CHAPTER XIX
AN ARTFUL CONFESSION
This Monday morning Bub appeared at the Lodge and had the car readybefore Mr. Conant had finished his breakfast. Mary Louise decided todrive to Millbank with them, just for the pleasure of the trip, andalthough the boy evidently regarded her presence with distinctdisapproval he made no verbal objection.
As Irene wheeled herself out upon the porch to see them start, MaryLouise called to her:
"Here's your chair cushion, Irene, lying on the steps and quite wetwith dew. I never supposed you could be so careless. And you'd bettersew up that rip before it gets bigger," she added, handing the cushionto her friend.
"I will," Irene quietly returned.
Bub proved himself a good driver before they had gone a mile and itpleased Mr. Conant to observe that the boy made the trip down thetreacherous mountain road with admirable caution. Once on the level,however, he "stepped on it," as he expressed it, and dashed past theHuddle and over the plain as if training for the Grand Prix.
It amused Mary Louise to watch their quaint little driver, barefootedand in blue-jeans and hickory shirt, with the heavy Scotch golf cappulled over his eyes, taking his task of handling the car as seriouslyas might any city chauffeur and executing it fully as well.
During the trip the girl conversed with Mr. Conant.
"Do you remember our referring to an old letter, the other day?" sheasked.
"Yes," said he.
"Irene found it in one of those secondhand books you bought in NewYork, and she said it spoke of both my mother and my grandfather."
"The deuce it did!" he exclaimed, evidently startled by the information.
"It must have been quite an old letter," continued Mary Louise,musingly.
"What did it say?" he demanded, rather eagerly for the unemotionallawyer.
"I don't know. Irene wouldn't let me read it."
"Wouldn't, eh? That's odd. Why didn't you tell me of this before I leftthe Lodge?"
"I didn't think to tell you, until now. And, Uncle Peter, what, do youthink of Miss Lord?"
"A very charming lady. What did Irene do with the letter?"
"I think she left it in the book; and--the book was stolen the verynext day."
"Great Caesar! Who knew about that letter?"
"Miss Lord was present when Irene found the letter, and she heard Ireneexclaim that it was all about my mother, as well as about mygrandfather."
"Miss Lord?"
"Yes."
"And the book was taken by someone?"
"The next day. We missed it after--after Miss Lord had visited the denalone."
"Huh!"
He rode for awhile in silence.
"Really," he muttered, as if to himself, "I ought to go back. I oughtnot to take for granted the fact that this old letter is unimportant.However, Irene has read it, and if it happened to be of value I'm surethe girl would have told me about it."
"Yes, she certainly would have told you," agreed Mary Louise. "But shedeclared that even I would not be interested in reading it."
"That's the only point that perplexes me," said the lawyer."Just--that--one--point."
"Why?" asked the girl.
But Mr. Conant did not explain. He sat bolt upright on his seat,staring at the back of Bub's head, for the rest of the journey. MaryLouise noticed that his fingers constantly fumbled with the locket onhis watch chain.
As the lawyer left the car at the station he whispered to Mary Louise:
"Tell Irene that I now know about the letter; and just say to her thatI consider her a very cautious girl. Don't say anything more. Anddon't, for heaven's sake, suspect poor Miss Lord. I'll talk with Irenewhen I return on Friday."
On their way back Bub maintained an absolute silence until after theyhad passed the Huddle. Before they started to climb the hill road,however, the boy suddenly slowed up, halted the car and turneddeliberately in his seat to face Mary Louise.
"Bein' as how you're a gal," said he, "I ain't got much use fer ye, an'that's a fact. I don't say it's your fault, nor that ye wouldn't 'a'made a pass'ble boy ef ye'd be'n borned thet way. But you're right onone thing, an' don't fergit I told ye so: thet woman at Bigbee's ain'ton the square."
"How do you know?" asked Mary Louise, delighted to be taken into Bub'sconfidence--being a girl.
"The critter's too slick," he explained, raising one bare foot to thecushion beside him and picking a sliver out of his toe. "Her eyes ain'tgot their shutters raised. Eyes're like winders, but hers ye kain't seethrough. I don't know nuth'n' 'bout that slick gal at Bigbee's an' Idon't want to know nuth'n'. But I heer'd what ye said to the boss, an'what he said to you, an' I guess you're right in sizin' the critter up,an' the boss is wrong."
With this he swung round again and started the car, nor did he utteranother word until he ran the machine into the garage.
During Mary Louise's absence Irene had had a strange and startlingexperience with their beautiful neighbor. The girl had wheeled herchair out upon the bluff to sun herself and read, Mrs. Conant beingbusy in the house, when Agatha Lord strolled up to her with a smile anda pleasant "good morning."
"I'm glad to find you alone," said she, seating herself beside thewheeled chair. "I saw Mr. Conant and Mary Louise pass the Bigbee placeand decided this would be a good opportunity for you and me to have anice, quiet talk together. So I came over."
Irene's face was a bit disdainful as she remarked:
"I found the cushion this morning."
"What cushion do you refer to?" asked Agatha with a puzzled expression.
Irene frowned.
"We cannot talk frankly together when we are at cross purposes," shecomplained.
"Very true, my dear; but you seem inclined to speak in riddles."
"Do you deny any knowledge of my chair cushion!"
"I do."
"I must accept your statement, of course. What do you wish to say tome, Miss Lord?"
