CHAPTER X
"WIRELESS"—AND A WOUNDED WRIST
"The 'wireless'!" the American exclaimed.
"The 'wireless'?" the women cried, puzzled.
"Quite!" the Englishman nodded, evidently pleased with the surprise which he had evoked. "For the Bahia carries a 'wireless' installation. Did you not know it, Mr. Preston?" he inquired.
"I did not. But if she does?"
"Then, well within an hour, sir, the Plymouth police, who are travelling in the coaches ahead in this same train, can be in complete communication with the Bahia and can take a statement and deposition from the last victim of the remarkable Mr. Manling as minutely and accurately as though Mr. Hareston were swearing the identification upon the Book against the prisoner in the dock. Very truly, Mr. Preston, the Bahia is far out of sight beyond Land's End this morning. She is indeed a slow ship, so that she cannot reach land again for at least two weeks, and, as she carries the mails, neither can she put back to England before then, or into any other port. But by the 'wireless,' sir, the Bahia will be 'in communication' for a few hundred miles yet and for at least twelve hours!"
"I see!" the American nodded.
"And I am almost sorry!" the Englishman continued with concern. "For Manling has been very bold and very clever and most diverting. But clever as he is, he is no cleverer than his most stupid oversight. He took the police dare to do one bolder and more audacious thing under their very noses; and he did it successfully!" he cried with real admiration. "And threw them at first completely off his track; but then he attempted the one thing too much which the police can always count upon to catch the cleverest man when he becomes over-confident.
"And had he, Mr. Preston, but seen or recalled the little vertical and horizontal wires of the 'wireless' aerials which hummed over his head as he was leaving the Bahia after paying the stupid steward to keep the drunk and violent American locked in his cabin, he could have got away even with this last taunt to our police; and he would have had his safe two weeks in which to leave England and seek cover. But as it is now, within half an hour the police in the second-class carriages ahead of us must have him!"
"In half an hour?"
"When we reach Polporru, Mr. Preston, where there is the first large land 'wireless' station upon the Cornish coast."
"Polporru upon the Cornish coast—where we are to stop?" the girl interrupted.
"Ah; you are to stop there, Mrs. Varris? And you, Mr. Preston?"
"We have stopped there for at least a few days every time we have come to England, Mr. Dunneston," the girl replied.
"And the 'wireless' station which the police are to use is there?"
"Within twenty minutes, if we are on time," the Englishman pointed out the window at his side, "we should see the great mast of the new station on the hills to our left. The effective radius of the new station is, I understand, several hundred miles under all conditions, which gives the police still a comfortable margin before the Bahia can possibly pass out of communication.
"Had Mr. Manling been less confident of his cleverness, and been willing to wait before sending his impudent letter to the police, the Bahia might have passed beyond the radius giving her direct communication with the shore; and it would then be a rather doubtful and pretty business for her to send her messages from mid-ocean by relaying them from ship to ship to the shore.
"But as it is, the police need merely press the key at Polporru, call the Bahia somewhere a hundred miles off Land's End as simply as they could call London by telegraph; and, when they have taken Mr. Manling's description, catch him and clap him into jail."
"That is so!" The American leaned back and considered the flying landscape a moment, but the girl bent brightly forward.
"I hate to be stupid, Mr. Dunneston," she said. "But the 'wireless'—I do not quite understand it yet."
"You mean its operation?"
"Of course, I knew we had a Marconi installation on the boat coming over this year, and I even sent and received messages. But I do not quite understand yet how the police will use it to get their information from the Bahia."
