The Hollow of Her Hand

  CHAPTER III

  HETTY CASTLETON

  At half-past six she went to the telephone and called for the morningnewspapers. At the same time she asked that a couple of districtmessenger boys be sent to her room with the least possible delay.The hushed, scared voice of the telephone girl downstairs convincedher that news of the tragedy was abroad; she could imagine the girllooking at the headlines with awed eyes even as she responded tothe call from room 416, and her shudder as she realised that itwas the wife of the dead man speaking.

  One of the night clerks, pale and agitated, came up with the papers.He inquired if there was anything he could do. He tried to tellher that it was a dreadful, sickening thing, but the words stuckin his throat. She stood before him, holding the door open; thelight in the hall fell upon her white, haggard face. He began totremble all over, as if with the ague.

  "Will you be good enough to come in?" she inquired, quite steadily."The newspapers--have they printed the--the details?"

  He entered and she closed the door.

  "Just the--just the news that it was Mr. Wrandall," he repliedjerkily. "Later on they'll have--"

  She interrupted him. "Let me have them, please." Without so muchas a glance at the headlines, she tossed the papers on the table."I have sent for two messenger boys. It is too early to accomplishmuch by telephone, I fear. Will you be so kind as to telephone atseven o'clock or a little after to my apartment?--You will findthe number under Mr. Wrandall's name. Please inform the butler orhis wife that they may expect me by ten o'clock, and that I shallbring a friend with me--a young lady. Kindly have my motor sentto Haffner's garage, and looked after. When the reporters come, asthey will, please say to them that I will see them at my own homeat eleven o'clock."

  "Can't I--we--I should say, don't you want us to send word toyour--your friends, Mrs. Wrandall,--the family, I mean? No troubleto do it, and--"

  "Thank you, no. The messengers will attend to all that is necessary.When my lawyer arrives, please send him here to me. Mr. Carroll.Thank you."

  The clerk, considerably relieved, took his departure in somehaste, and she was left with the morning papers, each of which shescanned rapidly. The details, of course, were meagre. There was adouble-leaded account of her visit to the inn and her extraordinaryreturn to the city. Her chief interest, however, did not rest inthese particulars, but in the speculations of the authorities asto the identity of the mysterious woman--and her whereabouts. Therewas the likelihood that she was not the only one who had encounteredthe girl on the highway or in the neighbourhood of the inn. So faras she could glean from the reports, however, no one had seen thegirl, nor was there the slightest hint offered as to her identity.The papers of the previous afternoon had published lurid accounts ofthe murder, with all of the known details, the name of the victimat that time still being a mystery. She remembered reading thestory with no little interest. The only new feature in the case,therefore, was the identification of Challis Wrandall by his"beautiful wife," and the sensational manner in which it had beenbrought about. With considerable interest she noted the hour thatthese despatches had been received from "special correspondents,"and wondered where the shrewd, lynx-eyed reporters napped whileshe was at the inn. All of the despatches were timed three o'clockand each paper characterised its issue as an "Extra," with ChallisWrandall's name in huge type across as many columns as the dignityof the sheet permitted.

  Not one word of the girl! Absolute mystery!

  Mrs. Wrandall returned to her post beside the bed of the sleeperin the adjoining room. Deliberately she placed the newspapers ona chair near the girl's pillow, and then raised the window shadesto let in the hard grey light of early morn.

  It was not her present intention to arouse the wan stranger, whoslept as one dead. So gentle was her breathing that the watcherstared in some fear at the fair, smooth breast that seemed scarcelyto rise and fall. For a long time she stood beside the bed, lookingdown at the face of the sleeper, a troubled expression in her eyes.

  "I wonder how many times you were seen with him, and where, and bywhom," were the questions that ran in a single strain through hermind. "Where do you come from? Where did you meet him? Who is therethat knows of your acquaintance with him?"

  There was no kindly light in her eyes, nor was there the faintestsign of animosity. Merely the look of one who calculates in theinterest of a well-shaped purpose. She was estimating the difficultiesthat were likely to attend the carrying out of a design as yethalf-formed and quixotic. There were many things to be considered.At present she was working in utter darkness. What would the lightbring forth?

