The Blind Man's Eyes

  CHAPTER XIX

  PURSUIT

  Harriet Santoine, still clad only in the heavy robe over her nightdressand in slippers, went from her father's bedroom swiftly down into thestudy again; what she was going to do there she did not definitelyknow. She heard, as she descended the stairs, the steward in the halloutside the study calling up the police stations of the neighboringvillages and giving news of what had happened and instructions to watchthe roads; but as she reached the foot of the stairs, a servant closedthe study doors. The great, curtained room in its terrifying disorderwas brightly lighted, empty, absolutely still. She had givendirections that, except for the removal of Blatchford's body, all mustbe left as it was in the room till the arrival of the police. Shestood an instant with hands pressed against her breast, staring down atthe spots upon the floor.

  There were three of these spots now--one where Blatchford's body hadlain. They were soaking brownly into the rugs but standing still redand thick upon the polished floor. Was one of them Eaton's?

  Something within her told her that it was, and the fierce desire to goto him, to help him, was all she felt just now. It was Donald Avery'sand her father's accusation of Eaton that had made her feel like this.She had been feeling, the moment before Donald had spoken, that PhilipEaton had played upon her that evening in making her take him to hisconfederate in the ravine in order to plan and consummate somethinghere. Above her grief and horror at the killing of her cousin and thedanger to her father, had risen the anguish of her guilt with Eaton,the agony of her betrayal. But their accusation that Eaton had killedWallace Blatchford, seeing him, knowing him--in the light--had sweptall that away; all there was of her seemed to have risen in denial ofthat. Before her eyes, half shut, she saw again the body of her cousinWallace lying in its blood on the floor, with her father kneelingbeside it, his blind eyes raised in helplessness to the light; but shesaw now another body too--Eaton's--not here---lying somewhere in thebare, wind-swept woods, shot down by those pursuing him.

  She looked at the face of the clock and then down to the pendulum tosee whether it had stopped; but the pendulum was swinging. The handsstood at half past one o'clock; now she recalled that, in her firstwild gaze about the room when she rushed in with the others, she hadseen the hands showing a minute or so short of twenty minutes past one.Not quite a quarter of an hour had passed since the alarm! The pursuitcould not have moved far away. She reopened the window through whichthe pursuers had passed and stepped out onto the dark lawn. She stooddrawing the robe about her against the chill night air, dazed, stunned.The house behind her, the stables, the chauffeurs' quarters above thegarages, the gardeners' cottages, all blazed now with light, but shesaw no one about. The menservants--except the steward--had joined thepursuit; she heard them to the south beating the naked woods andshrubbery and calling to each other. A half mile down the beach sheheard shouts and a shot; she saw dimly through the night in thatdirection a boat without lights moving swiftly out upon the lake.

  Her hands clenched and pressed against her breast; she stood strainingat the sounds of the man-hunt. It had turned west, it seemed; it wascoming back her way, but to the west of the house. She staggered alittle and could not stand; she stepped away from the house in thedirection of the pursuit; following the way it seemed to be going, shecrossed the lawn toward the garage. A light suddenly shone out there,and she went on.

  The wide door at the car driveway was pushed open, and some one waswithin working over a car. His back was toward her, and he was bentover the engine, but, at the glance, she knew him and recoiled,gasping. It was Eaton. He turned at the same instant and saw her.

  "Oh; it's you!" he cried to her.

  Her heart, which almost had ceased to beat, raced her pulses again. Atthe sound she had made on the driveway, he had turned to her as ahunted thing, cornered, desperate, certain that whoever came must beagainst him. His cry to her had recognized her as the only one whocould come and not be against him; it had hailed her with relief asbringing him help. He could not have cried out so at that instant atsight of her if he had been guilty of what they had accused. Now shesaw too, as he faced her, blood flowing over his face; blood soaked ashoulder of his coat, and his left arm dangling at his side; but now,as he threw back his head and straightened in his relief at finding itwas she who had surprised him, she saw in him an exultation andexcitement she had never seen before--something which her presencealone could not have caused. To-night, she sensed vaguely, somethinghad happened to him which had changed his attitude toward her andeverything else.

  "Yes; it's I!" she cried quickly and rushed to him. "It's I! It's I!"wildly she reassured him. "You're hurt!" She touched his shoulder."You're hurt! I knew you were!"

