The Hollow of Her Hand

G >> George Barr McCutcheon >> The Hollow of Her Hand

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The perceptions of the astute old lawyer were not far out of the
way, as developments of the next day were to prove. When Booth called
in the afternoon at Sara's apartment, he was met by the news that
she was quite ill and could see no one,--not even him. The doctor
had been summoned during the night and had returned in the morning,
to find that she had a very high temperature. The butler could not
enlighten Booth further than this, except to add that a nurse was
coming in to take charge of Mrs. Wrandall, more for the purpose
of watching her symptoms than for anything else, he believed. At
least, so the doctor had said.

Two days passed before the distressed young man could get any definite
news concerning her condition. He unconsciously began to think of
it as a malady, not a mere illness, due of course to the remark
Carroll had dropped. It was Carroll himself who gave a definite
report of Sara. He met the lawyer coming away from the apartment
when he called to inquire.

"She isn't out of her head, or anything like that," said Carroll
uneasily, "but she's in a bad way, Booth. She is worrying over
that girl out West, of course, but I'll tell you what I think is
troubling her more than anything else. Down in her heart she realises
that Hetty Castleton has got to be brought face to face with the
Wrandalls."

"The deuce you say!"

"To-day I saw her for the first time. Almost immediately she asked
me if I thought the Wrandalls would treat Hetty fairly if they
ever found out the truth about her. I said I thought they would. I
didn't have the heart to tell her that their grievance undoubtedly
would be shifted from Hetty to her, and that they wouldn't be
likely to forgive her for the stand she'd taken. She doesn't seem
to care, however, what the Wrandalls think of her. By the way, have
you any influence over Hetty Castleton?"

"I wish I were sure that I had," said Booth.

"Do you think she would come if you sent her a cablegram?"

"I am going over--"

"She will have your letter in a couple of days, according to Sara,
who seems to have a very faithful correspondent in the person of
that maid. I shudder to think of the cable tolls in the past few
months! I sometimes wonder if the maid suspects anything more than
a loving interest in Miss Castleton. What I was about to suggest
is this: Couldn't you cable her on Friday saying that Sara is very
ill? This is Tuesday. We'll be having word from Smith to-morrow,
I should think."

"I will cable, of course, but Sara must not know that I've done
it."

"Can you come to my office to-morrow afternoon?"

"Yes. To-morrow night I shall go over to Philadelphia, to be gone
till Friday. I hope it will not be necessary for me to stay longer.
You never can tell about these operations."

"I trust everything will go well, Brandon."

Several things of note transpired before noon on Friday.

The Wrandalls arrived from Europe, without the recalcitrant Colonel.
Mr. Redmond Wrandall, who met them at the dock, heaved a sigh of
relief.

"He will be over on the Lusitania, next sailing," said Leslie, who
for some reason best known to himself wore a troubled look.

Mr. Wrandall's face fell. "I hope not," he said, much to the
indignation of his wife and the secret uneasiness of his son. "These
predatory connections of the British nobility--"

"Predatory!" gasped Mrs. Wrandall.

"--are a blood-sucking lot," went on the old gentleman firmly. "If
he comes to New York, Leslie, I'll stake my head he won't be long
in borrowing a few thousand dollars from each of us. And he'll not
seek to humiliate us by attempting to pay it back. Oh, I know them."

Leslie swallowed rather hard. "What's the news here, Dad?" he asked
hastily. "Anybody dead?"

"Sara is quite ill, I hear. Slow fever of some sort, Carroll tells
me."

"Is she going to marry Brandy Booth?" asked his son.

Mr. Wrandall's face stiffened. "I fear I was a little hasty in my
conclusions. Brandon came to the office a few days ago and informed
me in rather plain words that there is absolutely nothing in the
report."

"The deuce you say! 'Gad, I wrote her a rather intimate letter--"
Leslie got no farther than this. He was somewhat stunned and
bewildered by his private reflections.

Mr. Wrandall was lost in study for some minutes, paying no attention
to the remarks of the other occupants of the motor that whirled
them across town.

"By the way, my dear," he said to his wife, a trifle irrelevantly,
"don't you think it would be right for you and Vivian to drop in
this afternoon and see Sara? just to let her know that she isn't
without--"

"It's out of the question, Redmond," said his wife, a shocked
expression in her face as much as to say that he must be quite out
of his head to suggest such a thing. "We shall be dreadfully busy
for several days, unpacking and--well, doing all sorts of NECESSARY
things."

"She is pretty sick, I hear," mumbled he.