  Her lawyer came in great haste and perturbation at eight o'clock,in response to the letter delivered by one of the messengers.A second letter had gone by like means to her husband's brother,Leslie Wrandall, instructing him to break the news to his fatherand mother and to come to her apartment after he had attended tothe removal of the body to the family home near Washington Square.She made it quite plain that she did not want Challis Wrandall'sbody to lie under the roof that sheltered her.

  His family had resented their marriage. Father, mother and sister hadobjected to her from the beginning, not because she was unworthy,but because her tradespeople ancestry was not so remote as his. Shefound a curious sense of pleasure in returning to them the thingthey prized so highly and surrendered to her with such bitternessof heart. She had not been good enough for him: that was theirattitude. Now she was returning him to them, as one would returnan article that had been tested and found to be worthless. Shewould have no more of him!

  Leslie, three years younger than Challis, did not hold to the viewsthat actuated the remaining members of the family in opposing heras an addition to the rather close corporation known far and wideas "the Wrandalls." He had stood out for her in a rather mild butnone-the-less steadfast manner, blandly informing his mother onmere than one occasion that Sara was quite too good for Challis,any way you looked at it: an attitude which provoked sundry causticreferences to his own lamentable shortcomings in the matter offamily pride and--intelligence.

  He and Sara had been good friends after a fashion. He was a bit ofa snob but not much of a prig. She had the feeling about him thatif he could be weaned away from the family he might stand forsomething fine in the way of character. But he was an adept atstraddling fences, so that he was never fully on one side or theother, no matter which way he leaned.

  He had not been deeply attached to his brother. Their ways werewide apart. All his life he had known Challis for what he was;his heart if not his hand was against him. From the first, he hadregarded Sara's marriage as a bad bargain for her, and toward thelast bluntly told her so. Not once but many times had he taken itupon himself to inform her that she was a fool to put up with allthe beastly things Challis was doing. He characterised as infatuationthe emotion she was prone to call love when they met to discussthe escapades of the careless Challis, for she always went to himwith her troubles. In direct opposition to his counselling, sheinvariably forgave the erring lover who was her husband. Once Lesliehad said to her, in considerable heat: "You act as if you were hismistress, instead of his wife. Mistresses have to forgive; wivesdon't." And she had replied: "Yes, but I'd much rather have him alover than a husband." A remark which Leslie never quite fathomed,being somewhat literal himself.

  Carroll, her lawyer, an elderly man of vast experience, was notsurprised to find her quite calm and reasonable. He had come toknow her very well in the past few years. He had been her father'slawyer up to the time of that excellent tradesman's demise,and he had settled the estate with such unusual despatch that theheirs,--there were many of them,--regarded him as an admirableperson and--kept him busy ever afterward straightening out theirown affairs. Which goes to prove that policy is often better thanhonesty.

  "I quite understand, my dear, that while it is a dreadful shock toyou, you are perfectly reconciled to the--er--to the--well, I mightsay the culmination of his troubles," said Mr. Carroll tactfully,after she had related for
his benefit the story of the night'sadventure, with reservation concerning the girl who slumbered inthe room beyond.

  "Hardly that, Mr. Carroll. Resigned, perhaps. I can't say that Iam reconciled. All my life I shall feel that I have been cheated,"she said.

  He looked up sharply. Something in her tone puzzled him. "Cheated,my dear? Oh, I see. Cheated out of years and years of happiness.I see."

  She bowed her head. Neither spoke for a full minute.

  "It's a horrible thing to say, Sara, but this tragedy does awaywith another and perhaps more unpleasant alternative: the divorceI have been urging you to consider for so long."

  "Yes, we are spared all that," she said. Then she met his gaze witha sudden flash of anger in her eyes. "But I would not have divorcedhim--never. You understood that, didn't you?"