  He pushed her back with his right hand and held her away from him."Did they hurt your father?"

  "Hurt Father? No."

  "But Mr. Blatchford--"

  "Dead," she answered dully.

  "They killed him, then!"

  "Yes; they--" She iterated. He was telling hernow--unnecessarily--that he had had nothing to do with it; it was theothers who had done that.

  He released her and wiped the blood from his eyes with the heel of hishand. "The poor old man," he said, "--the poor old man!"

  She drew toward him in the realization that he could find sympathy forothers even in such a time as this.

  "Where's the key?" he demanded of her. He stared over her again butwithout surprise even in his eyes, at her state; if she was there atall at that time, that was the only way she could have come.

  "The key?"

  "The key for the battery and magneto--the key you start the car with."

  She ran to a shelf and brought it to him; he used it and pressed thestarting lever. The engine started and he sprang to the seat. Hisleft arm still hanging useless at his side; he tried to throw in thegears with his right hand; but the mechanism of the car was strange tohim. She leaped up beside him.

  "Move over!" she commanded. "It's this way!"

  He slipped to the side and she took the driving seat, threw in thegears expertly, and the car shot from the garage. She switched on theelectric headlights as they dashed down the driveway and threw a brightwhite glare upon the roadway a hundred yards ahead to the gates.Beyond the gates the public pike ran north and south.

  "Which way?" she demanded of him, slowing the car.

  "Stop!" he cried to her. "Stop and get out! You mustn't do this!"

  "You could not pass alone," she said. "Father's men would close thegates upon you."

  "The men? There are no men there now--they went to the beach--before!They must have heard something there! It was their being there thatturned him--the others back. They tried for the lake and were turnedback and got away in a machine; I followed--back up here!"

  Harriet Santoine glanced at the face of the man beside her. She couldsee his features only vaguely; she could see no expression; only theposition of his head. But now she knew that she was not helping him torun away; he was no longer hunted--at least he was not only hunted; hewas hunting others too. As the car rolled down upon the open gates andshe strained forward in the seat beside her, she knew that what he wasfeeling was a wild eagerness in this pursuit.

  "Right or left--quick!" she demanded of him. "I'll take one or theother."

  "Right," he shot out; but already, remembering the direction of thepursuit, she had chosen the road to the right and raced on. He caughtthe driving wheel with his good hand and tried to take it from her; sheresisted and warned him:

  "I'm going to drive this car; if you try to take it, it'll throw usboth into the ditch."

  "If we catch up with them, they'll shoot; give me the car," he begged.

  "We'll catch up with them first."

  "Then you'll do what I say?"

  "Yes," she made the bargain.

  "There are their tracks!" he pointed for her.

  The road was soft with the rains that precede spring, and she saw inthe bright
flare of the headlights, where some heavy car, fast driven,had gouged deep into the earth at the roadside; she noted the patternof the tires.

  "How do you know those are their tracks?" she asked him.

  "I told you, I followed them to where they got their machine."

  "Who are they?"

  "The men who shot Mr. Blatchford."

  "Who are they?" she put to him directly again.

  He waited, and she knew that he was not going to answer her directly.She was running the car now at very high speed; the tiny electric lightabove the speedometer showed they were running at forty-five miles anhour and the strip was still turning to higher figures.

  Suddenly he caught her arm. The road had forked, and he pointed to theleft; she swung the car that way, again seeing as they made the turn,the tire-tracks they were following. She was not able now to watchthese tracks; she could watch only the road and car; but she was awarethat the way they were following had led them into and out of privategrounds. Plainly the men they were following knew the neighborhoodwell and had chosen this road in advance as avoiding the more publicroads which might be watched. She noted they were turning always tothe left; now she understood that they were making a great circle towest and north and returning toward, but well west of, her father'shouse; thus she knew that those they were following had made thiscircuit to confuse pursuit and that their objective was the great cityto the south.

  They were racing now over a little used road which bisected a forestedsection still held as acreage; old, rickety wooden bridges spanned theravines. One of these appeared in the radiance of the headlight ahundred yards ahead; the next instant the car was dashing upon it.Harriet could feel the shake and tremble of the loosely nailed boardsas the driving wheels struck; there was a crash as some strut, below,gave way; the old bridge bent but recoiled; the car bounded across it,the rear wheels skidding in the moist earth as they swung off theboards.

