The Carleton Case Part 20

Helmar rose also. "Of course not," he said, "why didn't you say so sooner? Let's go right in."

Half way down the hall, Henry Carleton's valet approached them, a letter in his outstretched hand. "For you, Mr. Vaughan," he said.

Vaughan, taking the letter, hastily opened it, and read its contents. A puzzled frown wrinkled his forehead. "H'm," he muttered, "that's queer,"

and as they entered the parlor, he spoke at once to his fiancee. "Rose,"

he said, "I'm sorry, but everything about to-night seems to be fated.

First our guests disappoint us, and now I'm called away myself. But only for an hour. I'll be back just as soon as I can."

The girl's face clouded. "Oh, no, Arthur," she cried, "not to-night. You oughtn't to go to-night, no matter who it is. Tell them to wait--"

He broke in upon her. "I'm sorry, my dear," he said gravely, "but this is something that can't be delayed. I must go at once."

There was no misunderstanding his tone. "All right, then, Arthur," she said, "but be back as soon as you can," and nodding, he left the room.

The waiting motor made short work of the distance between The Birches and Colonel Graham's home; and a short half hour later Vaughan was ushered across the threshold of the big drawing-room. Marjory Graham came forward to meet him, and then, as she led the way across the room, he stared in surprise at the sight of the second figure that rose from the seat by the open fire. Yet Marjory Graham seemed to see nothing unusual in the situation. "I think you know Mrs. Satterlee, Arthur," she said, and Vaughan, his wonderment increasing every moment, bowed, and took his seat.

The lights were turned low; only the firelight flickered and gleamed about the room. Marjory Graham reached out and took the woman's hand in hers. "Tell him, Jeanne," she said.

There followed a pause, and then at last, slowly and with evident effort, Jeanne Satterlee began to speak. "Mr. Vaughan," she said, "the fewer words the better. You've made up your mind to tell the story of that night. If it's going to be told, it must be the true one. I've promised Jack to tell what I know to Miss Graham and to you. I've already told her."

She paused, while Vaughan sat waiting breathlessly, his eyes fixed upon her face. And then she spoke again. "There's no need to ask you," she went on, "whether you remember all that happened on that night. You remember how you were all together at The Birches; how Jack said he was going to bed early; how you and Miss Rose sat out on the piazza; how Mr.

Carleton played billiards with Jim c.u.mmings, and then how he came down and told you he was going for a walk about the grounds. You remember every bit of that, of course?"

Vaughan a.s.sented silently. "And then," she went on, "you went for a stroll yourself; you came to the rock opposite the cottage, and saw Tom when he came in. You heard the noise; you saw some one run out of the house, with Tom after him; and then you saw Tom fall, and a minute afterward you saw Jack bending over him, with Tom's head on his knee."

Again she stopped for his a.s.sent; again Vaughan nodded; and once more she continued, "You thought it was Jack who was in my room; you thought it was Jack who ran from the cottage. And no one could blame you, Mr.

Vaughan, for what you thought. But I'm going to tell you the true story of that night--to my shame. Jack Carleton wasn't in the cottage; there was never anything between Jack and me--though I tried--never mind, I've told Miss Graham--but there was some one in my room that night, and that man was the father of the girl whom you are going to marry."

Vaughan's heart seemed to stop beating; there came a ringing in his ears; his voice, when he spoke, sounded faint and far-away. "_Henry_ Carleton?" he gasped.

Jeanne Satterlee bowed her head. "I said the fewer words the better,"

she went on. "It wasn't the first time. Things had been--that way--for nearly two years."

Vaughan's face flushed with anger. "Henry Carleton!" he cried again, "it's impossible. How dare you say it?"

Jeanne Satterlee's tone did not alter, its very calmness carrying conviction with it. "It's true," she said, "every word. And more, Mr.

