Harry Bartlett walked from the court a free man, physically, but not mentally. He felt, and others did also, that there was a stain on him—something unexplained, and which he would not, or could not, clear up—the quarrel with Mr. Carwell just before the latter's death. And even to Viola, when, in the seclusion of her home, she asked Harry about it after the trial, or rather, the verdict, he replied:
“I can not tell. It was nothing that concerns you or me or this case. I will never tell.”
And Colonel Ashley, hearing this, pondered over it more and more.
The little green book was all but forgotten during these days, and as for the rods, lines, and reels, Shag arranged them, polished them and laid them out, in hourly expectation of being called on for them, but the call did not come. The colonel was after bigger fish than dwelt in the sea or the rivers that ran into the sea.
It was a week after the rather unsatisfactory verdict of the coroner's jury that Bartlett, out in his “Spanish Omelet,” came most unexpectedly on Captain Gerry Poland, some fifty miles from Lakeside. The captain was in his big machine, and he seemed surprised on meeting Bartlett.
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Then you are—”
“Out, at any rate,” was the somewhat bitter reply. “Where have you been, Gerry?”
“Away. I couldn't stand it around there.”
“I suppose you know they have been looking for you?”
“Looking for me? Oh, you mean Colonel Ashley wanted some information about certain business matters. Well, I didn't see that I owed him any explanation about private matters between Mr. Carwell and myself, so I didn't answer.
“You know what the imputation is, Gerry?” questioned Bartlett, as each man sat in his car, near a lonely stretch of woods.
“I don't know that I do,” was the calm reply.
“Well, Viola has told me of the finding of the papers in her father's private safe. I told her I would see you, if I could, and get an explanation. I did not think I would find you so soon.”
“I didn't know you were looking, Harry, or I would have come to you. What do you mean about papers in a private safe?”
“I mean those which indicate that Mr. Carwell owed you fifteen thousand dollars.”
“Well, he did owe me that,” said the captain calmly.
“He did?” and Harry Bartlett accented the last word.
“Yes, but it was paid. He did not owe me a dollar at the time of his death.”
“That is astonishing news! There is no record of the money having been paid!”
“Nevertheless the debt is canceled,” insisted the captain. “I sent the receipt and the canceled note to LeGrand Blossom.”
“It's false!” cried Bartlett. “He hasn't any such documents!”
For a moment Captain Poland seemed about to leap from his car and attack the man who had given him the lie direct. Then, by an effort, he composed himself, and quietly answered:
“I can prove every word I say, and I will take immediate steps to do so. Mr. Carwell paid me the fifteen thousand dollars on the twenty-third, and I—”
“He paid you the money on the twenty-third? the very day he died?” cried Harry.
“Yes.”
“Then—Why, good heavens, man! Don't you see what this means? It means you were with him just before his death, the same as I was. We're both in the same boat as far as that goes!”
“Yes, I admit that I was with him, and that he paid me the fifteen thousand dollars shortly before his unfortunate end,” returned Captain Poland. “But our meeting was a most peaceful one, even friendly, and—”
“You mean that I—Oh, I see!” and Bartlett's voice was full of meaning. “So that's what you are driving at. Well, two can play at that game. I've learned something, anyhow!”
There was a grinding of gears, and the “Spanish Omelet” shot away. Captain Poland watched it for a moment, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, threw in the clutch and speeded down the road in the opposite direction.
Harry Bartlett lost no time in acquainting Colonel Ashley with the admission made by Captain Poland.
“So the wind is veering,” the detective murmured. “I shall watch him. I wondered why he didn't answer my letters. Now we must see LeGrand Blossom.”
“I'll come with you,” offered Bartlett. “I want to see this thing through now. Shall we tell her?” and he motioned toward Viola's room.
“Not now. We'll see Blossom first.”
If the head clerk was perturbed at all by the visit to the office of Colonel Ashley and Harry Bartlett, he did not disclose it. He welcomed the two visitors, and took them to his private room.
Colonel Ashley went bluntly into the business in hand.
“Have you any papers to show that Captain Poland acknowledged the receipt of the fifteen thousand dollars owed to him by Mr. Carwell?”
“I have not,” was the frank answer. “I have been searching for something to prove that the debt was paid, as I knew of its contraction. It was not canceled as far as I can find.”
“Yet Captain Poland says it was paid,” said Bartlett, “and that he sent you the receipt.”
“I never got it!” insisted LeGrand Blossom. Harry Bartlett and Colonel Ashley looked at one another, and then the detective, with an effort at cheerfulness which he did not feel, said:
“Oh, well, perhaps in the confusion the papers were mislaid. I shall ask Viola about them. Another search must be made.”