"It is not difficult to explain, Miss Varris. Doubtless you recall the sets of long wires which stretched up the foremast, and then horizontally from mast to mast of the vessel which brought you over? Those were the aerial wires of the ship's installation. As I said, we shall soon see upon our left the tall iron mast supporting the high, vertical aerials of the Polporru land station. At the lower end of those wires—both upon the ship and upon shore—is a powerful sending apparatus which discharges a very powerful current into the wires, when the key is pressed, which is felt by every similar set of wires anywhere within a circle of some hundreds of miles. The effective radius for a ship's 'wireless' installation is seldom more than two or three hundred miles. A shore station sometimes sends much further than that, according to conditions. But at Polporru to-day the police are counting upon the ordinary communication radius of a couple of hundred miles. As the 'wireless' waves will spread out from Polporru in a ring in every direction, they know they must find the Bahia well within the circle of three hundred miles. They need not know where, exactly. Whereever she is, they can call and communicate with her as confidently as though they had strung a wire to her and were telegraphing over that.
"Indeed, the chief difference between 'wireless' communication and that with wires to which we are all accustomed," the Englishman continued patiently, "is that the operator upon the wire can call only the stations upon the same wire, whereas the 'wireless' operator, using the atmosphere as his signalling medium, can call and receive an answer from every station anywhere within his signalling distance. But as the call which the police will make in a few moments will be for the Bahia, the operator aboard her will at once recognize it, take down the police inquiry, and, pressing his own key, send his answer and—give us Mr. Manling!"
"Thank you. I see," the girl acknowledged, though it was evident she could not comprehend clearly. She turned to the window on her left. The flying train began to leave the inland fields which it had chosen, after crossing the Tamar, and started pressing again toward the sea-shore.
"Oh, there!" she cried, after all had waited a few moments in silent suspense. "There is the mast on that little hill by the town! Is not that it, Mr. Dunneston?"
"No," the Englishman decided, after gazing at it. "That is the old Polporru station, I believe, Miss Varris, only occasionally used now for coast signalling work. The new station is—there, do you see it? Down below the town a little and nearer the shore?"
The train swung about another bend. A tall iron mast suddenly shot up from the sea in the direction the Englishman pointed.
"That is where the police are going," the American confirmed, as the train stopped and the platform of the little Cornish station filled with the men alighting from the carriages ahead.
"And not only the police! The whole town seems going there, too!" the girl commented as she looked about. "That old station is absolutely deserted, and even the town is emptied. Word must have gone ahead of what the police are to do. But come, mother; we stop here anyway, you know."
Young Preston jumped down quickly and began handing the things out to the waiting hotel porters.
"And you, Mr. Dunneston?"
"I was going on to Clovelly," the Englishman considered doubtfully. "But, I say, I'll stay and see this through, too," he decided suddenly.
"Good!" Young Preston put his hand in through the window for the Englishman's luggage. As he extended his arm, his wrist stretched clear of his cuff and showed a white bandage bound tightly about it.
"I thought there was a bandage under your sleeve," the girl cried as she saw it. "So you were hurt! Is it very bad?" she sought to examine it.
"Please—it's nothing!" The American hastily drew back and covered his wrist with his sleeve again. "I was just cranking a motor for a fellow at the hotel after breakfast this morning—he was having some trouble and was in a hurry—and the handle flew about, after I let it go, and struck me. It just bruised me a little, and broke the skin so that it bled."
The Englishman looked at the American critically.
"Not all of the officers have gone down to the station, Mr. Preston," he said. "Our friend of the Grand Hotel, who has been riding in the compartment just ahead of us, seems to be waiting about a bit."
"I see! The officer who has been shadowing me!"
The American gathered up his things experimentally and moved towards the hotel 'bus with the others. The officer immediately followed along behind.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Varris," young Preston stopped the others. "Of course I meant to go up with you and see you settled before doing anything else. But I hate to parade 'old faithful' here through the town after me. I clearly have re-established myself as a perpetual object of English suspicion. So you will excuse me to satisfy this man and clear myself before coming up with you?"
"I am sorry, sir," the man came forward respectfully. "We had given up, sir, any idea that the man might be you, sir, till we received the astonishing communication published this morning, sir. And orders, sir, are to keep with you till we shall have heard from the Bahia. Sorry, sir," he repeated. "But orders—"
"I understand!" Preston smiled patiently. "I wasn't trying to escape. As soon as I saw my friends settled, I was intending to go down to the station myself and let you compare me with your description of Mr. Manling to your fullest satisfaction. I certainly hope you will get it with complete details. I'm much more anxious to have it than any of you can possibly be. So lead on, and I'll go with you now!"
