One of My Sons

  XXX

  AN UNEXPECTED ALLY

  That night was a busy one for me; nevertheless I found time to send amessage to Hope, in which I begged her to read no papers till she sawme, and, if possible, to keep herself in her own room. To thesehurried words I added the comforting assurance that the news I had tobring her would repay her for this display of self-control, and that Iwould not keep her waiting any longer than was necessary. But it wasfully ten o'clock before I was able to keep this promise, and I foundher looking pale and worn.

  "I have obeyed you," she said, with an attempt at smiling as pitifulas it was ineffectual. "What has happened? Why did you not want me tosee the papers or talk with Mrs. Penrhyn?"

  "Because I wished to be the first to tell you the secret of LeightonGillespie's life. It was not what was suggested to you by thediscrepancies you observed between his character and life. He is saneas any man, but--" it was hard to proceed, with those eyes ofunspeakable longing looking straight into mine--"but he has had greatsorrows to bear, great suspenses to endure, a deception to keep up,not altogether justifiable, perhaps, but yet one that was not withoutsome excuse. His wife--Did you ever see his wife?"

  "No," she faltered.

  "--Did not perish in that disaster of five years ago, as everyonesupposed; and it was she----"

  "Oh!" came in a burst of sudden comprehension from Hope, as she sankdown out of sight among the curtains by the window. But the nextmoment she was standing again, crying in low tones in which I caught anote of immeasurable relief, "I thank God! I thank God!" Then the sobscame.

  I noticed that, once she had taken in this fact of his personalrectitude, all fear left her as to the truth of the more seriouscharge against him. Even after I had explained to her how he came bythe phial of poison, and how it was through his agency it came to bein his father's house, no doubt came to mar her restored confidence inthis her most cherished relative. She even admitted that, now this oneunexplainable point in his character had been made clear to her, shefelt ready to meet any accusations which might be raised against him."Let them publish their suspicions!" she cried. "He can bear them andso can I; for now that he has been proven a true man, nothing elsemuch matters. I may blush at hearing his name,--it will be years, Ithink, before I shall overcome that,--but it will be because I failedto see in his kindness to me the sympathetic interest of one whoseheart has been made tender towards women by his wild longing after thewandering spirit whom he called his wife."

  Then she asked where I had placed Mille-fleurs (a name so natural toMillicent Gillespie that no other was ever suggested by her friends);and, having been told where, said she would like to sit beside heruntil the time came to lay her in the garden of that little home fromwhich all shadow was now cleared away save that of chastened sorrow.

  As this was what Leighton Gillespie secretly wished, I promised toaccompany her to New Jersey, and then, taking this pure-hearted girlby the hand, I asked:

  "Have I performed my task well?"

  Her answer was--but that is my secret. Small reason as it gave me forpersonal hope, I yet went from that house with my heart lightened ofits heaviest load.

  I did not read the papers myself that morning. I had little heart fora reporter's version of what had so thrilled me coming from Leighton'sown lips. Merely satisfying myself that the latter was still incustody, I busied myself with what came up in my office, till thestroke of five released me to a free exercise of my own thoughts.

  How much nearer were we to the solution of this mystery than we hadbeen the morning following Mr. Gillespie's death? Not much; and whileHope and possibly myself felt that the band of suspicion had narrowedin its circle, and by the exclusion of Leighton, whom we could nolonger look upon as guilty, left the question of culpability to besettled between the two remaining sons of the deceased stockbroker, tothe world in general and to the readers of sensational journals whichnow flooded the city with accounts of the most sacred incidents ofLeighton Gillespie's past life he was still the man through whoseagency the poison had entered the Gillespie house. Nor could we failto see that the feeling called out by these tales of his domesticinfelicities and the wild search in which most of his life had beenpassed had its reverse side for those people who read all stories ofdisinterested affection with doubt, and place no more faith in truereligion than if the few bright spots made in the universal history ofmankind by acts of unselfish devotion had no basis in fact, and wereas imaginary as the dreams of poet or romancer.

