented, "the next day or two fails to reveal something substantial to lay before the District Attorney. I do not extend any false hopes. The seriousness of Miss Westbrook's position can scarcely be magnified.... McCaleb, you have heard; act accordingly until you receive other instructions."

"May my sister retire?" asked Doctor Westbrook.

"Certainly. Her movements are not to be restricted or spied upon, or interfered with in any manner or degree--within the house, of course. You understand this, Mac."

The young man nodded. His manner was extremely sober; it was quite patent that he was not insusceptible to the beauty of his charge.

Joyce started slowly toward the door, close by which McCaleb yet stood. She was probably half-way between the group of two--her brother, old and haggard in the chair, the other as menacing and inexorable as Fate,--and the younger man who looked at her with frank pity, when she paused and turned to her brother. There was a faint smile upon her lips; her eyes were soft, and it appeared as if she were about to speak. But before any one of the three could offer her the least assistance, she sank quietly to the floor, unconscious.