The Hollow of Her Hand

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"Never mind. I understand. Go on."

"Right after that he told her he was through with her. Chucked
her, that's the sum and substance of it, for the new one, whoever
she was. She raised a row with him about it, and he laughed at her.
For nearly a week she spied on him, and she saw him out in the car
with the stranger at least half a dozen times. Now comes the queer
part of it, and the thing that made her keep her lips closed at
first, right after the killing--the murder, I mean. She laid for
him in front of his home on the very day of the murder and swore
she'd do something desperate if he didn't give the other one up. He
took her to a cheap restaurant on the West Side, and she was sure
that several waiters saw that they were quarrelling. To get her
out of the place, he induced her to get in his car and they went
for a ride out as far as Van Courtlandt Park. The police never got
onto all this. But she lived in terror for a few days, believing
that the waiters might remember them, although neither of them had
ever been in the place before. When she was taken up for examination,
she still wondered if they would be called on to identify her.
Nothing doing. It was right then, Mrs. Wrandall, that you stepped
in and said that her alibi was sufficient, and staked her for life
out there in the West. She says she saw the other girl after the
murder, but she wouldn't say where it was or when. Of course, she
couldn't swear that this girl did the job up there at Burton's,
but she was pretty nearly dead certain she was the one who went
up there with him. She was just on the point of telling the police
about this girl, to save herself, when you helped her out of the
fix, and then she got to thinking strange things, she said. This
is what she said to me, there on her death-bed, and I want to tell
you it gave me an idea of character that I had never come across
before in all my experience. She said that if Mrs. Wrandall here
could be fine enough to befriend her, knowing all you did, ma'am,
about her and your husband, it oughtn't to be hard for her to help
another erring girl by keeping her mouth shut. And that's just what
she did. She kept still. That sort of reasoning was new to me. But,
when you stop to think it over, maybe she was right. A word from
her might have sent a fellow creature to the chair. She had had her
lesson in charity from you, Mrs. Wrandall, and, while you didn't
mean it to have that effect, you undoubtedly spoiled the best chance
we'll ever have to get the real woman in the case."

There was a moment of tense silence. Booth was the first to risk
the effort at speech.

"And she wouldn't say a word more? She gave you no--no clue?"

"Not the faintest idea, sir. She took that girl's name to the grave
with her."

"Her name! She knew her name?" cried Sara, leaning forward.

"She heard it a day or two after you had her set free, Mrs.
Wrandall. Don't it beat all? Now, don't you see what might have
happened if we'd let the police put the screws on her out there?
Why, the chances are, a hundred to one, she would have broken down
in the end, and told who this other woman is. There is where we
made a fatal mistake. But it's too late now, confound it."

"Yes, it's too late now," said Sara, relaxing in her chair.

"I'm telling you this, although maybe I wasn't expected to. She
made me promise not to tell the police. Well, I guess I can keep
that promise. You ain't the police."

"It is a most remarkable story, Mr. Smith," said Sara, "but I do
not see that it leads us anywhere. We are quite as much in the dark
as before."

The detective studied the pattern in the rug at his feet, a defeated
look in his eyes.

"I suppose I MIGHT have forced her to tell me, Mrs. Wrandall, but
I--I didn't have the heart to bully her. I suppose you'll always
have it in for me for letting the chance slip?"

"I think I have already told you, Mr. Smith, that I am not at all
curious."

With the departure of the detective, the three conspirators fell
into an agitated discussion of the revelations he had made; so grave
had their peril appeared to be at the opening of his narrative that
they were still in a state of perturbation from which they were
not to recover for a long time. Their cheeks were white and their
eyes were dark with the dread that remained even after the danger
was past. Hetty's arms hung limp and nerveless at her sides as she
lay back in the chair and stared numbly at her friends.

"Do you really believe she knew that I was the one?" she asked
miserably. "Do you think she knew my name?" she shuddered.

"What if she did?" demanded Booth with an assumption of indifference
he was not yet able to feel. "She was a brick to keep it to herself.
The danger's past, dearest. Don't let it worry you now."

"But just think of it! At any time she could have told this story
to the police and--Oh, wasn't it appalling? I thought my heart
would never beat again!"