"Hasn't she got a nurse?" demanded his wife.

"I merely offered the suggestion in order--"

"Well, we'll see her next week. Any other news?"

"Mrs. Booth, Brandon's mother, was operated on for something or
other day before yesterday."

"Oh, dear! The poor thing! Where?"

"Philadelphia, of course."

"I wonder if--let me see, Leslie, isn't there a good train to
Philadelphia at four o'clock? I could go--"

"Really, my dear," said her husband sharply.

"You forget how busy we are, mother," said Vivian, without a smile.

"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Wrandall, in considerable confusion. "Was it
a serious operation, Redmond?"

"They cut a bone out of her nose, that's all. Brandon says her heart
is weak. They were afraid of the ether. She's all right, Carroll
says."

"Goodness!" cried Mrs. Wrandall. One might have suspected a note
of disappointment in her voice.

"I shall go up to see Sara this afternoon," said Vivian calmly.
"What's the number of her new apartment?"

"YOU have been up to see her, of course," said Mrs. Wrandall acidly.

He fidgetted. "I didn't hear of her illness until yesterday."

"I'll go up with you, Viv," said Leslie.

"No, you won't," said his sister flatly. "I'm going to apologise to
her for something I said to Brandon Booth. You needn't tag along,
Les."

At half-past five in the afternoon, the Wrandall limousine stopped
in front of the tall apartment building near the Park, a footman
jerked open the door, and Miss Wrandall stepped out. At the same
moment a telegraph messenger boy paused on the sidewalk to compute
the artistic but puzzling numerals on the imposing grilled doors
of the building.

Miss Wrandall had herself announced by the obsequious doorman, and
stood by in patience to wait for the absurd rule of the house to
be carried out: "No one could get in without being announced from
below," said the doorman.

"I c'n get in all right, all right," said the messenger boy, "I
got a tellygram for de loidy."

"Go to the rear!" exclaimed the doorman, with some energy.

While Miss Wrandall waited in Sara's reception hall on the tenth
floor, the messenger, having traversed a more devious route, arrived
with his message.

Watson took the envelope and told him to wait. Five minutes
passed. Miss Wrandall grew very uncomfortable under the persistent
though complimentary gaze of the street urchin. He stared at her,
wide-eyed and admiring, his tribute to the glorious. She stared
back occasionally, narrow-eyed and reproving, HER tribute to the
grotesque.

"Will you please step into the drawing-room, Miss Wrandall," said
Watson, returning. He led her across the small foyer and threw open
a door. She passed into the room beyond.

Then he turned to the boy who stood beside the hall seat, making
change for a quarter as he approached. "Here," he said, handing
him the receipt book and a dime, "that's for you." He dropped the
quarter into his own pocket, where it mingled with coins that were
strangers to it up to that instant, and imperiously closed the
door behind the boy who failed to say "thank you." Every man to
his trade!

There was a woman in the drawing-room when Vivian entered, standing
well over against the windows with her back to the light. The
visitor stopped short in surprise. She had expected to find her
sister-in-law in bed, attended by a politely superior person in
pure white.

"Why, Sara," she began, "I am SO glad to see you are up and--"

The other woman came forward. "But I am not Sara, Miss Wrandall,"
she said, in a well-remembered voice. "How do you do?"

Vivian found herself looking into the face of Hetty Castleton.
Instantly she extended her hand.

"This IS a surprise!" she exclaimed. "When did you return? Leslie
told me your plans were quite settled when he saw you in Lucerne.
Oh, I see! Of course! How stupid of me. Sara sent for you."

"She has been quite ill," said Hetty, non-committally. "We got in
yesterday. I thought my place was here, naturally."

"Naturally," repeated Vivian, in a detached sort of way. "How is
she to-day? May I see her?"

"She is very much better. In fact, she is sitting up in her room."
A warm flush suffused her face, a shy smile appeared in her eyes.
"She is receiving two gentlemen visitors, to be perfectly honest,
Miss Wrandall, her lawyer, Mr. Carroll, and--Mr. Booth."

They were seated side by side on the uncomfortable Louis Seize
divan in the middle of the room.

"Perhaps she won't care to see me, after an audience so fatiguing,"
said Miss Wrandall sweetly. "And so exasperating," she added, with
a smile.

Hetty looked her perplexity.

"But she will see you, Miss Wrandall--if you don't mind waiting.
It is a business conference they're having."

