Jane Cable

  Droom's intentions were clear. It was not a tender heart nor was itchivalry which prompted him to do the deed of valour just described.He had started out to do his duty by James Bansemer because he wasin his hire; and he felt it still his duty to cover the tracks ofhis master as best he could. He knew that he was jeopardising hisown safety; the obstinate cunning of his nature insisted that theman he had watched was Bansemer, although his brief glimpse of thefugitive's face discouraged that belief.

  The gaunt clerk kept his chin well covered with his great muffler;the broad collar of his ulster was turned up about his face. Therapid plan that dashed into his mind comprehended but two things:the effort to restore life to Frances Cable and the hope of escapingwithout being recognised. He felt that she had not been in thewater long enough to drown; every hope depended upon the force ofthe blow that he imagined had been delivered.

  Chilled to the bone, his teeth chattering like castanets, the oldman was stooping over the inanimate form on the ground when thetwo men came up. In answer to their startled questions, he merelysaid that he had seen the struggle from across the street, but hadbeen too late to prevent the tragedy.

  "We must get her into one of these houses quick," he grunted. "Takehold of her, you. And YOU over there hurry and ring a doorbell.Get inside and 'phone for a doctor--a doctor first and then thepolice. We may be able to save her life."

  The first of the rich men's homes denied them admission. The manof the house said he would not "stand for the notoriety." Droom,supporting the head of the wet, icy figure, made a remark whichthe man was never to forget. At the second house they were admitted.

  In an instant all was confusion. A card game was broken up andguests of the house assisted their host and hostess in doing allmanner of unnecessary things. Droom gave the commands which sooneror later resolved themselves into excited, wrathy demands upon thetelephone operator, calls for a certain near-by doctor, calls forthe police, calls for stimulants, maids, hot water bottles--everything.

  "She's been robbed," said one of the men. "Her rings have been tornoff. Look at the blood!"

  "She's well-dressed, too," said another. "Say, her face looksfamiliar---"

  To the amazement of everyone, the lips of the woman parted and agasping, choking sound issued from between them, a slight shudderswept over her frame.

  "She's alive!" exclaimed Droom. "Get these wet clothes off ofher--quick!"

  The men stood grouped in the hallway while the women tore the wetgarments from the reviving victim and prepared a warm bed for her.Elias Droom was edging towards the door, bent on escape, when theawed, chattering voice of the young fellow who had assisted incarrying her to the house arrested him. A great sense of reliefcrept over him as he listened to the young man's story; his eyesblinked with satisfaction. He was forgetting his own remark of aminute ago that he was freezing and must get into some dry clothesat once. The young man was saying:

  "It happened right out there by the sea wall--where the big breakis. Harry and I were coming up the Drive and I called attention toa man running south along the wall. Just then, this gentleman ranover from this side of the street and, a minute or two later, wesaw him jump into the break over there. Suicide, I thought, buthe wasn't a minute coming up. There was the woman! He'd pulled herout! By thunder, it was the bravest thing I ever saw! He---"

  And then it was that everybody began to shower praise upon the manwho only had tried to do his duty by the one who hired him to dougly, not gallant, deeds.

  "Did you watch which way the robber ran?" demanded Droom eagerly.

  "Lost him in the dark. He ran like fury. You must have scared himoff," said the second young man. "I wish we could have seen hisface. Did you see it?"

  "Not distinctly," answered Droom. "He struck me as being a slim youngfellow, that's all." Of one thing he was assured: the evidence ofthese two men would prove that he had acted as a valiant protectorand not as a thug--a fear which had not left his mind until now.They had seen the fleeing assailant, but there was only one personwho could identify him. That person was Frances Cable, the victim.If it was not James Bansemer, then who could it have been?

  The door opened and an agitated young woman came out.

  "It is Mrs. Cable," she cried in trembling tones.

  The physician arrived at that moment, and a few minutes later camean officer who had been hailed from the doorway. While the policemanwas listening to the voluble young eye-witnesses, Droom stood aloof,puzzling himself vainly in the effort to solve an inside mystery.He had been ready, a few minutes before, to curse himself for pullingthe woman out of the water, but now, as the belief grew strongerwithin him that her assailant was not James Bansemer, his viewpointchanged. If such was the case, there would be no need to fear Mrs.Cable's story if she revived sufficiently to tell it. On the otherhand, if it was Bansemer, he had rescued her to an ill purpose. Hewas conscious finally that someone was speaking to him.