  That Leighton Gillespie had not been released after his conferencewith the District Attorney was proof that his way was not as clearbefore him as I had hoped. Yet I was positive that Mr. Gryce as wellas Sweetwater shared my belief in his innocence; and while this was acomfort to me, I found my mind much exercised by the doubt as to whatthe next turn of the kaleidoscope would call up in this ever-changingcase.

  I had not seen Underhill in days, and I rather dreaded a chancemeeting. He did not like Leighton, and would be the first to throwcontempt upon any mercy being shown him on account of his faithfulattachment to his disreputable wife. I seemed to hear the drawlingquery with which this favourite of the clubs would end any attempt Imight make in this direction: "And so you think it probable that aman--a man, remember, with a child liable to flutter in and out of hisroom at all hours--would leave a phial of deadly poison on his dresserand never think of it again? Not much, old man. If he laid it downthere, which I doubt, he took it up again. Don't waste your sympathyon a cad."

  Yet I did; and to such an extent that I took a walk instead of goinghome and hearing these imaginary sentences uttered in articulatedwords. I walked up Madison Avenue, and, coming upon a store which hada reputation for an extra fine brand of cigars, I went in to buy one.

  Have you ever greatly desired an event which your common sense toldyou was most unlikely to happen, and then suddenly seen it wrought outbefore you in the most unforeseen manner and by the most ordinary ofmeans? From the first night of the tragedy with which these pages havebeen full, I had wished for an interview with the old butler, withoutwitnesses, and as the result of a seeming chance. But I had never seenmy way clear to this; and now, in this place and in this unexpectedmanner, I came upon him buying fruit at a grocer's counter.

  I did not hesitate to approach him.

  "How do you do, Hewson?" said I, with a kindly tap on his shoulder.

  He turned slowly, gave me a look that was half an apology and half anappeal, then dropped his eyes.

  "How do you do, sir?" said he.

  "Been buying oranges for the family?" I went on. "Startling news,this! I mean the arrest of Mr. Gillespie's second son. I never thoughtof him as the guilty one, did you?"

  The old butler did not break all up as I expected. He only shook hishead, and, taking up the bundle which had just been handed him,remarked:

  "We little know what's in the mind of the babies we dandle in ourarms," and went feebly out.

  I laid down a quarter, took a cigar from the case, forgot to light it,and sauntered into the street with it still in my hand. I feltthoroughly discouraged, and walked down the avenue in a sort of blackmist formed of my own doubts and Hewson's calm acceptance of the guiltattributed to Leighton. But suddenly I stopped, put the cigar in mypocket, and exclaimed in vehement contradiction of my own uneasythoughts: "Leighton Gillespie is as guiltless of his father's death asof other charges which have been made against him. I am ready to stakemy own honour upon it," and went immediately to my apartments, withoutstopping, as I usually did, at Underhill's door.

  I found a young man waiting for me in the vestibule. He had evidentlybeen standing there for some time, for he no sooner heard my step thanhe gave a bound forward with the eager cry:

  "It is I, sir,--Sweetwater."

  He was a welcome visitor at that moment, and I was willing he shouldrealise it.

  "Come in; come in," I urged. "New developments, eh? Mr. Gillespiereleased, perhaps, or----"

  "No," was his disappointing response as the door
closed behind us andhe sank into the chair I pushed forward. "Mr. Gillespie is still indetention and there are no new developments. But another day must notpass without them. I was witness to the sympathy you felt last nightfor the man who claimed the wretched being we saw before us for hiswife; and, feeling a little soft-hearted towards him myself, I havecome to ask you to lay your head with mine over this case in the hopethat we two together may light upon some clue which will lead to hisimmediate enlargement. For I cannot believe him guilty; I just cannot.It was one of the others. But which one? I don't mean to eat or sleeptill I find out."

  "And Mr. Gryce?"

  "He won't bother. Last night was too much for him, and he has gonehome. The field is clear, sir, quite clear; and I mean to profit byit. Leighton Gillespie shall be freed in time to attend his wife'sfuneral or I will give up the detective business and go back to thecarpenter's bench and my dear old mother in Sutherlandtown."