  Harriet felt Eaton grab her arm.

  "You mustn't do that again!"

  "Why?"

  "You mustn't do that again!" he repeated the order; it was too obviousto tell her it was not safe.

  She laughed. Less than five minutes before, as she stood outside theroom where her father's cousin had just been murdered, it had seemedshe could never laugh again. The car raced up a little hill and nowagain was descending; the headlights showed another bridge over aravine.

  "Slow! Stop!" her companion commanded.

  She paid no attention and raced the car on; he put his hand on thewheel and with his foot tried to push hers from the accelerator; butshe fought him; the car swayed and all but ran away as they approachedthe bridge. "Give it to me!" she screamed to him and wrenched the carabout. It was upon the bridge and across it; as they skidded upon themud of the road again, they could hear the bridge cracking behind.

  "Harriet!" he pleaded with her.

  She steered the car on, recklessly, her heart thumping with more thanthe thrill of the chase. "They're the men who tried to kill you,aren't they?" she rejoined. The speed at which they were going did notpermit her to look about; she had to keep her eyes on the road at thatmoment when she knew within herself and was telling the man beside herthat she from that moment must be at one with him. For already she hadsaid it; as she risked herself in the pursuit, she thought of the menthey were after not chiefly as those who had killed her cousin but asthose who had threatened Eaton. "What do I care what happens to me, ifwe catch them?" she cried.

  "Harriet!" he repeated her name again.

  "Philip!"

  She felt him shrink and change as she called the name. It had beenclear to her, of course, that, since she had known him, the name he hadbeen using was not his own. Often she had wondered what his name was;now she had to know. "What should I call you?" she demanded of him.

  "My name," he said, "is Hugh."

  "Hugh!" she called it.

  "Yes."

  "Hugh--" She waited for the rest; but he told no more. "Hugh!" shewhispered to herself again his name now. "Hugh!"

  Her eyes, which had watched the road for the guiding of the car, hadfollowed his gesture from time to time pointing out the tracks made bythe machine they were pursuing. These tracks still ran on ahead; asshe gazed down the road, a red glow beyond the bare trees was lightingthe sky. A glance at Hugh told that he also had seen it.

  "A fire?" she referred to him.

  "Looks like it."

  They said no more as they rushed on; but the red glow was spreading,and yellow flames soon were in sight shooting higher and higher; thesewere clouded off for an instant only to appear flaring higher again,and the breeze brought the smell of seasoned wood burning.

  "It's right across the road!" Hugh announced as they neared it.

  "It's the bridge over the next ravine," Harriet said. Her foot alreadywas bearing upon the brake, and the power was shut off; the car coastedon slowly. For both could see now that the wooden span was blazingfrom end to end; it was old wood, swift to burn and going like tinder.There was no possible chance for the car to cross it. The girl broughtthe machine to a stop fifty feet from the edge of the ravine; the firewas so hot that the gasoline tank would not be safe nearer. She gazeddown at the tire-marks on the road.

  "They crossed with their machine," she said to Hugh.

  "And fired the bridge behind. They must have poured gasoline over itand lighted it at both ends."

  She sat with one hand still straining at the driving wheel, the otherplaying with the gear lever.

  "There's no other way across that ravine, I suppose," Hugh questionedher.

  "The other road's back more than a mile, and two miles about." Shethrew in the reverse and started to turn. Hugh shook his head."That's no use."

  "No," she agreed, and stopped the car again. Hugh stepped down on theground. A man appeared on the other side of the ravine. He stood andstared at the burning span and, seeing the machine on the other side,he scrambled down the slope of the ravine. Eaton met him as he came upto the road again. The man was one of the artisans--a carpenter orjack-of-all-work--who had little cottages, with patches for garden,through the undivided acreage beyond the big estates. He had hastilyand only partly dressed; he stared at Eaton's hurt with astonishmentwhich increased as he gazed at the girl in the driving seat of the car.He did not recognize her except as one of the class to whom he owedemployment; he pulled off his cap and stared back to Eaton with wonder.

  "What's happened, sir? What's the matter?"

  Eaton did not answer, but Harriet now recognized the man. "Mr.Blatchford was shot to-night at Father's house, Dibley," she said.