"Thank you, sir!" the man acknowledged. "It would save me trouble, sir. I'm glad you offered it. I was to ask you to step down. But I'm afraid, sir, that there must be a bit of a wait."
"Why?"
"Because we have ascertained, sir, that Mr. Hareston was indeed very drunk and in very bad shape last night, sir. If, then, you—I mean Mr. Manling, sir, had him locked up in the cabin as he says, he would probably sleep very heavy and very late, sir, so he would not naturally wake and call the shore station till rather late."
"Yes; but can't you call the Bahia and get them to wake the man up?"
"We can, sir; and we are probably doing that down there now. But we have found out from her owners that, though the Bahia carries 'wireless' for protection, she has no regular operator. The freight clerk operates when needed."
"I see."
"Yes, sir; he would be very busy with other things after leaving port; we hardly hope to have him much before noon."
"I'll go down there with you now, anyway," the American decided. He turned to the other three.
"I am sure Mr. Dunneston will see you settled, Mrs. Varris," he said. "I don't care to parade my police detail to the hotel. Besides, now that I am all but clear of this business, you understand that I want to have it done with?"
"Certainly!" the mother nodded. But the daughter had turned and stood gazing down at the crowd collecting about the little house of the 'wireless' station on the shore.
"Then you are going down at once, Mr. Preston?"
"Yes."
"Will you take me with you?" she asked suddenly.
"You want to go?" he cried.
"Don't you want me to?"
"Want you to? Of course; but—" He checked his objection and turned to Mrs. Varris for her to decide.
"Mother, do you see any reason why I shouldn't go?" the girl appealed to her, too.
"Of course not, my child, if Mr. Preston wishes to take you," Mrs. Varris returned, smiling. "I was thinking myself, Mr. Preston," she turned to their young friend, "that Ethel and I ought to go down there with you before going to the hotel—it seems so like deserting you to let you go and face those English alone, although the message from the Bahia can only clear you. But since this man thinks there may be a long delay, perhaps I had better go to the inn first. Yet if Ethel wishes to go now, I certainly see no objection."
"Thank you, Mrs. Varris!" young Preston acknowledged warmly, without daring to glance at the girl.
"You'll bring her back to me at once and come and tell me who the real Manling is, as soon as you're clear, won't you?" Mrs. Varris added.
She held out her hand and received Preston's grasp. The Englishman, too, extended his hand clumsily before he followed her to the 'bus.
"And, I say, really I hope you can come up and tell us about it, Mr. Preston. Good luck, old chap! Really, I say, good luck!" he repeated heartily.
"That was fine of him, wasn't it?" Preston mused as he watched the two drive off in the 'bus. "I believe the fine old sport truly likes me and hopes this can clear me—though he can't honestly see it that way.
"But this is so much finer of you, Miss Varris!" he recollected the girl at his side, guiltily. "After the way you have been standing up for me against everything, I wanted above all to have you there when this thing clears me; but I didn't dare think you would care about coming."
"Yes, you did!" The girl met his eyes just a fraction of a second. But before he could reply, she was leading ahead coolly.
"We're keeping our escort waiting, Mr. Preston," she said. And in another moment the police officer caught step to converse with them cheerily.
The high steel mast, which bore the
Something made her apprehensive and kept her from sensing the pages she turned as she tried to read
humming aerials of the "wireless" apparatus, was fastened firm into the bed rock of a steep white cliff, cutting a little cape out from the rugged Cornish coast; and the little stone station, which housed the batteries and coils of the sending and receiving apparatus, stood even closer to the edge of the cliff at whose base the white breakers from the end of the English Channel were beating against the boulders.
