CHAPTER IX
QUESTIONS
Connery pulled aside the curtain of the washroom at the end of theSantoine car--the end furthest from the drawing-room where Santoine lay.
"Step in here, sir," he directed. "Sit down, if you want. We're farenough from the drawing-room not to disturb Mr. Santoine."
Eaton, seating himself in the corner of the leather seat built againsttwo walls of the room, and looking up, saw that Avery had come into theroom with them. The girl followed. With her entrance into the roomcame to him--not any sound from her or anything which he could describeto himself as either audible or visual--but a strange sensation whichexhausted his breath and stopped his pulse for a beat. To beaccused--even to be suspected--of the crime against Santoine was tohave attention brought to him which--with his unsatisfactory account ofhimself--threatened ugly complications. Yet, at this moment ofrealization, that did not fill his mind. Whether his long dwellingclose to death had numbed him to his own danger, however much moreimmediate it had become, he could not know; probably he had preparedhimself so thoroughly, had inured himself so to expect arrest andimminent destruction, that now his finding himself confronted withaccusers in itself failed to stir new sensation; but till this day, hehad never imagined or been able to prepare himself for accusationbefore one like Harriet Santoine; so, for a moment, thought solely ofhimself was a subcurrent. Of his conscious feelings, the terror thatshe would be brought to believe with the others that he had struck theblow against her father was the most poignant.
Harriet Santoine was not looking at him; but as she stood by the door,she was gazing intently at Avery; and she spoke first:
"I don't believe it, Don!"
Eaton felt the warm blood flooding his face and his heart throb withgratitude toward her.
"You don't believe it because you don't understand yet, dear," Averydeclared. "We are going to make you believe it by proving to you it istrue."
Avery pulled forward one of the leather chairs for her to seat herselfand set another for himself facing Eaton. Eaton, gazing acrosssteadily at Avery, was chilled and terrified as he now fully realizedfor the first time the element which Avery's presence added. What therelations were between Harriet Santoine and Avery he did not know, butclearly they were very close; and it was equally clear that Avery hadnoticed and disliked the growing friendship between her and Eaton.Eaton sensed now with a certainty that left no doubt in his own mindthat as he himself had realized only a moment before that his strongestfeeling was the desire to clear himself before Harriet Santoine, soAvery now was realizing that--since some one on the train had certainlymade the attack on Santoine--he hoped he could prove before her thatthat person was Eaton.
"Why did you ring the bell in Mr. Santoine's berth?" Avery directed theattack upon him suddenly.
"To call help," Eaton answered.
Question and answer, Eaton realized, had made some effect upon HarrietSantoine, as he did not doubt Avery intended they should; yet he couldnot look toward her to learn exactly what this effect was but kept hiseyes on Avery.
"You had known, then, that he needed help?"
"I knew it--saw it then, of course."
"When?"
"When I found him."
"'Found' him?"
"Yes."
"When was that?"
"When I went forward to look for the conductor to ask him about takinga walk on the roof of the cars."
"You found him then--that way, the way he was?"
"That way? Yes."
"How?"
"How?" Eaton iterated.
"Yes; how, Mr. Eaton, or Hillward, or whatever your name is? How didyou find him? The curtains were open, perhaps; you saw him as you wentby, eh?"
Eaton shook his head. "No; the curtains weren't open; they wereclosed."
"Then why did you look in?"
"I saw his hand in the aisle."
"Go on."
"When I came back it didn't look right to me; its position had not beenchanged at all, and it hadn't looked right to me before. So I stoppedand touched it, and I found that it was cold."
"Then you looked into the berth?"
"Yes."
"And having looked in and seen Mr. Santoine injured and lying as hewas, you did not call any one, you did not bring help--you merelyleaned across him and pushed the bell and went on quickly out of thecar before any one could see you?"
"Yes; but I waited on the platform of the next car to see that help didcome; and the conductor passed me, and I knew that he and the portermust find Mr. Santoine as they did."
"Do you expect us to believe that very peculiar action of yours was theact of an innocent man?"