"We never knew till now how close we were to the abyss," said
Sara, drawing the thin wrap closer about her shoulders. Suddenly
she laughed. "But why contemplate the disaster that didn't occur?
We are more secure than ever. This girl was the only one who knew,
because no one else could have had the same incentive to spy upon
him, Hetty. She is dead. Your name isn't likely to be shouted from
the housetops, for the simple reason that it is safely locked up
in a grave." She hesitated for a moment and then added: "In two
graves, if it makes you feel more secure."

The others looked at her in open astonishment.

Booth was frowning. Sara glanced at his stern face and her eyes fell.
"If that sounded cold and unfeeling, I am sorry, Hetty. It was my
unfortunate way of trying to convince you that there is nothing
left for you to fear."

She left them a moment later, bending over to kiss Hetty's cheek
as she passed by her chair.

"Now, you see what I mean, Brandon, when I insist that it would
be a mistake for you to marry me," said Hetty in a troubled voice.
"We could never be sure of immunity."

"You refer to that remark of hers?"

"She is a strange woman. I sometimes have the feeling that she wants
to keep me with her for ever. I feel that she will not let me go."

"That's pure nonsense, Hetty," he said. "She wants you to marry
me, I am positive." He may have thought his tone convincing, but
something caused her to regard him rather fixedly, as if she were
trying to solve an elusive puzzle.

He took her by the arms and raised her to her feet. Holding her
quite close, he looked down into her questioning eyes and said very
seriously:

"You are suspicious, even of me, dearest. I want you. There is but
one way for you to be at peace with yourself: shift your cares over
to my shoulders. I will stand between you and everything that may
come up to trouble you. We love one another. Why should we sacrifice
our love for the sake of a shadow? For a week, dearest, I've been
pleading with you; won't you end the suspense to-day--end it now--and
say you will be my wife?"

The appeal was so gentle, so sincere, so full of longing that she
wavered. Her tender blue eyes, lately so full of dread, grew moist
with the ineffable sweetness of love, and capitulation was in them.
Her warm, red lips parted in a dear little smile of surrender.

"You know I love you," she said tremulously.

He kissed the lovely, appealing lips, not once but many times.

"God, how I worship you," he whispered passionately. "I can't go on
without you, darling. You are life to me. I love you! I love you!"

She drew back in his arms, the shadow chasing the light out of her
eyes.

"We are both living in the present, we are both thinking only of
it, Brandon. What of the future? Can we foresee the future? Dear
heart, I am always thinking of your future, not my own. Is it right
for me to bring you--"

"And I am thinking only of your future," he said gravely. "The future
that shall be mine to shape and to make glad with the fulfilment
of every promise that love has in store for both of us. Put away
the doubts, drive out the shadows, dearest. Live in the light for
ever. Love is light."

"If I were only sure that my shadows would not descend upon you,
I--"

He drew her close and kissed her again.

"I am not afraid of your shadows. God be my witness, Hetty, I glory
in them. They do not reflect weakness, but strength and nobility.
They make you all the more worth having. I thank God that you are
what you are, dear heart."

"Give me a few days longer, Brandon," she pleaded. "Let me conquer
this strange thing that lies here in my brain. My heart is yours,
my soul is yours. But the brain is a rebel. I must triumph over
it, or it will always lie in wait for a chance to overthrow this
little kingdom of ours. To-day I have been terrified. I am disturbed.
Give me a few days longer."

"I would not grant you the respite, were I not so sure of the
outcome," he said gently, but there was a thrill of triumph in the
tones. Her eyes grew very dark and soft and her lips trembled with
the tide of love that surged through her body. "Oh, how adorable you
are!" he cried, straining her close in a sudden ecstasy of passion.

The door-bell rang. They drew apart, breathing rapidly, their
blood leaping with the contact of opposing passions, their flesh
quivering. With a shy, sweet glance at him, she turned toward the
door to await the appearance of Watson. He could still feel her in
his arms.

A drawling voice came to them from the vestibule, and a moment
later Leslie Wrandall entered the library, pulling off his gloves
as he came.

"Hello," he said glibly. "I told that fellow downstairs it wasn't
necessary to announce me by telephone. Silly arrangement, I say.
Why the devil should they think everybody's a thief or a book agent
or a constable with a subpoena? He knows I'm one of the family.
I'm likely to run in any time, I told him, and--Oh, I say, I'm not
butting in, am I, Miss Castleton?"

He shook hands with both of them, and then offered his cigarette
case to Booth, first selecting one for himself. Hetty assured him
that he was not de trop, sheer profligacy on her part in view of
his readiness to concede the point without a word from her.

