The Eye of Dread Part 45

"Did I? I may have said so."

"Staying at the hotel, I believe?"

"Yes, and here we are." Harry King stood an instant--undecided.

Certain things he wished to know, but had not the courage to ask--not on the street--but maybe seated on the veranda he could ask this outsider, in a casual way. "Drop in with me and have a smoke."

"I will, thank you. I often run in,--in the way of business,--but I haven't tried it as a stopping place. Meals pretty good?"

"Very good." They took seats at the end of the piazza where Harry King led the way. The sun was now low, but the air was still warm enough for comfort, and no one was there but themselves, for it lacked an hour to the return of the omnibus and the arrival of the usual loafers who congregated at that time.

"You've made a good many acquaintances since you came, no doubt?"

"Well--a good many--yes."

"Know the Craigmiles?"

"The Craigmiles? There's no one there to know--now--but the Elder. Oh, his wife, of course, but she stays at home so close no one ever sees her. They're away now, if you want to see them."

"And she never goes out--you say?"

"Never since I've been in the town. You see, there was a tragedy in the family. Just before I came it happened, and I remember the town was all stirred up about it. Their son was murdered."

Harry King gave a quick start, then gathered himself up in strong control and tilted his chair back against the wall.

"Their son murdered?" he asked. "Tell me about it. All you know."

"That's just it--n.o.body knows anything. They know he was murdered, because he disappeared completely. The young man was called Peter Junior, after his father, of course--and he was the one that was murdered. They found every evidence of it. It was there on the bluff, above the wildest part of the river, where the current is so strong no man could live a minute in it. He would be dashed to death in the flood, even if he were not killed in the fall from the brink, and that young man was pushed over right there."

"How did they know he was pushed over?"

"They knew he was. They found his hat there, and it was b.l.o.o.d.y, as if he had been struck first, and a club there, also b.l.o.o.d.y,--and it is believed he was killed first and then pushed over, for there is the place yet, after three years, where the earth gave way with the weight of something shoved over the edge. Well, would you believe it--that old man has kept the knowledge of it from his wife all this time. She thinks her son quarreled with his father and went off, and that he will surely return some day."

"And no one in the village ever told her?"

"All the town have helped the old Elder to keep it from her. You'd think such a thing impossible, wouldn't you? But it's the truth. The old man bribed the _Mercury_ to keep it out, and, by jiminy, it was done! Here, in a town of this size where every one knows all about every one else's affairs--it was done! It seems people took an especial interest in keeping it from her, yet every one was talking about it, and so I heard all there was to hear. Hallo! What are you doing here?"

This last remark was addressed to Nels Nelson, who appeared just below them and stood peering up at them through the veranda railing.

"I yust vaiting for Meestair Stiles. He tol' me vait for heem here."

"Mr. Stiles? Who's he?"

"Dere he coomin'."

As he spoke G. B. Stiles came through the hotel door and walked gravely up to them. Something in his manner, and in the expectant, watchful eye of the Swede, caused them both to rise. At the same moment, Kellar, the sheriff, came up the front steps and approached them, and placing his hand on Harry King's shoulder, drew from his pocket a pair of handcuffs.

"Young man, it is my duty to arrest you. Here is my badge--this is quite straight--for the murder of Peter Craigmile, Jr."

The young man neither moved nor spoke for a moment, and as he stood thus the sheriff took him by the arm, and roused him. "Richard Kildene, you are under arrest for the murder of your cousin, Peter Craigmile, Jr."

With a quick, frantic movement, Harry King sprang back and thrust both men violently from him. The red of anger mounted to his hair and throbbed in his temples, then swept back to his heart, and left him with a deathlike pallor.

"Keep back. I'm not Richard Kildene. You have the wrong man. Peter Craigmile was never murdered."

The big Swede leaped the piazza railing and stood close to him, while the sheriff held him pinioned, and Sam Carter drew out his notebook.

"You know me, Mr. Kellar,--stand off, I say. I am Peter Craigmile.

Look at me. Put away those handcuffs. It is I, alive, Peter Craigmile, Jr."

"That's a very clever plea, but it's no go," said G. B. Stiles, and proceeded to fasten the irons on his wrists.

"Yas, I know you dot man keel heem, all right. I hear you tol' some von you keel heem," said the Swede, slowly, in suppressed excitement.

"You're a very good actor, young man,--mighty clever,--but it's no go.

Now you'll walk along with us if you please," said Mr. Kellar.

"But I tell you I don't please. It's a mistake. I am Peter Craigmile, Jr., himself, alive."

"Well, if you are, you'll have a chance to prove it, but evidence is against you. If you are he, why do you come back under an a.s.sumed name during your father's absence? A little hitch there you did not take into consideration."

"I had my reasons--good ones--I--came back to confess to the--un--un--witting--killing of my cousin, Richard." He turned from one to the other, panting as if he had been running a race, and threw out his words impetuously. "I tell you I came here for the very purpose of giving myself up--but you have the wrong man."

By this time a crowd had collected, and the servants were running from their work all over the hotel, while the proprietor stood aloof with staring eyes.

"Here, Mr. Decker, you remember me--Elder Craigmile's son? Some of you must remember me."

But the proprietor only wagged his head. He would not be drawn into the thing. "I have no means of knowing who you are--no more than Adam.

The name you wrote in my book was Harry King."

"I tell you I had my reasons. I meant to wait here until the Elder's--my father's return and--"

"And in the meantime we'll put you in a quiet little apartment, very private, where you can wait, while we look into things a bit."

"You needn't take me through the streets with these things on; I've no intention of running away. Let me go to my room a minute."

"Yes, and put a bullet through your head. I've no intention of running any risks now we have you," said the detective.

"Now you have who? You have no idea whom you have. Take off these shackles until I pay my bill. You have no objection to that, have you?"

They turned into the hotel, and the handcuffs were removed while the young man took out his pocketbook and paid his reckoning. Then he turned to them.

"I must ask you to accompany me to my room while I gather my toilet necessities together." This they did, G. B. Stiles and the sheriff walking one on either side, while the Swede followed at their heels.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, turning suddenly upon the stable man.

"Oh, I yust lookin' a leetle out."

"Mr. Stiles, what does this mean, that you have that man d.o.g.g.i.ng me?"