  "Miss Santoine!" Dibley cried.

  "We think the men went this way," she continued.

  "Did you see any one pass?" Eaton challenged the man.

  "In a motor, sir?"

  "Yes; down this road in a motor."

  "Yes, sir."

  "When?"

  "Just now, sir."

  "Just now?"

  "Not five minutes ago. Just before I saw the bridge on fire here."

  "How was that?"

  "I live there just beyond, near the road. I heard my pump going."

  "Your pump?"

  "Yes, sir. I've a pump in my front yard. There's no water pipedthrough here, sir."

  "Of course. Go on, Dibley."

  "I looked out and saw a machine stopped out in the road. One man waspumping water into a bucket for another."

  "Then what did you do?"

  "Nothing, sir. I just watched them. Motor people often stop at mypump for water."

  "I see. Go on."

  "That's all about them, sir. I thought nothing about it--they wouldn'twake me to ask for water; they'd just take it. Then I saw the fireover there--"

  "No; go back," Eaton interrupted. "First, how many men were there inthe car?"

  "How many? Three, sir."

  Eaton started. "Only three; you're sure?"

  "Yes, sir; I could see them plain
. There was the two at the pump; onemore stayed in the car."

  Eaton seized the man in his intentness. "You're sure there weren't anymore, Dibley? Think; be sure! There weren't three more or even onemore person hidden in the tonneau of the car?"

  "The tonneau, sir?"

  "The back seats, I mean."

  "No, sir; I could see into the car. It was almost right below me, sir.My house has a room above; that's where I was sleeping."

  "Then did you watch the men with the water?"

  "Watch them, sir?"

  "What they did with it; you're sure they didn't take it to the rearseat to give it to some one there. You see, we think one of the menwas hurt," Eaton explained.

  "No, sir. I'd noticed if they did that."

  "Then did they put it into the radiator--here in front where motoristsuse water?"

  Dibley stared. "No, sir; I didn't think of it then, but they didn't.They didn't put it into the car. They took it in their bucket withthem. It was one of those folding buckets motor people have."

  Eaton gazed at the man. "Only three, you are sure!" he repeated. "Andnone of them seemed to be hurt!"

  "No, sir."

  "Then they went off in the other direction from the bridge?"

  "Yes, sir. I didn't notice the bridge burning till after they went.So I came down here."

  Eaton let the man go. Dibley looked again at the girl and moved away alittle. She turned to Eaton.

  "What does that mean?" she called to him. "How many should there havebeen in the machine? What did they want with the water?"

  "Six!" Eaton told her. "There should have been six in the machine, andone, at least, badly hurt!"

  Dibley stood dully apart, staring at one and then at the other and nextto the flaming bridge. He looked down the road. "There's another carcoming," he announced. "Two cars!"

  The double glare from the headlights of a motor shone through thetree-trunks as the car topped and came swiftly down a rise threequarters of a mile away and around the last turn back on the road;another pair of blinding lights followed. There was no doubt that thismust be the pursuit from Santoine's house. Eaton stood beside Harriet,who had stayed in the driving-seat of the car.

  "You know Dibley well, Harriet?" he asked.

  "He's worked on our place. He's dependable," she answered.

  Eaton put his hand over hers which still clung to the driving wheel."I'm going just beside the road here," he said to her, quietly. "I'marmed, of course. If those are your people, you'd better go back withthem. I'm sure they are; but I'll wait and see."

  She caught at his hand. "No; no!" she cried. "You must get as faraway as you can before they come! I'm going back to meet and holdthem." She threw the car into the reverse, backed and turned it andbrought it again onto the road. He came beside her again, putting outhis hand; she seized it. Her hands for an instant clung to it, his tohers.

  "You must go--quick!" she urged; "but how am I to know what becomes ofyou--where you are? Shall I hear from you--shall I ever see you?"

  "No news will be good news," he said, "until--"

  "Until what?"

  "Until--" And again that unknown something which a thousand times--itseemed to her--had checked his word and action toward her made himpause; but nothing could completely bar them from one another now."Until they catch and destroy me, or--until I come to you as--as youhave never known me yet!"