"If I had been guilty of the attack on Mr. Santoine, I'd not havestopped or looked into the berth at all."
"If you are innocent, you had, of course, some reason for acting as youdid. Will you explain what it was?"
"No--I cannot explain."
With a look almost of triumph Avery turned to Harriet Santoine, andEaton felt his flesh grow warm with gratitude again as he saw her meetAvery's look with no appearance of being convinced.
"Mr. Eaton spoke to me about that," she said quietly.
"You mean he told you he was the one who rang the bell?"
"No; he told me we must not attach too much importance to the ringingof the bell in inquiring into the attack on Father."
Avery smiled grimly. "He did, did he? Don't you see that that onlyshows more surely that he did not want the ringing of the bellinvestigated because it would lead us to himself? He did not happen totell you, did he, that the kind and size of socks he wears and carriesin his traveling-bag are very nearly the same as the black sock inwhich the bar was wrapped with which your father was struck?"
"It was you, then, who took the sock from my bag?" Eaton demanded.
"It was the conductor, and I can assure you, Mr. Eaton-Hillward, thatwe are preserving it very carefully along with the one which was foundin the snow."
"But the socks were not exactly the same, were they?" Harriet Santoineasked.
Avery made a vexed gesture, and turned to Connery. "Tell her the restof it," he directed.
Connery, who had remained standing back of the two chairs, movedslightly forward. His responsibility in connection with the crime thathad been carried out on his train had weighed heavily on the conductor;he was worn and nervous.
"Where shall I begin?" he asked of Avery; he was looking not at thegirl but at Eaton.
"At the beginning," Avery directed.
"Mr. Eaton, when you came to this train, the gateman at Seattle calledmy attention to you," Connery began. "I didn't attach enoughimportance, I see now, to what he said; I ought to have watched youcloser and from the first. Old Sammy has recognized men with criminalrecords time and time again. He's got seven rewards out of it."
Eaton felt his pulses close with a shock. "He recognized me?" he askedquietly.
"No, he didn't; he couldn't place you," Connery granted. "He couldn'ttell whether you were somebody that was 'wanted' or some one wellknown--some one famous, maybe; but I ought to have kept my eye on youbecause of that, from the very start. Now this morning you claim atelegram meant for another man--a man named Hillward, on this train,who seems to be all right--that is, by his answers and his account ofhimself he seems to be exactly what he claims to be."
"Did he read the telegram to you?" Eaton asked. "It was in code. Ifit was meant for him, he ought to be able to read it."
"No, he didn't. Will you?"
Eaton halted while he recalled the exact wording of the message. "No."
Connery also paused.
"Is this all you have against me?" Eaton asked.
"No; it's not. Mr. Avery's already told you the next thing, and you'veadmitted it. But we'd already been able by questioning the porter ofthis car and the ones in front and back of it to narrow down the timeof the ringing of Mr. Santoine's bell not to quarter-hours but tominutes; and to find out that durin
g those few minutes you were theonly one who passed through the car. So there's no use of my goinginto that." Connery paused and looked to Avery and the girl. "You'llwait a minute, Mr. Avery; and you, Miss Santoine. I won't be long."
He left the washroom, and the sound of the closing of a door which cameto Eaton a half-minute later told that he had gone out the front end ofthe car.
As the three sat waiting in the washroom, no one spoke. Eaton, lookingpast Avery, gazed out the window at the bank of snow. Eaton understoodfully that the manner in which the evidence against him was beingpresented to him was not with any expectation that he could defendhimself; Avery and Connery were obviously too certain of theirconclusion for that; rather, as it was being given thus under Avery'sdirection, it was for the effect upon Harriet Santoine and to convinceher fully. But Eaton had understood this from the first. It was forthis reason he had not attempted to deny having rung Santoine's bell,realizing that if he denied it and it afterwards was proved, he wouldappear in a worse light than by his inability to account for or assigna reason for his act. And he had proved right in this; for the girlhad not been convinced. So now he comprehended that something far moreconvincing and more important was to come; but what that could be, hecould not guess.
