CHAPTER VI.
In a flash Allan Quentin realized the damning incrimination of his position. Were it not for the girl, it would be laughable; Enid had risen with a stifled cry, and Quentin saw that she must now be told all.
He himself had nothing to fear beyond some humiliation, for if Osgood took him back to Los Angeles he would speedily be cleared. But it was another thing with Enid Elsmere. Mathews was the only man who could keep her from Burlington, thought Quentin, and were she to be forced from the island it might go hard with her.
"Confound you, Osgood!" he cried angrily, as the girl came to his side and put her hand on his shoulder appealingly. "I've done nothing to be arrested for! What's the meaning of all this, anyhow?"
"None o' your back talk," growled the detective, his former suavity completely vanished. "Step down here, you!"
"Not on your life!" returned Quentin. "What for?"
"For housebreaking, you fool! That's one thing, and I've got more if you want 'em. You're a slick one, you are! Not slick enough to fool me, though."
Still standing at the top of the steps, Quentin forced himself into calmness, and attempted to argue with the man, feeling at the same time that he would more cheerfully plant his fist on the heavy chin. He explained his business at the cottage to the extent of saying that he was leaving a note for Mr. Mathews, and stated that the note beneath the door would be proof in his support, if it could be got at. To his renewed dismay the detective only laughed scornfully.
"Look here, doc, you pretty near put it over on me to-day, all right. I had you framed up as a galoot pure and simple, but I guess I had it wrong. You prove your identity and do it in a hurry, unless you want to feel the bracelets."
Quentin's chest heaved in helpless anger. He knew that he was undone, for his lost pocketbook held his cards, letters, and check fold; yet this charge was so ridiculous that it irritated him beyond endurance. It occurred to him that there would be a wire from his housekeeper at the hotel for him, and with new confidence he set forth this fact.
"Nothin' like that goes here," laughed Osgood heavily. "You might's well give up that game, bo. I'll take in the lady dip over there for housebreaking, and you, too; also, I got a charge of assault against you. By the time headquarters shakes you down a bit, I guess we'll get your record yet."
"Eh! Say, are you crazy?" exclaimed Quentin. "What kind of a charge are you faking up, anyhow? You'd better go slow, Osgood."
"Come off, come off!" grinned the detective, snapping off his electric torch as Quentin descended a step in his amazement. "You made a bad job up at the club to-day, and you'll do time for it. The town constable got a report on it, and I knew right off who the guy was—and it's you."
"Great Scott!" gasped Quentin. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, beat it!" exclaimed Osgood disgustedly. "Didn't you assault a guy named Green up there this afternoon? Anyhow, he's laid a charge against you, and you're it, doc. So trot along lively now, and the lady as well."
With that it all flashed over Quentin, and he emitted a groan of dismay. His two psuedo-friends had put up a fine joke on him in revenge for his action of that day; he could picture the drunken glee with which Wells and Green had framed up the charge, and then had doubtless gone off on their trip. If he went in to Los Angeles to answer it, as he must do, and if Enid were to be cleared by the only means possible—that of establishing her identity, Burlington would at once assert his legal rights, and she might have to endure no little mental suffering before her friends could get her away from him.
The girl was standing on the top step still, in silent consternation; she seemed to be leaving it all in his hands, for she must have understood what was passing. Did she believe all this rigmarole? He groaned again at the thought that this absurd affair might have ruined him beyond repair in—her ears for she could know only what she heard. He broke out in desperate earnestness:
"Why, man, that was only a joke put up on me by a couple of men who had been drinking a little too much! You can phone over to the city and get my description and establish the whole thing"
"Look here," broke in Osgood roughly, "I ain't going to spend all night talking to you. I got a charge or two against you, and you're going to answer it, that's all. You can do your jawing to headquarters in the morning."
"But, you idiot, this lady is blind and is in my care! We're going to be at the Metropole to-night, and you've nothing against her that can stand. You go slow on this thing, Osgood, or you lose your star. I'll go back with you to-morrow, if you wish, when Mr. Mathews has returned and can take care of Miss Elsmere here. But don't you try any bullyragging with me, or you'll be sorry. I'm no hobo"
"Oh, I've got your number," and Osgood laughed as he pushed up the automatic in the moonlight. "Step down, doc. Good alias you got there, eh?"
Quentin saw that there was no help for it, and slowly descended the steps. Enid followed him, her hand still resting on his shoulder for a guide; her fingers tightened suddenly, and he knew that it was a silent expression of confidence in him. Slight as the thing was, it steadied him and buoyed him up wonderfully.
At the same time it served to remind him that she was utterly dependent on him. The whole miserable tangle resolved itself in his mind; he knew only that this girl's entire future depended on him and on his extricating them both from the toils cast about them by the detective.