And so the two went back to The Haven, not much more enlightened than when they left it.
“'What is to be done?” asked Bartlett. “Blossom says he knows nothing of it.”
“Then I must know a little more about Mr. Blossom,” mentally decided the colonel. “I think I shall shadow him a bit. It may prove fruitful.”
And when two nights later LeGrand Blossom left his boarding place and met a veiled woman at a lonely spot on the beach, Colonel Ashley, who had been waiting as he so well knew how to do, hid himself on the sand behind some sedge grass and began to think that the game was coming his way after all.
“For a man who pretends to be open and above board, his actions are very queer,” mused the detective, as he silently crawled nearer to where LeGrand Blossom and the woman stood talking in low tones on the lonely sands. “I don't see what object he could have in making away with Carwell, and yet it begins to look black for him. Maybe there is more than the fifteen thousand dollars involved. There are so many angles to the case now. I must find out who this woman is.”
And when she spoke in louder tones than usual, drawing from LeGrand Blossom an impatient “Hush!” the colonel had his answer.
“Morocco Kate again! What's her part now?”
The detective was near enough now to hear some of the talk.
“Did you bring it?” asked the woman eagerly.
“Hush! can't you?” snapped LeGrand Blossom.
“Pooh! What's the harm? There's no one in this lonely place! It gives me the creeps. Li'l ole Broadway for mine!”
“You never know who's anywhere these days!” muttered LeGrand. “That infernal detective seems to be all over. He looks at me—oh, he looks at me, and I don't like it.”
Morocco Kate laughed.
“Shut up!” ordered the head clerk. “Do you think this is funny?”
“It used to be,” was the answer. “It used to be funny, when you thought you were in love with me. Oh, it was delicious!”
“I was a bigger fool than I ever thought I'd be!” growled LeGrand Blossom.
“You aren't the only one,” was the consoling answer. “But what I'm interested in now, is—did you bring the mazumma—the cush—the dope?”
“All I could get,” was the answer. “I'm in a devil of a mess, and the estate hasn't been settled yet. I may get some more out of it then, but you'll have to quit bleeding me. I'm through with you, I tell you!”
“But I'm not with you,” was the sharp rejoinder. “I'll take this now, but I'll need more. The game isn't going as it used to. Mind, I'll need more, and soon.”
“You won't get it!”
“Oh, won't I? Well, there are others that'll pay well for what I'm able to tell, I guess. I rather think you'll see me again, Lee. So-long now, but I'll see you again!”
She moved off in the darkness, laughing mirthlessly, and with muttered imprecations LeGrand Blossom turned in the opposite direction, passing within a few feet of the hidden detective. “Blackmail, or is it a division of the spoils?” mused Colonel Ashley. “I've got to find out which. Mr. Blossom, I think I'll have to stick to you until you fall into the sear and yellow leaf.”
The next day as Colonel Ashley sat trying to fix his attention on a passage from Walton, a messenger brought him a note. It was from a young man who, at the colonel's suggestion, had been given a clerical place in the office of the late Horace Carwell. Not even Viola knew that the young man was one of the colonel's aides.
“Blossom just sent out a note to a Miss Minnie Webb,” the screed, which the colonel perused, read. “He's going to meet her in the park at Silver Lake at nine to-night. Thought I'd let you know.”
“I'm glad he did,” mused the detective. “I'll be there.”
And he was, skillfully though not ostentatiously attired as a loitering fisherman of the native type, of which there were many in and about Lakeside.
The fisherman strolled about the little park in the center of which was a body of fresh water known as Silver Lake. It was little more than a pond, and was fed by springs and by drainage. In the park were trees and benches, and it was a favorite trysting spot.
Up and down the paths walked Colonel Ashley, his clothes odorous of fish, and he was beginning to think he might have his trouble for his pains when he saw a woman coming along hesitatingly.
It needed but a second glance to disclose to the trained eyes of the detective that it was none other than Minnie Webb, whom he had met several times at the home of Viola Carwell. Minnie advanced until she came to a certain bench, and she stopped long enough to count and make sure that it was the third from one end of a row, and the seventh from the other end.
“The appointed place,” mused the colonel as he sauntered past. And then, making a detour, he came up in the rear and hid in the bushes back of the bench, where he could hear without being observed—in fact the bench was in such shadow that even the casual passerby in front could not after darkness had fallen tell who occupied it.
Minnie Webb sat in silence, but by the way she fidgeted about the colonel, hearing the shuffling of her feet on the gravel walk, knew she was nervous and impatient.