As he glanced at her, he saw her sitting with hands clasped in her lap,pale, and merely waiting. Avery, as though impatient, had got up andgone to the door, where he could look out into the passage. From timeto time people had passed through the car, but no one had stopped atthe washroom door or looked in; the voices in the washroom had not beenraised, and even if what was going on there could have attractedmomentary attention, the instructions to pass quickly through the carwould have prevented any one from stopping to gratify his curiosity.Eaton's heart-beat quickened as, listening, he heard the car door openand close again and footsteps, coming to them along the aisle, which herecognized as those of Conductor Connery and some one else with him.
Avery returned to his seat, as the conductor appeared in the door ofthe washroom followed by the Englishman from Eaton's car, HenryStandish. Connery carried the sheet on which he had written thequestions he had asked Eaton, and Eaton's answers.
"What name were you using, Mr. Eaton, when you came from Asia to theUnited States?" the conductor demanded.
Eaton reflected. "My own," he said. "Philip D. Eaton."
Connery brought the paper nearer to the light of the window, runninghis finger down it till he found the note he wanted. "When I askedthis afternoon where you came from in Asia, Mr. Eaton, you answered mesomething like this: You said you could give me no address abroad; youhad been traveling most of the time; you could not be placed byinquiring at any city or hotel; you came to Seattle by the Asiaticsteamer and took this train. That was your reply, was it not?"
"Yes," Eaton answered.
"The 'Asiatic steamer'--the _Tamba Maru_ that was, Mr. Eaton."
Eaton looked up quickly and was about to speak; but from Connery hisgaze shifted swiftly to the Englishman, and checking himself, he saidnothing.
"Mr. Standish,"--Connery faced the Englishman,--"you came from Yokohamato Seattle on the _Tamba Maru_, didn't you?"
"I did, yes."
"Do you remember this Mr. Eaton among the passengers?"
"No."
"Do you know he was not among the passengers?"
"Yes, I do."
"How do you know?"
The Englishman took a folded paper from his pocket, opened it andhanded it to the conductor. Connery, taking it, held it out to Eaton.
"Here, Mr. Eaton," he said, "is the printed passenger-list of thepeople aboard the _Tamba Maru_ prepared after leaving Yokohama fordistribution among the passengers. It's unquestionably correct. Willyou point out your name on it?"
Eaton made no move to take the paper; and after holding it long enoughto give him full opportunity, Connery handed it back to the Englishman.
"That's all, Mr. Standish," he said.
Eaton sat silent as the Englishman, after staring curiously around atthem with his bulging, interested eyes, left the washroom.
"Now, Mr. Eaton," Connery said, as the sound of Standish's steps becameinaudible, "either you were not on the _Tamba Maru_ or you were on itunder some other name than Eaton. Which was it?"
"I never said I was on the _Tamba Maru_," Eaton returned steadily. "Isaid I came from Asia by steamer. You yourself supplied the name_Tamba Maru_."
"In case of questioning like that, Mr. Eaton, it makes no differencewhether you said it or I supplied it in your hearing. If you didn'tcorrect me, it was because you wanted me to get a wrong impressionabout you. You can take notice that the only definite fact about youput down on this paper has proved to be incorrect. You weren't on the_Tamba Maru_, were you?"
"No, I was not."
"Why didn't you say so while Mr. Standish was here?"
"I didn't know how far you had taken him into your confidence in thismatter."
"You did come from Asia, though, as your railroad ticket seemed toshow?"
"Yes."
"From where?"
Eaton did not answer.
"From Yokohama?"
"The last port we stopped at before sailing for Seattle wasYokohama--yes."
Connery reflected. "You had been in Seattle, then, at least five days;for the last steamer you could have come on docked five days before the_Tamba Maru_."
"You assume that; I do not tell you so."
"I assume it because it must be so. You'd been in Seattle--or at leastyou had been in America--for not less than five days. In fact, Mr.Eaton, you had been on this side of the water for as many as elevendays, had you not?"
"Eleven days?" Eaton repeated.
"Yes; for it was just eleven days before this train left Seattle thatyou came to the house of Mr. Gabriel Warden and waited there for himtill he was brought home dead!"