As he gazed at the man, who was fishing in his pocket for something that jangled, while at the same time keeping his automatic carefully in place, Quentin sensed the wild anger that was surging up in him. It was so unreasonable—that this brute should hold Enid Elsmere's future in his thick hands and never know it! The self-assurance, the confident power of the detective's whole manner flecked Quentin on the raw; the thought of being handcuffed was too much altogether.
"You're not going to handcuff me, my man," he asserted flatly. Osgood glanced at him, noted the ice-cold gray eyes and the quivering nostrils, and promptly shoved his automatic against Quentin's breast.
"No games, now," he warned threateningly, menace in his heavy face.
"I made you a fair proposition," said Quentin, forcing himself- into calm. "I'll go along with you, but Miss Elsmere is under my professional care, and she's going to remain at the Metropole"
"Cut it out!" snapped Osgood, his left hand fetching out a pair of handcuffs, glinting bright in the moonlight. He shoved his jaw forward in ugly fashion. "I've had enough jaw out o' you, bo. You'll march down to the hotel, and if she's still keeping up the blind game she can have you for guide, see? Now stick out your mitts, you two—your right to his left, girly!"
He chuckled at his own jest as he dangled up the handcuffs. Until that instant Quentin had not realized that Osgood meant to iron the girl. He heard a little frightened gasp break from her lips, and the hand went from his shoulder. For a second he gazed at the detective, incredulous.
Osgood read his startled unbelief for fear, and grinned. But a flame of rage had swelled up in Quentin's brain as he comprehended the detective's intent. Iron this helpless girl! A mad fury settled on him—but it did not destroy his caution.
He lowered his left hand, half turning as if to bring down the hand of Enid with his right. At all costs he must prevent this outrage, and the greater danger to her that lay behind it, he felt. So, as Osgood lowered his automatic and reached out with the open handcuffs, Quentin swiftly struck down with his open left hand and knocked the weapon a dozen feet away.
Osgood was taken completely by surprise. He ripped out one savage oath, then Quentin's fist drove into his mouth and sent him staggering back. Quentin followed him with a leap, in desperate fear lest he draw another revolver, but before the detective could recover himself he had landed a second blow to the mouth.
He missed the chin, but Osgood was goaded into rage, and rushed at him with a shout of fury. Instead of avoiding the rush, Quentin stepped into it, took a glancing blow on the cheek, and brought up his right from the waist with all his force.
There seemed little power in the blow, so swift was it; but the detective's arms flew out, his head rocked back, and, with a single groan, he fell in a crumpled heap over Quentin's feet. It was a clean knock-out.
Quentin's mind worked fast in that instant. A glint from the gravel path caught his eye, and he stooped quickly to grasp the handcuffs. He knew that he must get this fellow out of the way and silenced, at least until a few hours had passed. How he was to manage it he did not quite see, but with the irons on him Osgood would at least be beyond making any more mischief for the present. He well knew that this whole affair would mean future trouble for himself, but he would manage to get out of it somehow, and the main thing now was to put Osgood where he would be safe for a time.
So without hesitation he brought the man's wrists together and snapped on the handcuffs. Then he straightened up—and saw Enid Elsmere standing just beside him, the automatic held in her hand.
For a moment he stood paralyzed with astonishment. He had knocked the weapon into the bushes, he remembered; if she was blind, how had she secured it? Was she blind, after all?
"Where—where did you get that gun?" he panted hoarsely. "How could you know where it"
"I heard something fall," she said simply. "I found it—oh, what has happened? Why don't you tell me what you've done? I can't see! I can't see!"
Her wail of despair smote him, and, as she dropped the weapon with a little cry, he caught her and held her for a moment, thrilled out of himself by the clinging softness of her arms.
"It's all right, Enid," he exclaimed quickly. "That was a detective who tried to arrest us. He thought we were thieves, and I knew that he must not take us back to the city. I had to knock him out, little girl—keep cool, please do!"
At his explanation he felt the swift contraction of her muscles, the sudden convulsing fear that seized her.
"Oh, it is terrible!" she cried chokingly. "I—I had not meant this—I thought it was all for—I was afraid you were a"
And with that she fell in a limp faint, and Quentin lowered her to the steps. He straightened up, mopping the perspiration from his brow, and looked from one to the other of the two silent figures in blank consternation.
"Good Lord!" he exclaimed softly. "Now I am in a mess!"
"Well, I'm dununed! Say, what's goin' on here?"
At the voice, Quentin whirled about and saw the old caretaker standing a few yards away. Too late—the thing he had feared most of all had happened! Quentin leaned over and picked up the automatic, quietly shoving it into his coat pocket as he faced the amazed caretaker.