"Nipping wind," he said, taking his stand before the fireplace.
"Where is Sara? Never mind, don't bother her. I've got all the time
in the world. By the way, Miss Castleton, what is the latest news
from your father?"

"I dare say you have later news than I," she said, a trace of
annoyance in her manner.

"I thought perhaps he had written you about his plans."

"My father does not know that I have returned to New York."

"Oh, I see. Of course. Um--um! By the way, I think the Colonel
is a corker. One of the most amiable thoroughbreds I've ever come
across. Ripping. He's never said anything to me about your antipathy
toward him, but I can see with half an eye that he is terribly
depressed about it. Can't you get together some way on--"

"Really, Mr. Wrandall, you are encouraging your imagination to a
point where words ultimately must fail you," she said very positively.
Booth could hardly repress a chuckle.

"It's not imagination on my part," said Leslie with conviction,
failing utterly to recognise the obvious. "I suppose you know
that he is coming over to visit me for six weeks or so. We became
rattling good friends before we parted. By Jove, you should hear him
on old Lord Murgatroyd's will! The quintessence of wit! I couldn't
take it as he does. Expectations and all that sort of thing, you
know, going up like a hot air balloon and bursting in plain view.
But he never squeaked. Laughed it off. A British attribute, I dare
say. I suppose you know that he is obliged to sell his estate in
Ireland."

Hetty started. She could not conceal the look of shame that leaped
into her eyes.

"I--I did not know," she murmured.

"Must be quite a shock to you. Sit down, Brandy. You look very
picturesque standing, but chairs were made to sit upon--or in,
whichever is proper."

Booth shrugged his shoulders.

"I think I'll stand, if you don't mind, Les."

"I merely suggested it, old chap, fearing you might have overlooked
the possibilities. Yes, Miss Castleton, he left us in London to go
up to Belfast on this dismal business." There was something in the
back of his mind that he was trying to get at in a tactful manner.
"By the way, is this property entailed?"

"I know nothing at all about it, Mr. Wrandall," said she, with a
pleading glance at her lover, as if to inquire what stand she should
take in this distressing situation.

"If it is entailed he can't sell it," said Booth quietly.

"That's true," said Leslie, somewhat dubiously. Then, with a
magnanimity that covered a multitude of doubts he added: "Of course,
I am only interested in seeing that you are properly protected,
Miss Castleton. I've no doubt you hold an interest in the estates."

"I can't very well discuss a thing I know absolutely nothing about,"
she said succinctly.

"Most of it is in building lots and factories in Belfast, of course."
It was more in the nature of a question than a declaration. "The
old family castle isn't very much of an asset, I take it."

"I fancy you can trust Colonel Castleton to make the best possible
deal in the premises," said Booth drily.

"I suppose so," said the other resignedly. "He is a shrewd beggar,
I'm convinced of that. Strange, however, that I haven't heard
a word from him since he left us in London, I've been expecting
a cablegram from him every day for nearly a fortnight, letting me
know when to expect him."

Hetty had gone over to the window and was looking out over the
darkening park.

"Perhaps he means to surprise you, old man," said Booth, with a
smile that Leslie did not in the least interpret.

With a furtive glance at the girl, whose back was toward them,
he got up from his chair and came quite close to Booth, frowning
slightly as he plucked at his moustache with nervous fingers.
Lowering his voice to a cautious half-whisper, he inquired:

"I say, Brandy, what do you know about him? Is he on the level, or
is he a damned old rascal?"

"Did you lend him any money?" asked Booth, with a malicious grin.

Leslie gulped. A fine perspiration broke out on his forehead. "Yes,
I did," he replied, and, on reflection, slyly kicked himself on the
ankle, making sure however that Hetty was still looking the other
way. "Go on! Break it rudely. He's no good, eh? A shark, eh?"

"Believe me, I don't know anything about him, Les," said Booth,
with a sudden feeling of loyalty to the Colonel's daughter. "He
may pay up."

Leslie snapped his fingers while they were on the way to his upper
lip, and almost missed his moustache by the digression. At any
rate, he seemed to be fumbling for it.

"I did it on her account," he explained, nodding his head in Hetty's
direction. He thought hard for a moment. "Of course, he won't be
such a blithering fool as to come over here, will he?"