  "What do you know of this?" demanded the policeman. Droom repeatedhis brief story. "What is your name and where do you live?"

  "My name is Elias Droom and I live over in Wells Street."

  "Could you identify the man?"

  "I don't think so."

  "What were you doing over in this part of town?"

  "Walking up to see the skaters on the park lagoon. But what'sthat get to do with it? You'd better be out looking for the thiefinstead of wasting time on me here," snarled Droom. The officergasped and there is no telling what might have happened, if thecaptain and a swarm of bluecoats had not appeared on the sceneat that moment. Two minutes later they were off scouring the lakefront in search of the mysterious hold-up man. Two plain-clothes menremained to question the witnesses and to inspect the neighbourhoodin which the crime was committed.

  Word came from the inner room that Mrs. Cable was regainingconsciousness.

  "Does--can she throw any light on the affair?" asked Elias Droom.

  "She has uttered no word except her husband's name. I think she isstill calling upon him for help, poor thing," said the young womanwho bore the news.

  "Cable ought to be notified," said one of the men.

  "Don't do it over the 'phone," said Droom quickly. "I'm going pasthis house. I'll stop in and tell him. Let me out, officer; I mustget out of these wet garments. I'm an old man, you know."

  The probable solution had come to Droom like a flash. As he hurriedup the street his mind was full of the theory. He scarcely couldwait for the door of David Cable's house to be opened in responseto his vigorous ringing. The maid announced that Mr. and Mrs. Cablewere out. It was enough for Droom. He put the puzzle together inthat instant. David Cable's face was the one he had seen; not JamesBansemer's. The maid set up a hysterical shrieking when he bluntlytold her of the mishap to her mistress, but he did not wait toanswer questions. He was off to find James Bansemer. The volcanohe had been watching so long was about to burst, and he knew it.

  Forgetting his wet garments, he entered a drug store and telephonedto Bansemer's home. His employer answered the call so readily thatDroom knew he had not been far from the instrument that evening.There was a note of disappointment in his voice when Droom's hoarsetones replied to his polite: "Hello!"

  "I'll be over in half an hour," said Droom. "Very important business.Is Graydon there?"

  "He's just gone to Cable's. Someone telephoned for him a minute orso ago. What's wrong? Do you know?"

  "I'll be there in fifteen minutes," was all that Droom would say.

  Elias' memory could not carry him back to the time when he hadhired a cab. A cab was one of the luxuries he had not cultivated.One can only imagine his surprise, then, when he found himselfhailing a passing hansom; and greater the surprise he must havefelt when he clambered in and ordered the driver to go in a gallopto a certain place in Wells Street. Ten minutes later he was attiredin dry, warm clothes and in the cab again, bound for Bansemer'shome. What he said to James Bansemer on that memorable occasionneed not be repeated. It is only necessary to say that his ho
stwas bitterly impressed and willing to admit that the developmentsmight prove serious. They could only speculate as to what hadtranspired between David Cable and his wife out there by the seawall, but it was enough for them to know that a crisis was at hand.

  "We'll see what the morning papers say about the affair," saidBansemer, uneasy and cold.

  The morning papers were full of the sensational robbery, theprominence of the victim and the viciousness of the attack. EliasDroom read the accounts eagerly as he breakfasted in the dingy littlerestaurant near his home, bright and early. He grinned appreciablyover the share of glory that fell to him; and he actually cackledover the new developments in the great mystery.

  He had observed with relief that the name of James Bansemer wasnot mentioned. The reports from the bedside of the robber's victimwere most optimistic. She was delirious from the effects of theshock, but no serious results were expected. The great headlines onthe first page of the paper he was reading set his mind temporarilyat rest. There was no suggestion of truth in them.

  The reader of this narrative, who knows the true facts in thecase, is doubtless more interested in the movements and emotions ofDavid Cable than in the surmises of others. It would be difficult,for a certainty, to ask one to put himself in Cable's place andto experience the sensations of that unhappy man as he fled alongthe dark shore of the lake. Perhaps much will be taken on faith ifthe writer simply says that the fugitive finally slunk from theweeds and refuse of what was then called "The District of LakeMichigan"--"Streeterville," in local parlance--to find himselfpanting and terror-struck in the bleak east end of Chicago Avenue.It was not until then that he secured control of his nerves andresorted to the stealth and cunning of the real criminal.

