The Stillwater Tragedy

  XXII

  During the rest of the day the name of Richard Shackford was notmentioned again by either Margaret or her father. It was a day ofsuspense to both, and long before night-fall Margaret's impatiencefor Richard to come had resolved itself into a pain as keen as thatwith which Mr. Slocum contemplated the coming; for every houraugmented his dread of the events that would necessarily follow thereappearance of young Shackford in Stillwater.

  On reaching his office, after the conversation with Margaret, Mr.Slocum found Lawyer Perkins waiting for him. Lawyer Perkins, who wasas yet in ignorance of the late developments, had brought informationof his own. The mutilated document which had so grimly clung to itssecret was at last deciphered. It proved to be a recently executedwill, in which the greater part of Lemuel Shackford's estate, realand personal, was left unconditionally to his cousin.

  "That disposes of one of Mr. Taggett's theories," was Mr. Slocum'sunspoken reflection. Certainly Richard had not destroyed the will;the old man himself had destroyed it, probably in some fit of pique.Yet, after all, the vital question was in no way affected by thisfact; the motive for the crime remained, and the fearful evidenceagainst Richard still held.

  After the departure of Lawyer Perkins, who had been struck by thesingular perturbation of his old friend, Mr. Slocum drew forth Mt.Taggett's journal, and re-read it from beginning to end. Margaret'sunquestioning faith in Richard, her prompt and indignant rejection ofthe whole story, had shaken her father at moments that morning; butnow his paralyzing doubts returned. This second perusal of the diaryimpressed him even more strongly than the first. Richard had killedLemuel Shackford,--in self-defense, may be, or perhaps accidentally;but he had killed him! As Mr. Slocum passed from page to page,following the dark thread of narrative that darkened at each remove,he lapsed into that illogical frame of mind when one looks halfexpectantly for some providential interposition to avert the calamityagainst which human means are impotent. If Richard were to drop deadin the street! If he were to fall overboard off Point Judith in thenight! If only anything would happen to prevent his coming back! Thusthe ultimate disgrace might be spared them. But the ill thing is thesure thing; the letter with the black seal never miscarries, andRichard was bound to come! "There is no escape for him or for us,"murmured Mr. Slocum, closing his finger in the book.

  It was in a different mood that Margaret said to herself, "It isnearly four o'clock; he will be here at eight!" As she stood at theparlor window and watched the waning afternoon light making itsfarewells to the flower-beds in the little square front-gardens ofthe houses opposite, Margaret's heart was filled with the tendernessof the greeting she intended to give Richard. She had never been coldor shy in her demeanor with him, nor had she ever been quitedemonstrative; but now she meant to put her arms around his neck in awifely fashion, and recompense him so far as she could for all theinjustice he was to suffer. When he came to learn of the hatefulslander that had lifted its head during his absence, he shouldalready be in possession of the assurance of her faith.

  In the mean while the hands in Slocum's Yard were much exercisedover the unaccountable disappearance of Blake. Stevens reported thematter to Mr. Slocum.

  "Ah, yes," said Mr. Slocum, who had not provided himself with anexplanation, and was puzzled to improvise one. "I dischargedhim,--that is to say, I let him go. I forgot to mention it. He didn'ttake to the trade."

  "But he showed a good fist for a beginner," said Stevens. "He washead and shoulders the best of the new lot. Shall I put Stebbins inhis place?"

  "You needn't do anything until Mr. Shackford gets back."

  "When will that be, sir?"

  "To-night, probably."

  The unceremonious departure of Blake formed the theme of endlessspeculation at the tavern that evening, and for the moment obscuredthe general interest in old Shackford's murder.

  "Never to let on he was goin'!" said one.

  "Didn't say good-by to nobody," remarked a second.

  "It was devilish uncivil," added a third.

  "It is kind of mysterious," said Mr. Peters.

  "Some girl," suggested Mr. Willson, with an air of tendersentiment, which he attempted further to emphasize by a capriciouswink.

  "No," observed Dexter. "When a man vanishes in that sudden way hisbody is generally found in a clump of blackberry bushes, monthsafterwards, or left somewhere on the flats by an ebb tide."

  "Two murders in Stillwater in one month would be rather crowdingit, wouldn't it?" inquired Piggott.

  "Bosh!" said Durgin. "There was always something shady aboutBlake. We didn't know where he hailed from, and we don't know wherehe's gone to. He'll take care of himself; that kind of fellow neverlets anybody play any points on him." With this Durgin threw away thestump of his cigar, and lounged out at the street door.

  "I couldn't get anything out of the proprietor," said Stevens;"but he never talks. May be Shackford when he"--Stevens stopped shortto listen to a low, rumbling sound like distant thunder, followedalmost instantly by two quick faint whistles. "He's aboard the trainto-night."

  Mr. Peters quietly rose from his seat and left the bar-room.

  The evening express, due at eight, was only a few seconds behindtime. As the screech of the approaching engine rung out from the darkwood-land, Margaret and her father exchanged rapid glances. It wouldtake Richard ten minutes to walk from the railway station to thehouse,--for of course he would come there directly after sending hisvalise to Lime Street.

  The ten minutes went by, and then twenty. Margaret bent steadilyover her work, listening with covert intentness for the click of thestreet gate. Likely enough Richard had been unable to find any one totake charge of his hand-baggage. Presently Mr. Slocum could notresist the impulse to look at his watch. It was half past eight. Henervously unfolded The Stillwater Gazette, and sat with his eyesfastened on the paper.

  After a seemingly interminable period the heavy bell of the SouthChurch sounded nine, and then tolled for a few minutes, as the dismalcustom is in New England country towns.

  A long silence followed, unrelieved by any word between father anddaughter,--a silence so profound that the heart of the old-fashionedtime-piece, throbbing monotonously in its dusky case at the foot ofthe stairs, made itself audible through the room. Mr. Slocum's gazecontinued fixed on the newspaper which he was not reading. Margaret'shands lay crossed over the work on her lap.

  Ten o'clock.

  "What can have kept him?" murmured Margaret.

  "There was only that way out of it," reflected Mr. Slocum,pursuing his own line of thought.

  Margaret's cheeks were flushed and hot, and her eyes dulled withdisappointment, as she rose from the low rocking-chair and crossedover to kiss her father good-night. Mr. Slocum drew the girl gentlytowards him, and held her for a moment in silence. But Margaret,detecting the subtile commiseration in his manner, resented it, andreleased herself coldly.

  "He has been detained, papa."

  "Yes, something must have detained him!"