An ironic gleam appeared in the corner of Vivian's eye. "Oh," she
said, and waited. Hetty smiled uncertainly. All at once the tall
American girl was impressed by the wistful, almost humble look in
the Englishwoman's eyes, an appealing look that caused her to wonder
not a little. Like a flash she jumped at an obvious conclusion,
and almost caught her breath. This girl loved Booth and was losing
him! Vivian exulted for a moment and then, with an impulse she
could not quite catalogue, laid her hand on the other's slim fingers,
and murmured somewhat hazily: "Never mind, never mind!"

"Oh, you MUST wait," cried Hetty, not at all in touch with the
other's mood. "Sara expects to see you. The men will be out in a
few minutes."

"I think I will run in to-morrow morning," said Vivian hastily. She
arose almost immediately and again extended her hand. "So glad to
see you back again, Miss Castleton. Come and see me. Give my love
to Sara."

She took her departure in some haste, and in her heart she was
rejoicing that she had not succeeded in making a fool of herself
by confessing to Sara that she had said unkind things about her to
Brandon Booth.

Hetty resumed her seat in the broad French window and stared out
over the barren tree-tops in the Park. A frightened, pathetic droop
returned to her lips. It had been there most of the day.

In Sara's boudoir, the doors of which were carefully closed, three
persons were in close, even repressed conference. The young mistress
of the house sat propped up in a luxurious chaise-longue, wan but
intense. Confronting her were the two men, leaning forward in their
chairs. Mr. Carroll held in his hand a number of papers, prominent
among them being three or four telegrams. Booth's face was radiant
despite the serious matter that occupied his mind. He had reached
town early in the morning in response to a telephone message from
Carroll announcing the sudden, unannounced appearance of Hetty
Castleton at his offices on the previous afternoon. The girl's
arrival had been most unexpected. She walked in on Mr. Carroll,
accompanied by her maid, who had a distinctly sheepish look in her
eyes and seemed eager to explain something but could not find the
opportunity.

With some firmness, Miss Castleton had asked Mr. Carroll to
explain why the woman had been set to spy upon her every movement,
a demand the worthy lawyer could not very well meet for the good
and sufficient reason that he wasn't very clear about it himself.
Then Hetty broke down and cried, confessing that she was eager to
go to Mrs. Wrandall, at the same time sobbing out something about
a symbolic dicky-bird, much to Mr. Carroll's wonder and perplexity.

He sent the maid from the room, and retired with Miss Castleton to
the innermost of his private offices, where without much preamble
he informed her that he knew everything. Moreover, Mr. Booth was
in possession of all the facts and was even then on the point of
starting for Europe to see her. Of course, his letter had failed to
reach her in time. There was quite a tragic scene in the seclusion
of that remote little office, during which Mr. Carroll wiped his
eyes and blew his nose more than once, after which he took it upon
himself to despatch a messenger to Sara with the word that he and
Miss Castleton would present themselves within half an hour after
his note had been delivered.

A telegram already had come from Smith in the far-away Montana town,
transmitting news that disturbed him more than he cared to admit.
The showgirl was lying at the point of death, and he was having a
very hard time of it trying to keep the resolute authorities from
swooping down upon her for the ante-mortem statement they desired.
It would appear that he arrived just in time to put courage into the
girl. He would see to it that any statement she made would be the
truth! But Mr. Carroll was not so sure of Smith's ability to avert
disaster. He knew something of the terrors of the third degree.
The police would fight hard for vindication.

The meeting between Sara and Hetty was affecting....Almost immediately
the former began to show the most singular signs of improvement.
She laughed and cried and joyously announced to the protesting nurse
that she was feeling quite well again! And, in truth, she got up
from the couch on which she reclined and insisted on being dressed
for dinner. In another room the amazed nurse was frantically
appealing to Mr. Carroll to let her send for the doctor, only to
be confounded by his urbane announcement that Mrs. Wrandall was as
"right as a string" and, please God, she wouldn't need the services
of doctor or nurse again for years to come. Then he asked the nurse
if she had ever heard of a disease called "nostalgia."

She said she had heard of "home-sickness."

"Well, that's what ailed Mrs. Wrandall," he said. "Miss Castleton
is the CURE."

Booth came the next morning....Even as she lay passive in his arms,
Hetty denied him. Her arms were around his neck as she miserably
whispered that she could not, would not be his wife, notwithstanding
her love for him and his readiness to accept her as she was. She
was obdurate, lovingly, tenderly obdurate. He would have despaired
but for Sara, to whom he afterwards appealed.