  From that time until he stood shivering and white with doggedintention in a theatre foyer, bent upon establishing an alibi, hismovements are scarcely worth the details. Between the acts he sawa dozen men whom he knew and he took drinks with several of them.His tremendous will power carried him through the ordeal in a waythat could not have fallen to the good fortunes of the ordinarylawbreaker.

  Every second of the time his thoughts were of the thing which wasbeing buffeted by the icy waters of the lake. Where was that thingnow? How far out into the lake had it been carried?

  His body was covered with the cold perspiration of dread and horror.His soul was moaning; his whole being was aghast with the awfulnessof the deed; he could have shrieked aloud in his madness. How helived through the hour in that theatre he never could have told,nor could he believe that he was sitting there with all thosefrightful thoughts piling themselves upon him. Other people laughedand shouted with happiness; he stared and wept in his heart, andshivered and cringed and groaned within himself.

  He had killed her! She had been true to him, and yet, he had takenher life--the life she had given him! He gave no thought to Jane,no thought to Bansemer; he thought only of himself as the slayer.

  Would her body be recovered? What would be his excuse, what hispunishment? The gallows? A thousand horrors ran riot in his brain,a thousand tremors with each.

  But why dwell upon the feelings of this miserable wretch? Why saymore of his terror, his misery, his remorse? He held himself inthe seat until the middle of the last act of the play. At last,unable to restrain himself longer, he arose and almost ran fromthe theatre. That instinct which no slayer can control or explain,was overpowering him; it was the instinct which attracts the murdererto the spot where his crime was committed. No man can describe ordefine this resistless impulse, and yet all criminology recordsit, clear and unmistakable. It is no less than a form of curiosity.Driven by this irresistible force, David Cable, with bravado thatcost him dearly, worked his uninterrupted way to the scene of hiscrime. By trolley car to Chicago Avenue and, then, like a homelessdog scenting his way fearfully, to a corner not far from the breakin the wall.

  His legs trembled and his eyes grew wide with dread. The swish ofthe water came to his ears and he stood still for many minutes,listening for a cry for help from off the shore, but none came;and again skulking alongside the houses of his friends, he coveredthe blocks that lay between him and the magnetic rift in the wall.Near the corner, he stopped with a start of alarm.

  The figure of a man could be seen standing like a statue on thevery spot where he had seen her disappear. While he stood there,his heart scarcely beating, the solitary figure was joined by twoothers. Cable shrank back into the dense shadows. Like a flash itoccurred to him that they were searching for the body. A shriek ofagony arose to his lips; but he checked it.

  Far off on one of the crosstown streets a newsboy was calling anextra--hoarse, unintelligible shouts that froze his blood. He benthis ear to catch the far-away words of the boy: "All about de Nor'Side murder!" He cringed and shook under the raucous shout. He knewwhat it meant.

  A policeman suddenly turned the corner and came toward him. Thefirst impulse was to fly; the next was to stand and deliver himself.The resolution came with shocking unexpectedness. He would givehimself up! He would admit that he had killed his wife! The wordsof anguish were on his lips when the policeman spoke.

  "Is it you, Mr. Cable? How is she, sir?"

  Cable did not hear the man, for, as he opened his lips to cry outhis own guilt, a thought formed in his brain that almost staggeredhim with its cunning savagery. Why not let the penalty fall on JamesBansemer? She had gone out to meet him! If she had not destroyedthe note, it would hang James Bansemer, and James Bansemer wasworse than a murderer. But even as this remarkable thought rushedinto his brain, the last words of the officer began to drive itout.

  "Is she going to pull through, sir?" was the next question--and hecaught it vaguely.

  "Pull through?" he mumbled inarticulately. He leaned against agreat stone rail suddenly. Everything was leaping before his eyes.

  "Good Lord, Mr. Cable--I--I forgot. Don't you know about it?" gaspedthe officer.

  "Know what?" asked Cable, completely dazed.

  "Go home at once, sir. I didn't mean to--oh, hurry, sir. Don'tbe worried. They say she'll be all right. Sure! She's been hurt alittle, sir."

  "My daughter?" demanded Cable, as keen as a razor in an instant.His heart was trying to jump from his body.

  "Your wife, sir. Nothin' serious, sir. She was held up along heresomewhere and robbed. They're sure to get the villain. She---"

  But Cable was off like a deer for his home, racing as though onair.

  Nothing else mattered now. She was alive! He could have her withhim again to love as he never had loved her before.

  CHAPTER XVII

  DAVID CABLE'S DEBTS