  "You couldn't have gone on for ever, my dear child, enduring the--"

  She stopped him with a sharp exclamation. "Why discuss it now? Letthe past take care of itself, Mr. Carroll. The past came to an endnight before last, so far as I am concerned. I want advice for thefuture, not for the past."

  He drew back, hurt by her manner. She was quick to see that shehad offended him.

  "I beg your pardon, my best of friends," she cried earnestly.

  He smiled. "If you will take PRESENT advice, Sara, you will let goof yourself for a spell and see if tears won't relieve the tensionunder--"

  "Tears!" she cried. "Why should I give way to tears? What have Ito weep for? That man up there in the country? The cold, dead thingthat spent its last living moments without a thought of love forme? Ah, no, my friend; I shed all my tears while he was alive.There are none left to be shed for him now. He exacted his fullshare of them. It was his pleasure to wring them from me becausehe knew I loved him." She leaned forward and spoke slowly, distinctly,so that he would never forget the words. "But listen to me, Mr.Carroll. You also know that I loved him. Can you believe me whenI say to you that I hate that dead thing up there in Burton's Innas no one ever hated before? Can you understand what I mean? I hatethat dead body, Mr. Carroll. I loved the life that was in it. Itwas the life of him that I loved, the warm, appealing life of him.It has gone out. Some one less amiable than I suffered at his handsand--well, that is enough. I hate the dead body she left behindher, Mr. Carroll."

  The lawyer wiped the cool moisture from his brow.

  "I think I understand," he said, but he was filled with wonder."Extraordinary! Ahem! I should say--Ahem! Dear me! Yes, yes--I'venever really thought of it in that light."

  "I dare say you haven't," she said, lying back in the chair as ifsuddenly exhausted.

  "By the way, my dear, have you breakfasted?"

  "No. I hadn't given it a thought. Perhaps it would be better if Ihad some coffee--"

  "I will ring for a waiter," he said, springing to his feet.

  "Not now, please. I have a young friend in the other room--a guestwho arrived last night. She will attend to it when she awakes. Poorthing, it has been dreadfully trying for her."

  "Good heaven, I should think so," said he, with a glance at theclosed door, "Is she asleep?"

  "Yes. I shall not call her until you have gone."

  "May I enquire--"

  "A girl I met recently--an English girl," said she succinctly, andforthwith changed the subject. "There are a few necessary detailsthat must be attended to, Mr. Carroll. That is why I sent for youat this early hour. Mr. Leslie Wrandall will take charge--Ah!" shestraightened up suddenly. "What a farce it is going to be!"

  Half an hour later he departed, to rejoin her at eleven o'clock,when the reporters were to be expected. He was to do the talkingfor her. While he was there, Leslie Wrandall called her up on thetelephone. Hearing but one side of the rather prolonged conversation,he was filled with wonder at the tactful way in which she metand parried the inevitable questions and suggestions coming fromher horror-struck brother-in-law. Without the slightest trace ofoffensiveness in her manner, she gave Leslie to understand thatthe final obsequies must be conducted in the home of his parents,to whom once more her husband belonged, and that she would abide byall arrangements his family elected to make. Mr. Carroll surmisedfrom the trend of conversation that young Wrandall was about toleave for the scene of the tragedy, and that the house was in astate of unspeakable distress. The lawyer smiled rather grimly tohimself as he turned to look out of the window. He did not have tobe told that Challis was the idol of the family, and that, so faras they were concerned, he could do no wrong!

  After his departure, Mrs. Wrandall gently opened the bedroom doorand was surprised to find the girl wide-awake, resting on oneelbow, her staring eyes fastened on the newspaper that topped thepile on the chair.

  Catching sight of Mrs. Wrandall she pointed to the paper with atrembling hand and cried out, in a voice full of horror:

  "Did you place them there for me to read? Who was with you in theother room just now? Was it some one about the--some one lookingfor me? Speak! Please tell me. I heard a man's voice--"

  The other crossed quickly to her side.

  "Don't be alarmed. It was my lawyer. There is nothing to fear--atpresent. Yes, I left the papers there for you to see. You can seewhat a sensation it has caused. Challis Wrandall was one of the mostwidely known men in New York. But I suppose you know that withoutmy telling you."