Then quick footsteps were heard coming along through the little park. They increased in sound, and came to a stop in front of the bench on which sat the shrouded and dark figure of the girl.
“Minnie?”
“LeGrand! Oh, I'm so glad you came! What is it? Why did you send me a note to meet you in this lonely place? I'm so afraid!”
“Afraid? Lonely? Why, it's early evening, and this is a public park,” the man answered in a low voice. “I wanted you to come here as it's the best place for us to talk—where we can't be overheard.”
“But why are you so afraid of being overheard?”
“Oh, things are so mixed up—one can't be too careful. Minnie, we must settle our affairs.”
“Settle them? You mean—?”
“I mean we can't go on this way. I must have you! I've waited long enough. You know I love you—that I've never loved any one else as I've loved you! I can't stand it any longer without you. I have asked you to marry me several times. Each time you have put it off for some reason or other. Now we must settle it. Are you going to marry me or not? No matter what your folks say about me and this Carwell affair. Do you—do you care for me?”
The answer was so low and so muffled that the colonel was glad he could not hear it.
“Confound it all!” he murmured, “that's the worst of this business! I don't mind anything but the love-making. I hate to break in on that!”
There was an eloquent silence, and then LeGrand Blossom said:
“I am very happy, Minnie.”
“And so am I. Now what shall we do?”
“Get married as soon as possible, of course. I've got to wind up matters here, and as soon as I can I may take up an offer that came from Boston. It's a very good one. Would you go there with me?”
“Yes, LeGrand. I'd go anywhere with you—you know that.”
“I'm glad I do, my dear. It may be necessary to go very soon, and—well, we won't stop to say good-bye, either.”
“Why! what do you mean,” and the hidden detective knew that the girl had drawn away from the young man.
“Oh, I mean that we won't bother about the fuss of a farewell-party. I'm not tied to the Carwell business. In fact I'd be glad to chuck it. There's nothing in it any more, since there's no chance for a partnership. We'll just go off by ourselves and be happy—won't we, Minnie?”
“I hope so, LeGrand. But must we go away? Can't you get something else here?”
“I think we must, yes.”
“You haven't had trouble with—with Viola, have you?”
“No. What made you think of that?”
“Oh, it was just a notion. Well, if we have to leave we will. I shall hate to go, however. But, I'll be with you—” and again the words were smothered.
“I wonder what sort of a double-cross game he's playing,” mused the colonel when the two had left the park and he, rather stiff from his position, shuffled to the lonely spot where he had before made a change of garments. Attired as his usual self, he went back to The Haven, and spent rather a restless night.
Minnie Webb was perplexed. She loved LeGrand Blossom—there was no doubt of that—but she did not see why he should have to leave the vicinity of Lakeside where she had lived so many years—at least during the summer months. All her friends and acquaintances were there.
“I wonder if Viola has given him notice to leave since she came into her father's property,” mused Minnie. “I'm going to ask her. He may never get such a good place in Boston as he has here. I'll see if I can't find out why he wants to leave. It can't be just because father does not care much for him.”
So she called on Viola, as she had done often of late, and found her friend sitting silent, and with unseeing eyes staring at the rows of books in the library.
“Oh, Minnie, it was so good of you to come! I'm very glad to see you. Since father went it has been very lonely. You look extremely well.”
“I am well—and—happy. Oh, Viola, you're the first I have told, but—but Mr. Blossom has—asked me to marry him, and—”
“Oh, how lovely! And you've said 'yes!' I can tell that!” and Viola smiled and kissed her friend impulsively. “Tell me all about it!”
“And so it's all settled,” went on Minnie, after much talk and many questions and answers. “Only I'm sorry he's going to leave you.”
“Going to leave me!” exclaimed Viola. Her voice was incredulous.
“Well, I mean going to give up the management of your business. I'm sure you'll miss him.”
“I shall indeed! But I did not know Mr. Blossom was going to leave. He has said nothing to me or Aunt Mary about it. In fact, I—”
“Oh, is there something wrong?” asked Minnie quickly, struck by something in Viola's voice.
“Well, nothing wrong, as far as we know. But—”
“Oh, please tell me!” begged Minnie. “I am sure you are concealing something.”
“Well, I will tell you!” said Viola at last. “I feel that I ought to, as you may hear of it publicly. It concerns fifteen thousand dollars,” and she went into details about the loan, which one party said had been paid, and of which Blossom said there was no record.
“Oh!” gasped Minnie Webb. “Oh, what does it mean?” and, worried and heartsick, lest she should have made a mistake, she sat looking dumbly at Viola...
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