Vaughan, that you will never know. It's all true. Jack knows--"

Vaughan started at the name. "But how did Jack--" he began. She broke in upon him. "Jack suspected," she answered. "He saw me at the cottage that afternoon. He talked with Tom. He put two and two together. And you know what he thinks of his uncle, anyway. So he came down to the cottage that evening, early. He was hidden outside. And after Henry Carleton got away--he struck Tom from behind to do it--then Jack came down into the drive to help Tom--and you had to see him. And that was all."

Vaughan sat as if stunned. "My G.o.d!" he muttered, under his breath, "my G.o.d!"

Once more Mrs. Satterlee broke the silence. "And then," she said, "you went to Henry Carleton, and told him what you thought you knew. And he sat there, and listened to you telling him that Jack did the murder. He came to the cottage that night. He was furious. He'd have killed you, I truly believe, if he'd dared. He threatened me, even. He told me I must stick to the story that Jack was in my rooms, and murdered Tom; and that he'd see that no harm came to Jack; that money could do anything; that he'd get Jack out of the country; and that it would be better for every one; and I was frightened--and promised. And then--"

Gradually, as she talked, the whole sequence of events had been shaping in Vaughan's brain. And now, all at once, and more to himself than to the others, he voiced his thoughts in words. "I see; I see;" he cried; "that was why I could never seem to believe it. Poor Jack! Poor Jack!

Oh, what a fool I've been!"

Again he was silent, and she concluded. "And then Jack came to me--I did all this for him--don't think it was easy for me. And I told Henry to-night, before I came here. He was going in town, and came to the cottage first. And I told him--with a loaded pistol in my hand. He wouldn't believe me at first. He never knew that I--that I was fond of Jack--and when he realized I was in earnest, I thought he was going out of his mind. I never saw a man so changed. He said I'd ruined him--ruined his whole life--and then, all at once, he put his hand to his head, and stopped right in the middle of what he was saying, and turned, and went away. And I came here, to keep my promise. I told Jack to come here at eight; he ought to be here now."

Vaughan pulled out his watch. "Quarter past," he said, "I suppose he'll be here soon."

Marjory Graham turned to him. "Mr. Carleton lied to me, Arthur," she said, "tried to make me believe awful things of Jack. And I knew--I knew all the time that he lied. Think of it. Think how Jack--"

Vaughan nodded, yet even on the instant another thought flashed through his mind. "But, Rose!" he cried, "I never thought. Rose! Good G.o.d!"

"I know; I know;" cried the girl, "I've been thinking about her. You mustn't speak now, Arthur. Jack didn't, even before he knew. And you mustn't. It would kill Rose."

Vaughan drew a long breath. "Marjory--" he began, but the sentence was never finished. A quick step sounded in the hall outside, and Jack Carleton came hastily into the room. In an instant, as if unmindful of all else, Marjory Graham had risen, and crossed the room, her face transfigured--"Oh, Jack!" she cried, "Jack!"

For a moment he drew her to him; then, without speaking, his arm still around her, came forward to meet the others. Vaughan, too, had risen, and stood with outstretched hand. "Jack," he said, "I never knew--I never dreamed--can you forgive me?"

In answer Carleton took his friend's hand in his, yet without uttering a word. His face was haggard, his eyes wild. Jeanne Satterlee started to her feet. "What is it, Jack?" she cried, "something's wrong."

Carleton looked from one to the other, moistening his lips with his tongue before at last the words would come. "It's Henry," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "he's dead. At the station. He fell in front of the train. He slipped--an accident--"

For an instant there fell silence--utter; horror-stricken. And then Vaughan's eyes sought Carleton's face. He spoke in a tone scarcely above a whisper. "An accident--" he said.

Carleton met his gaze squarely. The silence deepened; and then, "An accident," he said again, "he must have thought of Rose--and the Carleton name. And Rose must never know."

a.s.sentingly Vaughan bowed his head; then stood, gazing straight before him, a dawning horror in his eyes. Jeanne Satterlee sank back in her chair, covering her face with her hands. Drawing a long breath, Carleton seemed again to come to himself. Very gently he drew Marjory closer to his side. Neither spoke, for no words were needed. Her glance told him all that he wished to know; he bent over her, and their lips met.

THE END