  The girl sank back with a groan. "My God, what have I done? Whatwill come of it all?"

  "I wish I could answer that question," said the other, takingthe girl's hand in hers. Both were trembling. After an instant'shesitation, she laid her other hand on the dark, dishevelled hairof the wild-eyed creature, who still continued to stare at theheadlines. "I am quite sure they will not look for you here, or inmy home."

  "In your home?"

  "You are to go with me. I have thought it all over. It is the onlyway. Come, I must ask you to pull yourself together. Get up at once,and dress. Here are the things you are to wear." She indicated theorderly pile of garments with a wave of her hand.

  Slowly the girl crept out of bed, confused, bewildered, stunned.

  "Where are my own things? I--I cannot accept these. Pray give memy own--"

  Mrs. Wrandall checked her.

  "You must obey me, if you expect me to help you. Don't you understandthat I have had a--a bereavement? I cannot wear these things now.They are useless to me. But we will speak of all that later on.Come, be quick; I will help you to dress. First, go to the telephoneand ask them to send a waiter to--these rooms. We must have somethingto eat. Please do as I tell you."

  Standing before her benefactress, her fingers fumbling impotentlyat the neck of the night-dress, the girl still continued to staredumbly into the calm, dark eyes before her.

  "You are so good. I--I--"

  "Let me help you," interrupted the other, deliberately settingabout to remove the night-dress. The girl caught it up as it slippedfrom her shoulders, a warm flush suffusing her face, a shamed lookspringing into her eyes.

  "Thank you, I can--get on very well. I only wanted to ask you aquestion. It has been on my mind, waking and sleeping. Can you tellme anything about--do you know his wife?"

  The question was so abrupt, so startling that Mrs. Wrandall uttereda sharp little cry. For a moment she could not reply.

  "I am so sorry, so desperately sorry for her," added the girlplaintively.

  "I know her," the other managed to say with an effort.

  "If I had only known that he had a wife--" began the girl bitterly,almost angrily.

  Mrs. Wrandall grasped her by the arm. "You did not know that hehad a wife?" she cried.

  The girl's eyes flashed with a sudden, fierce fire in their depths.

  "God in heaven, no! I did not know it until--Oh, I can't speak ofit! Why should I tell you about it? Why should you be interestedin hearing it?"

  Mrs. Wrandall drew back and regarded the girl's set, unhappy face.There was a curious light in her eyes that escaped the other'snotice,--a light that would have puzzled her not a little.

&n
bsp; "But you WILL tell me--EVERYTHING--a little later," she said,strangely calm. "Not now, but,--before many hours have passed. Firstof all, you must tell me who you are, where you live,--everythingexcept what happened in Burton's Inn. I don't want to hear that atpresent--perhaps never. Yes, on second thoughts, I will say NEVER!You are never to tell me just what happened up there, or just whatled up to it. Do you understand? Never!"

  The girl stared at her in amazement. "But I--I must tell some one,"she cried vehemently. "I have a right to defend myself--"

  "I am not asking you to defend yourself," said Mrs. Wrandall shortly.Then, as if afraid to remain longer, she rushed from the room. Inthe doorway, she turned for an instant to say: "Do as I told you.Telephone. Dress as quickly as you can." She closed the door swiftly.

  Standing in the centre of the room, her hands clenched until thenails cut the flesh, she said over and over again to herself: "Idon't want to know! I don't want to KNOW!"

  A few minutes later she was critically inspecting the young womanwho came from the bedroom attired in a street dress that neitherof them had ever donned before. The girl, looking fresher, prettierand even younger than when she had seen her last, was in no wayabashed. She seemed to have accepted the garments and the situationin the same spirit of resignation and hope: as if she had decidedto make the most of her slim chance to profit by these amazingcircumstances.

  They sat opposite each other at the little breakfast table.

  "Please pour the coffee," said Mrs. Wrandall. The waiter had leftthe room at her command. The girl's hand shook, but she compliedwithout a word.