A cool, fresh breeze was blowing in from the Atlantic, and before it a fleet of Brixham trawlers, all speckled and splashed with the flying spray, coasted cautiously toward Plymouth, while two eight-knot tramps, outward bound, beat out into the channel on a long slant. A three-funnelled cruiser, far from shore, was blowing great puffs of steam up under its smoke to assure a double-reefed schooner that it intended to pass to starboard. But neither Preston nor the girl could see, from that high little point piercing the sea, any sign of another ship, or even a shred of smoke which might be from the Bahia.
Yet the Plymouth police, just ahead, stepped confidently into the little stone "wireless" station. When they pressed the key within, they knew that they could send their message to the Bahia, though she were three times as far beyond the reach of the sharpest eye; and they knew that the answering discharge of the Bahia's spark could bridge that distance twice over.
The villagers of Polporru, though they must have been long used to the wonders of "wireless," pressed up close behind the police and crowded about the entrance of the little building.
The man, escorting Preston and the girl, opened a path through them with difficulty, and the two young Americans entered the station.
As they came in, they heard the heavy hiss and rasp of the powerful sending spark, leaping across the spark gap and on up the aerials to send out its signal swiftly in the direction of the fleeing Bahia.
"Cras-ssh! Ash! Ash! Asssh!" the spark roared, as the door closed behind the young Americans and shut out the crowd once more.
This signalling continued steadily and without response for some moments. One of the Plymouth police inspectors, who had taken his place quietly beside young Preston and the girl, explained the delay.
There was no doubt that the Bahia was still within signalling distance, he said; for another ship, far out at sea and bound for Southampton, had heard the call and volunteered that she had passed the Bahia barely half an hour before and that she must still be well within communication.
The freight-clerk operator was obviously busy with his other duties; but he would soon answer. And indeed, after the very next series of signals from his key, the man who had been calling the Bahia stopped his current, stooped suddenly, and clamped the receivers of his recording apparatus over his ears.
"The Bahia is acknowledging, sir!"
"Then send this!" The police inspector in charge handed the operator his carefully written message.
The rapid volleying of the sending spark hissed itself out. And in the silence of the succeeding suspense, the American drew in beside the inspector, who bent intently over the operator, listening, with his receivers fastened over his ears.
The operator, as he received, wrote out his transcript upon the pad before him, and the inspector tore off the sheets and read them to himself.
"What are they saying?" the American demanded suddenly.
"The Bahia, sir," the inspector replied sternly, "is confirming the story given us by Mr. Manling himself in his statement mailed us this morning."
"That is?"
"They are saying, in response to our query, that, just before clearing the dock last night, a man, very drunk, was brought on board by some one. The man who brought him on board bought a cabin for Rio de Janeiro and put the drunken man into it. He told the steward that the other man was an American coffee planter who, when drunk, was subject to delirium and hallucinations. He paid the steward liberally to quiet him and silence him so that he would be allowed to sail. He promised the steward also that the man's brother, who would meet this man at the dock at Rio de Janeiro, would reward him further for any care he would give. The steward reports that, after some hours of wild struggles and protests, he finally got the man to sleep."
"Good for the steward!" The American could not suppress his appreciation as he looked down at the girl beside him.
The officer drew up sternly, and even the girl shook her head.
"This confirms by detail the general story received this morning, sir!" the inspector commented coldly.
"Yes; and now?"
"The captain and first officer have sent for the man—Mr. Hareston, as we know. They are now taking his statement."
The inspector and all waited till the operator, at the bidding of the scarcely perceptible taps and ticks in his receiver, wrote a full page of the pad. The inspector tore it off and examined it carefully.
"And that is his statement?" the American inquired.
"It confirms, as you may see for yourself, sir," the inspector obligingly handed it over, "the main points of the robbery and following shanghai-ing of the deponent as communicated to us this morning by Mr. Manling, sir."
"I see," the American only glanced through it hurriedly. "But the description of the man?" he asked, as the operator began to write again. "How does he describe the man?" he hastened.
The inspector read over the operator's shoulder.