"I shouldn't, if I had been able to get what I wanted at home, as
he very obviously did," said Booth pitilessly. "How much was it?"

Leslie waved his hand disdainfully. "Oh, a few hundred pounds,
that's all. No harm done."

"Are you going to California this winter for the flying?" asked
Hetty, coming toward them.

Sara entered at that juncture, and they all sat down to listen for
half an hour to Leslie's harangue on the way the California meet
was being mismanaged, at the end of which he departed.

He took Booth away with him, much to that young man's disgust.

"Do you know, Brandy, old fellow," said he as they walked down Fifth
Avenue in the gathering dusk of the early winter evening, "ever
since I've begun to suspect that damned old humbug of a father of
hers, I've been congratulating myself that there isn't the remotest
chance of his ever becoming my father-in-law. And, by George, you'll
never know how near I was to leaping blindly into the brambles.
What a close call I had!"

Booth's sarcastic smile was hidden by the dusk. He made no pretence
of openly resenting the meanness of spirit that moved Leslie to
these caddish remarks. He merely announced in a dry, cutting voice:

"I think Miss Castleton is to be congratulated that her injury is
no greater than Nature made it in the beginning."

"What do you mean by 'nature'?"

"Nature gave her a father, didn't it?"

"Obviously."

"Well, why add insult to injury?"

"By Jove! Oh, I SAY, old man!"

They parted at the next corner. As Booth started to cross over to
the Plaza, Leslie called out after him:

"I say, Brandy, just a second, please. Are you going to marry Miss
Castleton?"

"I am."

"Then, I retract the scurvy things I said back there. I asked her
to marry me three times and she refused me three times. What I
said about the brambles was rotten. I'd ask her again if I thought
she'd have me. There you are, old fellow. I'm a rotten cad, but I
apologise to you just the same."

"You're learning, Leslie," said Booth, taking the hand the other
held out to him.

While the painter was dining at his club later on in the evening,
he was called to the telephone. Watson was on the wire. He said
that Mrs. Wrandall would like to know if Mr. Booth could drop in
on her for a few minutes after dinner, "to discuss a very important
matter, if you please, sir." At nine o'clock, Booth was in Sara's
library, trying to grasp a new and remarkable phase in the character
of that amazing woman.

He found Hetty waiting for him when he arrived.

"I don't know what it all means, Brandon," she said hurriedly, looking
over her shoulder as she spoke. "Sara says that she has come to a
decision of some sort. She wants us to hear her plan before making
it final. I--I don't understand her at all to-night."

"It can't be anything serious, dearest," he said, but something
cold and nameless oppressed him just the same.

"She asked me if I had finally decided to--to be your wife, Brandon.
I said I had asked you for two or three days more in which to
decide. It seemed to depress her. She said she didn't see how she
could give me up, even to you. She wants to be near me always. It
is--it is really tragic, Brandon."

He took he hands in his.

"We can fix that," said he confidently. "Sara can live with us if
she feels that way about it. Our home shall be hers when she likes,
and as long as she chooses. It will be open to her all the time,
to come and go or to stay, just as she elects. Isn't that the way
to put it?"

"I suggested something of the sort, but she wasn't very much
impressed. Indeed, she appeared to be somewhat--yes, I could not
have been mistaken,--somewhat harsh and terrified when I spoke of
it. Afterwards she was more reasonable. She thanked me and--there
were tears in her eyes at the time--and said she would think it
over. All she asks is that I may be happy and free and untroubled
all the rest of my life. This was before dinner. At dinner she
appeared to be brooding over something. When we left the table
she took me to her room and said that she had come to an important
decision. Then she instructed Watson to find you if possible."

"'Gad, it's all very upsetting," he said, shaking his head.

"I think her conscience is troubling her. She hates the Wrandalls,
but I--I don't know why I should feel as I do about it,--but I
believe she wants them to know!"

He stared for a moment, and then his face brightened. "And so do
I, Hetty, so do I! They ought to know!"

"I should feel so much easier if the whole world knew," said she
earnestly.

Sara heard the girl's words as she stood in the door. She came
forward with a strange,--even abashed,--smile, after closing the
door behind her.

"I don't agree with you, dearest, when you say that the world
should know, but I have come to the conclusion that you should be
tried and acquitted by a jury made up of Challis Wrandall's own
flesh and blood. The Wrandalls must know the truth."