Eaton, sitting forward a little, looked up at the conductor; his glancecaught Avery's an instant; he gazed then to Harriet Santoine. At thecharge, she had started; but Avery had not. The identification,therefore, was Connery's, or had been agreed upon by Connery and Averybetween them; suggestion of it had not come from the Santoines. AndConnery had made the charge without being certain of it; he waswatching the effect, Eaton now realized, to see if what he had accusedwas correct.
"What do you mean by that?" Eaton returned.
"What I said. You came to see Gabriel Warden in Seattle eleven daysago," Connery reasserted. "You are the man who waited in his housethat night and whom every one has been looking for since!"
"Well?" inquired Eaton.
"Isn't that so?" Connery demanded. "Or do you want to deny that tooand have it proved on you later?"
Again for a moment Eaton sat silent. "No," he decided, "I do not denythat."
"Then you are the man who was at Warden's the night he was murdered?"
"Yes," said Eaton, "I was there that evening. I was the one who camethere by appointment and waited till after Mr. Warden was brought homedead."
"So you admit that?" Connery gloated; but he could not keep from Eatona sense that, by Eaton's admission of the fact, Connery had beendisappointed. Avery too plainly had expected Eaton to deny it; theidentification of Eaton with the man who had waited at Warden's wasless a triumph to Avery, now that it was confessed. Indeed, Eaton'sheart leaped with quick gratitude as he now met Harriet Santoine's eyesand as he heard her turning it into a fact in his favor.
"All you have brought against Mr. Eaton is that he has been indefinitein his replies to your questions or has refused answers; isn't thatall, Don?" she said. "So if Mr. Eaton is the one who had theappointment with Mr. Warden that night, does not that explain hissilence?"
"Explain it?" Avery demanded. "How?"
"We have Mr. Warden's word that Mr. Eaton came that night because hewas in trouble--he had been outrageously wronged, Don. He was indanger. Because of that danger, undoubtedly, he has not made himselfknown since. May not that be the only rea
son he has avoided answeringyour questions now?"
"No!" Avery jerked out shortly.
Eaton's heart, from pulsating fast with Harriet Santoine's attempt athis defense, now constricted with a sudden increase of his terror andanxiety.
"All right, Mr. Eaton!" Connery now returned to his charge. "You arethat man. So besides whatever else that means, you'd been in Seattleeleven days and yet you were the last person to get aboard this train,which left a full hour after its usual starting time. Who were youwaiting to see get on the train before you yourself took it?"
Eaton wet his lips. To what was Connery working up? The probability,now rapidly becoming certainty, that in addition to the recognition ofhim as the man who had waited at Warden's--which fact any one at anytime might have charged--Connery knew something else which theconductor could not have been expected to know--this dismayed Eaton themore by its indefiniteness. And he saw, as his gaze shifted to Avery,that Avery knew this thing also. All that had gone before had beenonly preliminary, then; they had been leading up step by step to thecircumstance which had finally condemned him in their eyes and was tocondemn him in the eyes of Harriet Santoine.
She, he saw, had also sensed the feeling that something else moredefinite and conclusive was coming. She had paled after the flush inwhich she had spoken in Eaton's defense, and her hands in her lap wereclenched so tightly that the knuckles showed only as spots of white.
Eaton controlled himself to keep his voice steady.
"What do you mean by that question?" he asked.
"I mean that--however innocent or guilty may be the chance of yourbeing at Mr. Warden's the night he was killed--you'll have a hard timeproving that you did not wait and watch and take this train becauseBasil Santoine had taken it; and that you were not following him. Doyou deny it?"
Eaton was silent.
"You asked the Pullman conductor for a Section Three after hearing himassign Mr. Santoine to Section Three in this car. Do you deny that youdid this so as not to be put in the same car with him?"
Eaton, in his uncertainty, still said nothing. Connery, bringing thepaper in his hand nearer to the window again, glanced down once more atthe statement Eaton had made. "I asked you who you knew in Chicago,"he said, "and you answered 'No one.' That was your reply, was it not?"