"Wait," was all that Sara had said, but he took heart. He was
beginning to look upon her as a sorceress. A week ago he had felt
sorry for her; his heart had been touched by her transparent misery.
To-day he saw her in another light altogether; as the determined,
resourceful, calculating woman who, having failed to attain a certain
end, was now intensely, keenly interested in the development of
another of a totally different nature. He could not feel sorry for
her to-day.

Hetty deliberately had placed herself in their hands, withdrawing
from the conference shortly before Vivian's arrival to give herself
over to gloomy conjectures as to the future, not only for herself,
but for the man she loved and the woman she worshipped with something
of the fidelity of a beaten dog.

Carroll had in his hand the second telegram from Smith, just
received.

"This relieves the situation somewhat," he observed, with a deep
sigh. "She's dead, and she didn't give in, thanks to Smith. Rather
clever of him to get a signed statement, however, witnessed by the
prosecuting attorney and the chief of police. It puts an end to
everything so far as she is concerned."

"Read again, Mr. Carroll, what she had to say about me," said Sara,
a slight tremour of emotion in her voice.

He read from the lengthy telegram: "'She wants me to thank Mrs.
Wrandall for all she has done to make her last few months happy
ones, such as they were. She appreciates her kindness all the
more because she realises that her benefactress must have known
everything. Almost the last words she spoke were in the nature of
a sort of prayer that God would forgive her for what she had done
to Mrs. Wrandall.'"

"Poor girl! She could not have known that it was justice, not
sentiment that moved me to provide for her," said Sara.

"Well, she is off our minds, at any rate," said the matter-of-fact
lawyer. "Now are you both willing to give serious consideration to
the plan I propose? Take time to think it over. No harm will come
to Miss Castleton, I am confident. There will be a nine days'
sensation, but, after all, it is the best thing for everybody. You
propose living abroad, Booth, so what are the odds if--"

"I shan't live abroad unless Hetty reconsiders her decision to
not marry me," said the young man dismally. "'Gad, Sara, you must
convince her that I love her better than--"

"I think she knows all that, Brandon. As I said before, wait! And
now, Mr. Carroll, I have this to say to your suggestion: I for
one am relentlessly opposed to the plan you advocate. There is no
occasion for this matter to go to the public. A trial, you say,
would be a mere formality. I am not so sure of that. Why put poor
Hetty's head in the lion's mouth at this late stage, after I have
protected her so carefully all these months? Why take the risk?
We know she is innocent. Isn't it enough that we acquit her in
our hearts? No, I cannot consent, and I hold both of you to your
promises."

"There is nothing more I can say, my dear Sara," said Carroll,
shaking his head gloomily, "except to urge you to think it over
very seriously. Remember, it may mean a great deal to her--and to
our eager young friend here. Years from now, like a bolt from the
sky, the truth may come out in some way. Think of what it would
mean then."

Sara regarded him steadily. "There are but four people who know
the truth," she said slowly. "It isn't likely that Hetty or Brandon
will tell the story. Professional honour forbids your doing so.
That leaves me as the sole peril. Is that what you would imply, my
dear friend?"

"Not at all," he cried hastily, "not at all. I--"

"That's all tommy-rot, Sara," cried Booth earnestly. "We just
COULDN'T have anything to fear from you."

With curious inconsistency, she shook her head and remarked: "Of
course, you never could be quite easy in your minds. There would
always be the feeling of unrest. Am I to be trusted, after all? I
have proved myself to be a vindictive schemer. What assurance can
you and Hetty have that I will not turn against one or the other
of you some time and crush you to satisfy a personal grievance? How
do you know, Brandon, that I am not in love with you at this very--"

"Good heavens, Sara!" he cried, agape.

"--at this very moment?" she continued. "It would not be so very
strange, would it? I am very human. The power to love is not denied
me. Oh, I am merely philosophising. Don't look so serious. We will
suppose that I continued along my career as the woman scorned. You
have seen how I smart under the lash. Well?"

"But all that is impossible," said Booth, his face clearing. "You're
not in love with me, and never can be. That! for your philosophy!"

At the same instant he became aware of the singular gleam in her
eyes; a liquid, Oriental glow that seemed to reflect light on her
lower lids as she sat there with her face in the shadow. Once or
twice before he had been conscious of the mysterious, seductive
appeal. He stared back at her, almost defensively, but her gaze
did not waver. It was he who first looked away, curiously uncomfortable.

"Still," she said slowly, "I think you would be wise to consider
all possible contingencies."

"I'll take chances, Sara," he said, with an odd buoyancy in his voice
that, for the life of him, he could not explain, even to himself.