  "Now you may tell me who you are and--but wait! You are not to sayanything about what happened at the inn. Guard your words carefully.I am not asking for a confession. I do not care to know what happenedthere. It will make it easier for me to protect you. You may callit conscience. Keep your big secret to yourself. NOT ONE WORD TOME. Do you understand?"

  "You mean that I am not to reveal, even to you, the causes whichled up to--"

  "Nothing--absolutely nothing," said Mrs. Wrandall firmly.

  "But I cannot permit you to judge me, to--well, you might say toacquit me,--without hearing the story. It is so vital to me."

  "I can judge you without hearing all of the--the evidence, if that'swhat you mean. Simply answer the questions I shall ask, and nothingmore. There are certain facts I must have from you if I am to shieldyou. You must tell me the truth. I take it you are an English girl.Where do you live? Who are your friends? Where is your family?"

  The girl's face flushed for an instant and then grew pale again.

  "I will tell you the truth," she said. "My name is Hetty Castleton.My father is Col. Braid Castleton, of--of the British army. My motheris dead. She was Kitty Glynn, at one time a popular music-hallperformer in London. She was Irish. She died two years ago. Myfather was a gentleman. I do not say he IS a gentleman, for histreatment of my mother relieves him from that distinction. He isin the Far East, China, I think. I have not seen him in more thanfive years. He deserted my mother. That's all there is to thatside of my story. I appeared in two or three of the musical piecesproduced in London two seasons ago, in the chorus. I never gotbeyond that, for very good reasons. I was known as Hetty Glynn.Three weeks ago I started for New York, sailing from Liverpool.Previously I had served in the capacity of governess in the familyof John Budlong, a brewer. They had a son, a young man of twenty.Two months ago I was dismissed. A California lady, Mrs. Holcombe,offered me a situation as governess to her two little girls soonafterward. I was to go to her home in San Francisco. She providedthe money necessary for the voyage and for other expenses. She isstill in Europe. I landed in New York a fortnight ago and, followingher directions, presented myself at a certain bank,--I have thename somewhere--where my railroad tickets were to be in readinessfor me, with further instructions. They were to give me twenty-fivepounds on the presentation of my letter from Mrs. Holcombe. Theygave me the money and then handed me a cable-gram from Mrs. Holcombe,notifying me that my services would not be required. There was noexplanation. Just that.

  "On the steamer I met--HIM. His deck chair was next to mine. Inoticed that his name was Wrandall--'C. Wrandall' the card on thechair informed me. I--"

  "You crossed on the steamer with him?" interrupted Mrs. Wrandallquickly.

  "Yes."

  "Had--had you seen him before? In London?"

  "Never. Well, we became acquainted, as people do. He--he was veryhandsome and agreeable." She paused for a moment to collect herself.

  "Very handsome and agreeable," said the other slowly.

  "We got to be very good friends. There were not many people onboard, and apparently he knew none of them. It was too cold to stayon deck much of the time, and it was very rough. He had one of thesplendid suites on the--"

  "Pray omit unnecessary details. You landed and went--where?"

  "He advised me to go to an hotel--I can't recall the name. It wasrather an unpleasant place. Then I went to the bank, as I have stated.After that I did not know what to do. I was stunned, bewildered.I called him up on the telephone and--he asked me to meet him fordinner at a queer little cafe, far down town. We--"

  "And you had no friends, no acquaintances here?"

  "No. He suggested that I go into one of the musical shows, sayinghe thought he could arrange it with a manager who was a friend.Anything to tide me over, he said. But I would not consider it,not for an instant. I had had enough of the stage. I--I am reallynot fitted for it. Besides, I AM qualified--well qualified--tobe governess--but that is neither here nor there. I had somemoney--perhaps forty pounds. I found lodgings with some people inNineteenth street. He never came there to see me. I can see plainlynow why he argued it would not be--well, he used the word 'wise.'But we went occasionally to dine together. We went about in amotor--a little red one. He--he told me he loved me. That was onenight about a week ago. I--"

  "I don't care to hear about it," cried the other. "No need of that.Spare me the silly side of the story."