"Ah!" he exclaimed with gratification. "This is very good!"
"What?"
"I was doubtful of the absolute reliability of the description of the criminal, even if we could secure a statement from Mr. Hareston. Considering the confessed condition of the witness at the time of the robbery and attack, I was afraid that his statement could not hold conclusively. But, of course, the steward, with whom he bargained, had a most excellent chance of observing the man, and the purser also remembers him."
"Yes, and they say—they say?"
"Fortunately," the inspector continued. The operator had finished the sheet and the inspector tore it off and held it before him. "Fortunately the statements and descriptions of all three exactly agree. I think there can be no doubt of this; this is final."
"What is it, then?"
"The man who made the attack and put Mr. Hareston aboard shortly before twelve, when the Bahia sailed," the inspector read triumphantly, as his men, at a gesture, closed closer about the American, "was an American dressed in evening clothes, with a silk hat, a covert coat, and a stick! He is tall—probably a trifle over six feet—and well built. His features are regular and distinct. He might be called handsome. His hair and eyes are a very deep brown. He is tanned and—and—"
"Yes—and?" The American caught himself up strongly and defiantly under the direct, inevasive eyes of the officers. "And?" he mocked. "I know that the man is very like me! I have been mistaken for him—he has had me mistaken for him many times before! But—and what? What more distinctive thing can they name to identify this man with me?"
"Hold out your right arm, sir!"
The inspector himself slipped up the sleeve an inch or more.
"And, sir!" he concluded finally, "Mr. Hareston states, under oath, that in the struggle he distinctly recalls that his assailant cut himself, or somehow was cut, upon the right wrist. He says the bleeding from that stained his clothes. The steward and the purser both swear also that the man who put Mr. Hareston aboard the Bahia had his right wrist newly bandaged with a handkerchief!"
The American felt his head drooping, and, as the officer still grasped his arm and held its wound in clear view of all, he stared dully, dazedly, stupidly down at the white bandage about his wrist.
But suddenly another hand—a quiet, firm, steadying little hand, whose touch brought him up quickly, alert and ashamed, to his senses, and brought with it, too, a thrill of something so strange and unexampled that it ran through him with a great recklessness of everything for that moment—that hand touched his bandaged wrist and recovered it, simply and unresistingly, from the heavy grasp of the officer.
"Miss Varris!" he cried then, recovering himself, "you are not going to make this more—painful for me!"
"I think, sir," the inspector said sternly, before the girl could form her reply, "that that last detail is, I may say, final!"
He turned then to the girl in his surprise at her action, and seemed to wait for her to explain herself.
"Oh, it is, Inspector, final, as you say! Yes; that is just it!" she cried joyfully. "That last detail was quite—final!"
"Then—" the inspector began deliberately.
"Then, Miss Varris—" the American cried pleadingly, "you will not—"
"Therefore, Inspector," the girl returned triumphantly, "I think I shall be able to prove to you, upon very conclusive evidence, that Mr. Preston could not have committed the crime at the Devonshire Inn last night!"
"Could not, madam?" the inspector demanded. "How, madam? Can you prove that he had not this hurt at twelve last night when the Bahia cleared?"
"I know that he did not have it, Inspector," the girl returned evenly, "when he left the Tudor Hotel in Plymouth, late last night, where he had been calling upon my mother and myself!"
"You can swear to that?"
"Yes, I can and will swear to that!" the girl replied. She turned quietly to Preston.
"You were not hurt then, were you?" she asserted rather than asked.
"No!" he managed to answer dazedly. "I was hurt, as I told you, this morning."
"And I will swear to that gladly, Inspector," she confirmed.
"Miss Varris! you shall not!" Preston started; but the inspector interrupted.
"Very good! But at what time can you prove he did leave the Tudor Hotel, Miss Varris?"
"I can prove, upon evidence which you cannot hesitate to accept, Inspector," the girl rejoined calmly, "not only that Mr. Preston could not have had time to rob and be hurt between the time of his leaving us at the Tudor and the sailing of the Bahia; but I can prove satisfactorily, I think, that he had not even left the Tudor till the Bahia had already sailed!"