"Even admitting that such should turn out to be the case," said
Mr. Carroll judicially, "I don't believe you'd go so far as to
put your loyal friends in jeopardy, Sara. So we will dismiss the
thought. Don't forget, however, that you hold them in the hollow
of your hand. My original contention was based on the time-honoured
saying, 'murder will out.' We never can tell what may turn up. The
best laid plans of men and mice oft--"

Sara settled back among the cushions with a peremptory wave of her
hand. The loose, flowing sleeve fell away, revealing her white,
exquisitely modelled arm almost to the shoulder. For some strange,
unaccountable reason Booth's eyes fell.

"I am tired, wretchedly tired. It has been a most exhausting day,"
she said, with a sudden note of weariness in her voice. Both men
started up apologetically. "I will think seriously of your plan,
Mr. Carroll. There is no hurry, I'm sure. Please send Miss Wrandall
in to me, will you? Perhaps you would better tell Hetty to come in
as soon as Vivian leaves. Come back to-morrow afternoon, Brandon.
I shall be much more cheerful. By the way, have you noticed that
Dicky, out in the library, has been singing all afternoon as if
his little throat would split? It is very curious, but to-day is
the first time he has uttered a note in nearly five months. Just
listen to him! He is fairly riotous with song."

Booth leaned over and kissed the hand she lifted to him. "He is
like the rest of us, Sara, inordinately happy." A slight shiver
ran through her arm. He felt it.

"I am so afraid his exuberance of spirit may annoy Vivian," said
she, with a rare smile. "She detests vulgarity."

The men departed. She lay back in the chaise-longue, her eyes fixed
on the hand he had touched with his lips.

Watson tapped twice on the door.

"Miss Wrandall could not wait, ma'am," he said, opening the door
softly. "She will call again tomorrow."

"Thank you, Watson. Will you hand me the cigarettes?"

Watson hesitated. "The cigarettes, ma'am?"

"Yes."

"But the doctor's orders, ma'am, begging your pardon for--"

"I have a new doctor, Watson."

"I beg pardon, ma'am!"

"The celebrated Dr. Folly," she said lightly.

CHAPTER XXIII

SARA WRANDALL'S DECISION

When Smith returned from the Far West, a few days after the events
narrated in the foregoing chapter, he repaired at once to Sara's
apartment, bringing with him not only the signed statement of the
Ashtley girl, but the well-worn and apparently cherished prayer-book
that had been her solace during the last few months of her life.
On the fly-leaf she had written: "I have nothing of God's earthly
gifts to leave behind but this. It has brought me riches, but it is
a poor thing in itself. I bequeath it, my only earthly possession,
to the kind and merciful one who taught me that there is good in
this bad world of ours." It was inscribed to "Mrs. Challis Wrandall."

"She made me promise to give it to you with my own hands, Mrs.
Wrandall," said Smith, in the library, putting as much emotion into
his voice and manner as he thought the occasion and the audience
demanded. Miss Castleton and Mr. Booth were also present. "She
was a queer girl. I never saw one just like her, believe me. Just
after she signed that paper, I had a chance to be alone with her
for a minute or two. She asked me to stoop over so's I could hear
what she had to say, and she made me promise not to say a word
about it until after she was gone. Well, it will surprise you just
as much as it did me, what she had to say with her dying breath,
so to speak." He paused for the effect.

"What did she say to you?" demanded Sara.

"Well, sir, do you know that that girl knew all along who it was
that went up to Burton's Inn that evening with your husband? What
do you think of that?"

There was not a sound in the room. Even the coals in the fireplace
seemed to take that instant to hush their blithe crackling. Smith's
listeners might have been absolutely breathless, they were so rigid.
Each had the grotesque fear that he was about to point his finger
at Hetty Glynn and call upon her to aaswer to an accusation from
the grave.

The next moment they drew a deep, quivering breath of relief. The
detective went on, almost apologetically. "I tried to bluff her
into telling me who she was, Mrs. Wrandall, but she wouldn't fall
for it. After a little while, I saw it was no use questioning her.
She was as firm as a rock about it. And she was pretty near gone,
I can tell you. As a matter of fact, her heart went back on her
suddenly not ten minutes later, sort of surprising all of us. But
she did manage to whisper a few things to me while the others were
conversing in the hall. She said that she saw another girl with Mr.
Wrandall about a week before the murder, a stranger and a very
pretty one. He knew how to pick out the pretty--I--I beg your
pardon, ma'am. That sort of slipped out. You see--"

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