"I would like to establish a more friendly understanding between us.You are an intelligent girl and cannot fail to realize that I havetaken a warm interest in your friend Mary Louise Burrows. I want toknow more about her, and about her people, who seem to have cast heroff. You are able to give me this information, I am sure, and by doingso you may be instrumental in assisting your friend materially."
It was an odd speech; odd and insincere. Irene studied the woman's facecuriously.
"Who are you, Miss Lord?" she inquired.
"Your neighbor."
"Why are you our neighbor?"
"I am glad to be able to explain that--to you, in confidence. I amtrying to clear the name of Colonel Weatherby from a grave charge--thecharge of high treason."
"In other words, you are trying to discover where he is," retortedIrene impatiently.
"No, my dear; you mistake me. It is not important to my mission, atpresent, to know where Colonel Weatherby is staying. I am merelyseeking relevant information, such information as you are in a positionto give me."
"I, Miss Lord?"
"Yes. To be perfectly frank, I want to see the letter which you foundin that book."
"Why should you attach any importance to that?"
"I was present, you will remember, when you discovered it. I markedyour surprise and perplexity--your fear and uncertainty--as you glancedfirst at the writing and then at Mary Louise. You determined not toshow your friend that letter because it would disturb her, yet youinadvertently admitted, in my hearing, that it referred to the girl'smother and--which is vastly more important--to her grandfather."
"Well; what then, Miss Lord?"
"Colonel Weatherby is a man of mystery. He has been hunted byGovernment agents for nearly ten years, during which time he hassuccessfully eluded them. If you know anything of the Governmentservice you know it has a thousand eyes, ten thousand ears and a myriadof long arms to seize its malefactors. It has not yet captured ColonelWeatherby."
"Why has he been hunted all these years?"
"He is charged, as I s
aid, with high treason. By persistently evadingcapture he has tacitly admitted his guilt."
"But he is innocent!" cried Irene indignantly.
Miss Lord seemed surprised, yet not altogether ill-pleased, at theinvoluntary exclamation.
"Indeed!" she said softly. "Could you prove that statement?"
"I--I think so," stammered the girl, regretting her hasty avowal.
"Then why not do so and by restoring Mary Louise to her grandfathermake them both happy?"
Irene sat silent, trapped.
"This is why I have come to you," continued Agatha, very seriously. "Iam employed by those whose identity I must not disclose to sift thismystery of Colonel Weatherby to the bottom, if possible, and then tofix the guilt where it belongs. By accident you have come intopossession of certain facts that would be important in unravelling thetangle, but through your unfortunate affliction you are helpless to actin your own capacity. You need an ally with more strength andexperience than yourself, and I propose you accept me as that ally.Together we may be able to clear the name of James J. Hathaway--who nowcalls himself Colonel James Weatherby--from all reproach and so restorehim to the esteem of his fellow men."
"But we must not do that, even if we could!" cried Irene, quitedistressed by the suggestion.
"Why not, my dear?"
The tone was so soft and cat-like that it alarmed Irene instantly.Before answering she took time to reflect. To her dismay she found thiswoman was gradually drawing from her the very information she haddeclared she would preserve secret. She knew well that she was no matchfor Agatha Lord in a trial of wits. Her only recourse must be astubborn refusal to explain anything more.
"Colonel Weatherby," she said slowly, "has better information than I ofthe charge against him and his reasons for keeping hidden, yet hesteadfastly refuses to proclaim his innocence or to prove he isunjustly accused, which he might very well do if he chose. You say youare working in his interests, and, allowing that, I am satisfied hewould bitterly reproach anyone who succeeded in clearing his name bydisclosing the truth."
This argument positively amazed Agatha Lord, as it might well amazeanyone who had not read the letter. In spite of her supreme confidenceof the moment before, the woman now suddenly realized that thispromising interview was destined to end disastrously to her plans.
"I am so obtuse that you will have to explain that statement," she saidwith assumed carelessness; but Irene was now on guard and replied:
"Then our alliance is dissolved. I do not intend, Miss Lord, to betraysuch information as I may have stumbled upon unwittingly. You expressinterest in Mary Louise and her grandfather and say you are anxious toserve them. So am I. Therefore I beg you, in their interests, toabandon any further attempt to penetrate the secret."
Agatha was disconcerted.
"Show me the letter," she urged, as a last resort. "If, on reading it,I find your position is justifiable--you must admit it is nowbewildering--I will agree to abandon the investigation altogether."
"I will not show you the letter," declared the girl positively.
The woman studied her face.
"But you will consider this conversation confidential, will you not?"
"Since you request it, yes."
"I do not wish our very pleasant relations, as neighbors, disturbed. Iwould rather the Conants and Mary Louise did not suspect I am here onany especial mission."
"Very well."
"In truth," continued Agatha, "I am growing fond of yon all and this isa real vacation to me, after a period of hard work in the city whichracked my nerves. Before long I must return to the old strenuous life,so I wish to make the most of my present opportunities."
"I understand."
No further reference was made to the letter or to Colonel Weatherby.They talked of other things for a while and when Miss Lord went awaythere seemed to exist--at least upon the surface--the same friendlyrelations that had formerly prevailed between them.
Irene, reflecting upon the interview, decided that while she hadadmitted more than was wise she had stopped short of exposing the truthabout Colonel Weatherby. The letter was safely hidden, now. She defiedeven Miss Lord to find it. If she could manage to control her tongue,hereafter, the secret was safe in her possession.
Thoughtfully she wheeled herself back to the den and finding the roomdeserted she ventured to peep into her novel hiding-place. Yes; theprecious letter was still safe. But this time, in her abstraction, shefailed to see the face at the window.