The American caught himself about, his sudden amazement startling him from his stupor.
"Miss Var—" he started again; but the girl looked up and caught his gaze, and for the second time she held him helpless before her strange, imperative appeal to him. He checked himself, wondering, and watched her silently. Again the officers appeared not to have noticed his exclamation.
"You appreciate, Miss Varris," the inspector warned gravely, "that it is not sufficient for you merely to state this; you must prove it."
"I appreciate that, Inspector."
She thought a moment and then looked about the group of the local authorities in the background which had given way to the Plymouth police.
"Barrows!" She suddenly singled out one of the Cornish officials.
One of the men stepped forward respectfully and removed his hat.
"I was fearing you had forgotten me, Miss Varris!" the man murmured.
"Not after the way you checked my horse that time when he started to bolt! I did not see you at first among the others. That was all."
"Thank you, Miss."
"You are the sheriff still for this part of Cornwall?"
"Yes, Miss. The deputy, Miss."
"You have known me and my mother for some time?"
"You, for full five years, Miss; and Mrs. Varris, sir," he turned to the Plymouth inspector, now comprehending the reason of his being called forward, "we all of us here in Polporru have known for full ten years. She has been coming every summer or so for full that time, sir, for a week or so to visit at Mr. Brookingdale's—him of Buckingham, you know, who married an American lady, and has the big place above here on the hills."
"Precisely," the girl confirmed confidently. "Thank you, Barrows—very much!" she held out her little hand to the Cornishman's clumsy, delighted grasp. "As Sheriff Barrows says, Inspector," she continued then triumphantly to the Plymouth officer, "mother has been known here for at least ten years. She has often visited Mrs. Brookingdale; and always—even if we are just passing through—she has stopped, as she stopped this time, to see Mrs. Brookingdale for a few hours, at least.
"I shall not ask you to take my word alone that Mr. Preston could not have committed that crime. As mother was to send word to Mr. and Mrs. Brookingdale to let them know that she was in town, they are probably at the inn with her now. So if you will come with Mr. Preston and myself—and in such a way as to do Mr. Preston no further injury," she concluded coolly, "we can prove upon my mother's evidence, for which Mr. Brookingdale will gladly hold himself responsible, that Mr. Preston did hot leave our parlor at the Tudor last night till ten minutes after twelve, when, as you yourselves have said, the Bahia had already left her dock."
She turned to the American again, with her commanding, inevasive appeal, which he could only obey.
"Let us go now, Mr. Preston!" she said.
The inspector wavered.
"Men," he directed then, "until we can ascertain beyond all doubt whether or not this gentleman is the one we are after, make public none of the details we have gained this morning. If he is not the one, we must keep them to ourselves for our use until we have caught our man."
Then he followed the two young Americans as they made their way quietly through the inquiring, wondering crowd waiting outside. A part of the crowd started to follow as they saw the police inspector accompany the Americans toward the town. But as most of the police loitered at the "wireless" station, the crowd turned back and still waited about the little stone house.
So young Preston and the girl and the inspector entered the sleepy little Cornish village alone. It was little more than a double row of pretty, picturesque stone and thatch shops and houses extending along both sides of the shady little street, unevenly paved with big, flat stones. But beyond the end of this street stood a newer and more pretentious building, put up to attract the travelling Americans who love Cornwall.
A big motor-car was standing before this inn. Ethel Varris recognized it with an exclamation of pleasure, and in a moment she saw her English friends with her mother in the morning-room of the inn.
The girl at once brought in young Preston and the police inspector and presented them to her mother's friends. Mr. Brookingdale stared at the officer sternly. The inspector stood to one side, uncomfortably.
"And now, Ethel," Mrs. Varris exclaimed when the introductions were over, "what has happened and what is the matter?"