CHAPTER XXIV

THE JURY OF FOUR

The Wrandalls sat waiting and wondering. They had been sent for and
they had deigned to respond, much to their own surprise. Redmond
Wrandall occupied a place at the head of the library table. At his
right sat his wife. Vivian and Leslie, by direction, took seats at
the side of the long table, which had been cleared of its mass of
books and magazines. Lawyer Carroll was at the other end of the
table, perceptibly nervous and anxious. Hetty sat a little apart
from the others, a rather forlorn, detached member of the conclave.
Brandon Booth, pale-faced and alert, drew up a chair alongside
Carroll, facing Sara who alone remained standing, directly opposite
the four Wrandalls.

Not one of the Wrandalls knew why they, as a family, were there.
They had not the slightest premonition of what was to come.

The strong glare of an electric chandelier, seldom used in this
quiet, subdued little library, threw its light down upon the group,
outlining every feature with a sharpness that almost created shadows.
It was a trying light. No play of the emotions could be lost under
its convicting glow. A clock struck nine. Outside the first savage
storm of the winter was raging.

The Wrandalls had been routed from their comfortable fireside--for
what? They were asking the question of themselves and they were
waiting stonily for the answer.

"It is very stuffy in here," Vivian had said with a glance at the
closed doors after Sara had successfully placed her jury in the
box.

"Keep still, Viv," whispered Leslie, with a fine assumption of awe.
"It's a spiritualistic meeting. You'll scare the spooks away."

It was at this juncture that Sara rose from her chair and faced
them, as calmly, as complacently as if she were about to ask them
to proceed to the dining-room instead of to throw a bomb into their
midst that would shatter their smug serenity for all time to come.
With a glance at Mr. Carroll she began, clearly, firmly and without
a prefatory apology for what was to follow.

"I have asked you to come here to-night to be my judges. I am on
trial. You are about to hear the story of my unspeakable perfidy.
I only require of you that you hear me to the end before passing
judgment."

At her words, Hetty and Booth started perceptibly; a quick glance
passed between them, as if each was inquiring whether the other
had caught the extraordinary words of self-indictment. A puzzled
frown appeared on Hetty's brow.

"Perfidy?" interposed Mr. Wrandall. His wife's expression changed
from one of bored indifference to sharp inquiry. Leslie paused in
the act of lighting a cigarette.

"It is the mildest term I can command," said Sara. "I shall be as
brief as possible in stating the case, Mr. Wrandall. You will be
surprised to hear that I have taken it upon myself, as the wife of
Challis Wrandall and, as I regard it, the one MOST vitally concerned
if not interested in the discovery and punishment of the person
who took his life,--I say I have taken it upon myself to shield,
protect and defend the unhappy young woman who accompanied him to
Burton's Inn on that night in March. She has had my constant, my
personal protection for more than twenty months."

The Wrandalls leaned forward in their chairs. The match burned
Leslie's fingers, and he dropped it without appearing to notice
the pain.

"What is this you are saying?" demanded Redmond Wrandall.

"When I left the inn that night, after seeing my husband's body in
the little upstairs room, I said to myself that the one who took
his life had unwittingly done me a service. He was my husband; I
loved him, I adored him. To the end of my days I could have gone
on loving him in spite of the cruel return he gave for my love and
loyalty. I shall not attempt to tell you of the countless lapses
of fidelity on his part. You would not believe me. But he always
came back to me with the pitiful love he had for me, and I forgave
him his transgressions. These things you know. He confessed many
things to you, Mr. Wrandall. He humbled himself to me. Perhaps you
will recall that I never complained to you of him. What rancour I
had was always directed toward you, his family, who would see no
wrong in your king but looked upon me as dirt beneath his feet.
There were moments when I could have slain him with my own hands,
but my heart rebelled. There were times when he said to me that I
ought to kill him for the things he had done. You may now understand
what I mean when I say that the girl who went to Burton's Inn with
him did me a service. I will not say that I considered her guiltless
at the time. On the contrary, I looked upon her in quite a different
way. I had no means of knowing then that she was as pure as snow
and that he would have despoiled her of everything that was sweet
and sacred to her. She took his life in order to save that which
was dearer to her than her own life, and she was on her way to pay
for her deed with her life if necessary when I came upon her and
intervened."

"You--you know who she is?" said Mr. Wrandall, in a low, incredulous
voice.

"I have known almost from the beginning. Presently you will hear
her story, from her own lips."

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