"Yes."
"You still make the same statement?"
"Yes."
"You know no one in Chicago?"
"No one," Eaton repeated.
"And certainly no one there knows you well enough to follow yourmovements in relation to Mr. Santoine. That's a necessary assumptionfrom the fact that you know no one at all there."
The conductor pulled a telegram from his pocket and handed it to Avery,who, evidently having already seen it, passed it on to HarrietSantoine. She took it, staring at it mechanically and vacantly; thensuddenly she shivered, and the yellow paper which she had read slippedfrom her hand and fluttered to the floor. Connery stooped and pickedit up and handed it toward Eaton.
"This is yours," he said.
Eaton had sensed already what the nature of the message must be, thoughas the conductor held it out to him he could read only his name at thetop of the sheet and did not know yet what the actual wording wasbelow. Acceptance of it must mean arrest, indictment for the crimeagainst Basil Santoine; and that, whether or not he later wasacquitted, must destroy him; but denial of the message now would behopeless.
"It is yours, isn't it?" Connery urged.
"Yes; it's mine," Eaton admitted; and to make his acceptance definite,he took the paper from Connery. As he looked dully down at it, he read:
He is on your train under the name of Dorne.
The message was not signed.
Connery touched him on the shoulder. "Come with me, Mr. Eaton."
Eaton got up slowly and mechanically and followed the conductor. Atthe door he halted and looked back; Harriet Santoine was not looking;her face was covered with her hands; Eaton hesitated; then he went on.Connery threw open the door of the compartment next to the washroom andcorresponding to the drawing-room at the other end of the car, butsmaller.
"You'll do well enough in here." He looked over Eaton deliberately."Judging from your manner, I suppose there's not much use expecting youto answer anything more about yourself--either in relation to theWarden murder or this?"
"No," said Eaton, "there is not."
"You prefer to make us find out anything more?"
Eaton made no answer.
"All right," Connery concluded. "But if you change your mind for thebetter, or if you want anything bad enough to send for me, ring for theporter and he'll get me."
He closed the door upon Eaton and locked it. As Eaton stood staring atthe floor, he could hear through the metal partition of the washroomthe nervous, almost hysterical weeping of an overstrained girl. Thething was done; in so far as the authorities on the train wereconcerned, it was known that he was the man who had had the appointmentwith Gabriel Warden and had disappeared; and in so far as the trainofficials could act, he was accused and confined for the attack uponBasil Santoine. But besides being overwhelmed with the horror of thisposition, the manner in which he had been accused had roused him tohelpless anger, to rage at his accusers which still increased as heheard the sounds on the other side of the partition where Avery was nowtrying to silence Harriet Santoine and lead her away.
Why had Avery gone at his accusation of him in that way? Connery hadhad the telegram in his pocket from the start of the questioning in thewashroom; Avery had seen and read it; they could have condemned himwith whomever they wished, merely by showing it. Why, then, had Averychosen to drag this girl--strained and upset already by the attack uponher father and with long hours of nursing ahead of her before experthelp could be got--step by step through their accusation of him? Eatonsaw that--whatever Harriet Santoine's casual interest in himself mightbe--this showed at least that Avery's relation to her was not socompletely accepted by her and so definite as appeared on the surface,since Avery thought it necessary to convince her rather than merelytell her. And what sent the blood hot and throbbing into Eaton'stemples was the cruelty of Avery's action.
So Avery was that kind of a man! The kind that, when an end is to beattained, is ready to ignore as though unimportant the human side ofthings. Concurrently with these thoughts--as always with all histhoughts--was running the memory of his own experience--that experienceof which Eaton had not spoken and of which he had avoided speaking atany cost; and as he questioned now whether Avery might be one of thosemen who to gain an end they deem necessary are ready to disregardhumanity,--to inflict suffering, wrong, injustice,--he realized that hewas beginning to hate Avery for himself, for what he was, aside fromthe accusation he brought.
No sounds came to him now from the washroom--the girl must havecontrolled herself; footsteps passing the door of his compartment toldhim then that the two had gone out into the open car.