  An instant more she clung to him. The double headlights flared intosight again upon the road, much nearer now and coming fast. Shereleased him; he plunged into the bushes beside the road, and the damp,bare twigs lashed against one another at his passage; then she shot hercar forward. But she had made only a few hundred yards when the firstof the two cars met her. It turned to its right to pass, she turnedthe same way; the approaching car twisted to the left, she swung hersto oppose it. The two cars did not strike; they stopped, radiator toradiator, with rear wheels locked. The second car drew up behind thefirst. The glare of her headlights showed her both were full of armedmen. Their headlights, revealing her to them, hushed suddenly theirangry ejaculations. She recognized Avery in the first car; he leapedout and ran up to her.

  "Harriet! In God's name, what are you doing here?"

  She sat unmoved in her seat, gazing at him. Men leaping from the cars,ran past her down the road toward the ravine and the burning bridge.She longed to look once more in the direction in which Eaton haddisappeared, but she did not. Avery reached up and over the side ofthe car and caught her arm, repeating his demand for an explanation.She could see, turning in her seat, the men who had run pastsurrounding Dibley on the road and questioning him. Avery, gaining nosatisfaction from her, let go her arm; his hand dropped to the back ofthe seat and he drew it up quickly.

  "Harriet, there's blood here!"

  She did not reply. He stared at her and seemed to comprehend.

  He shouted to the men around Dibley and ran toward them. They calledin answer to his shout, and she could see Dibley pointing out to themthe way Eaton had gone. The men, scattering themselves at intervalsalong the edge of the wood and, under Avery's direction, posting othersin each direction to watch the road, began to beat through the bushesafter Eaton. She sat watching; she put her cold hands to her face;then, recalling how just now Eaton's hand had clung to hers, shepressed them to her lips. Avery came running back to her.

  "You drove him out here, Harriet!" he charged. "Dibley says so."

  "Him? Who?" she asked coolly.

  "Eaton. Dibley did not know him, but describes him. It can have beenno one else. He was hurt!" The triumph in the ejaculation made herrecoil. "He was hurt and could not drive, and you drove him out"--histone changed suddenly--"like this!"

  For the first time since she had left the garage she was suddenlyconscious that she was in her night-dress with only a robe andslippers. She drew the robe quickly about her, shrinking and staringat him. In all the miles she had driven that night with Eaton at herside, she never a moment had shrunk from her companion or thought howshe was dressed. It was not the exaltation and excitement of what shewas doing that had prevented her; it went deeper than that; it was theattitude of her companion toward her. But Avery had thought of it, andmade her think of it, at once, even in the excitement under which hewas laboring.

  He left her again, running after the men into the woods. She sat inthe car, listening to the sounds of the hunt. She could see, back ofher, in the light of the burning bridge, one of the armed men standingto watch the road; ahead of her, but almost indistinguishable in thedarkness, was another. The noise of the hunt had moved further intothe woods; she had no immediate fear that they would find Eaton; herpresent anxiety was over his condition from his hurts and what mighthappen if he encountered those he had been pursuing. In thatneighborhood, with its woods and bushes and ravines to furnish cover,the darkness made discovery of him by Avery and his men impossible ifEaton wished to hide himself. Avery appeared to have realized this;for now the voices in the woods ceased and the men began to straggleback toward the cars. A party was sent on foot across the ravine,evidently to guard the road beyond. The rest began to clamber into thecars. She backed her car away from the one in front of it and startedhome.

  She had gone only a short distance when the cars again passed her,traveling at high speed. She began then to pass individual men left bythose in the cars to watch the road. At the first large house she sawone of the cars again, standing empty. She passed it without stopping.A mile farther, a little group of men carrying guns stopped her,recognized her and let her pass. They had been called out, they toldher, by Mr. Avery over the telephone to watch the roads for Eaton; theyhad Eaton's description; members of the local police were to takecharge of them and direct them. She comprehended that Avery wassurrounding the vacant acreage where Eaton had taken refuge to becertain that Eaton did not get away until daylight came and a searchfor him was possible.

  Lights gleamed at her across the broad lawns
of the houses near herfather's great house as she approached it; at the sound of her car,people came to the windows and looked out. She understood that news ofthe murder at Basil Santoine's had aroused the neighbors and broughtthem from their beds.

  As she left her motor on the drive beside the house--for to-night noone came from the garages to take it--the little clock upon its dashmarked half past two.