  "Silly, madam? In God's name, do you think it was silly to me?Why--why, I believed him! And, what is more, I believe that he DIDlove me--even now I believe it."

  "I have no doubt of it," said Mrs. Wrandall calmly. "You are verypretty--and charming."

  "I--I did not know that he had a wife until--well, until--" Shecould not go on.

  "Night before last?"

  The girl shuddered. Mrs. Wrandall turned her face away and waited.

  "There is nothing more I can tell you, unless you permit me to tellALL," the girl resumed after a moment of hesitation.

  Mrs. Wrandall arose.

  "I have heard enough. This afternoon I will send my butler withyou to the lodging house in Nineteenth street. He will attend tothe removal of your personal effects to my home, and you will returnwith him. It will be testing fate, Miss Castleton, this visit toyour former abiding place, but I have decided to give the law itschance. If you are suspected, a watch will be set over the housein which you lived. If you are not suspected, if your associationwith--with Wrandall is quite unknown, you will run no risk in goingthere openly, nor will I be taking so great a chance as may appearin offering you a home, for the time being at least, as companion--orsecretary or whatever we may elect to call it for the benefit ofall enquirers. Are you willing to run the risk--this single risk?"

  "Perfectly willing," announced the other without hesitation. Indeed,her face brightened. "If they are waiting there for me, I shall gowith them without a word. I have no means of expressing my gratitudeto you for--"

  "There is time enough for that," said Mrs. Wrandall quickly. "Andif they are not there, you will return to me? You will not desertme now?"

  The girl's eyes grew wide with wonder. "Desert you? Why do you putit in that way? I don't understand."

  "You will come back to me?" insisted the other.

  "Yes. Why,--why, it means everything to me. It means life,--morethan that, most wonderful friend. Life isn't very sweet to me. Butthe joy of giving
it to you for ever is the dearest boon I crave.I DO give it to you. It belongs to you. I--I could die for you."

  She dropped to her knees and pressed her lips to Sara Wrandall'shand; hot tears fell upon it.

  Mrs. Wrandall laid her free hand on the dark, glossy hair and smiled;smiled warmly for the first time in--well, in years she might havesaid to herself if she had stopped to consider.

  "Get up, my dear," she said gently. "I shall not ask you to die forme--if you DO come back. I may be sending you to your death, as itis, but it is the chance we must take. A few hours will tell thetale. Now listen to what I am about to say,--to propose. I offeryou a home, I offer you friendship and I trust security from theperil that confronts you. I ask nothing in return, not even a wordof gratitude. You may tell the people at your lodgings that I haveengaged you as companion and that we are to sail for Europe in aweek's time if possible. Now we must prepare to go to my own home.You will see to packing my--that is, our trunks--"

  "Oh, it--it must be a dream!" cried Hetty Castleton, her eyes swimming."I can't believe--" Suddenly she caught herself up, and tried tosmile. "I don't see why you do this for me. I do not deserve--"

  "You have done me a service," said Mrs. Wrandall, her manner sopeculiar that the girl again assumed the stare of perplexity andwonder that had been paramount since their meeting: as if she wereon the verge of grasping a great truth.

  "What CAN you mean?"

  Sara laid her hands on the girl's shoulders and looked steadilyinto the puzzled eyes for a moment before speaking.

  "My girl," she said, ever so gently, "I shall not ask what yourlife has been; I do not care. I shall not ask for references. Youare alone in the world and you need a friend. I too am alone. Ifyou will come to me I will do everything in my power to make youcomfortable and--contented. Perhaps it will be impossible to makeyou happy. I promise faithfully to help you, to shield you, to repayyou for the thing you have done for me. You could not have falleninto gentler hands than mine will prove to be. That much I swearto you on my soul, which is sacred. I bear you no ill-will. I havenothing to avenge."

  Hetty drew back, completely mystified.

  "Who are you?" she murmured, still staring.

  "I am Challis Wrandall's wife."