"A most stupid mistake has happened, mother, but nothing is the matter which you cannot correct in a moment, if you will. The inspector here, who came down from Plymouth with us on the train this morning, merely wants you to tell him what time Mr. Preston left us at the Tudor last night—to avoid another stupid mistake, mother!"
"Oh, that is all?" Mrs. Varris asked, much relieved. "I will be very glad to give that, or anything else which can help him clear his case. It was after twelve, Inspector, when Mr. Preston left—but then, he had come rather late."
"At what time he came is not material, madam." The inspector collected himself. "The time of his departure alone is the question—and essential. We know that he did not return to his rooms at the Grand Hotel till after half-past twelve, and we know that the Bahia sailed sharp at twelve. If he had left as early as eleven, he must explain what he was doing between that hour and his return to the Grand Hotel at twelve-forty. But if he did not leave the Tudor till after twelve, obviously we are wasting our time in trying to trace him in this matter. So I wish to know only, madam, if you are certain that this young man did not leave your parlors at the Tudor Hotel till twelve o'clock or after."
"I am certain."
"May I ask, as is my duty, how you are certain?"
"Because, Inspector," Mrs. Varris replied patiently, "some little time before, I went into my own room, which was just next to our parlor and between that and my daughter's room.
"I was very tired and lay down in my room. When my daughter closed the outside door of our suite, after Mr. Preston had gone, the noise woke me, and a moment later, as my daughter passed through, she turned on the light, and I remember distinctly commenting upon the time. It was ten minutes after twelve, was it not, Ethel?" She turned to the girl for confirmation.
"Yes; it was precisely ten minutes after twelve," the girl replied evenly, "when I came into your room."
Again young Preston started; but as he glanced about the others, he checked himself with an effort.
"That is quite sufficient, I fancy, is it not, Inspector?" Mr. Brookingdale put in.
"Quite, sir!" the officer bowed in respectful apology. "It is quite—quite incomprehensible still in some ways, I must say, sir,"—the man looked about and moved out reluctantly,—"but we are glad to have ourselves set right about this young gentleman. We ask your pardon very sincerely, Mr. Preston." He bowed to the American and withdrew.
Young Preston returned the bow blankly and turned, hopelessly, to try to join in the light talk which the others almost immediately resumed. That the girl was brightest and gayest of all and was clearly covering over his stupid replies only made the endless hour worse.
But at last the English left, and Mrs. Varris went out with them to their motor.
Preston faced the girl then with the agony and sudden weakening of a snapped strain.
"You knew it was scarcely eleven when I left you at the Tudor last night!" he charged.
"Of course!"
"Of course? But you—you—"
"I told the inspector," the girl seemed to defy him, "that I could show to his satisfaction that you did not leave till after twelve. And I did!"
"Yes; but your mother—you made your mother—"
"State just what she honestly thought. Wait a moment, please," the girl stopped him as he started to protest. "I myself said only three things, all of them true. I said that I knew you were not hurt when you left me last night, and that I would swear that you did not get hurt till this morning. And I said that it was after twelve when I woke mother by going through her room. Now, I know that you left at eleven; but I did not fasten the outside door and pass through mother's room till a little after twelve. She did not know that you had not just left. I did not tell her."
"I see that she only told what she thought," Preston acknowledged. "But you knew I had at least an hour to do what was done in Plymouth last night between eleven and twelve. And you knew that I might have done it!"
"I knew!" the girl again defended him defiantly against himself, "that you could not possibly have done it! I knew it! I knew it even before the police put that in about your hurt wrist!" she cried. "I'd know now that you couldn't have done it, if I didn't have that to make me more sure!"
"My hurt wrist?" Preston demanded in wonder.
"Yes! But I tell you I didn't need that to make me know!" the girl repeated. "When they put that in as they did, of course it made me still surer that this 'wireless' was all part of the police plot against you. All summer they've been trying to get the real thief, but they couldn't, don't you see? So they have been persecuting you to save their own reputations. Why, don't you remember how they had to wait and wait there before getting an answer? I don't believe that they got an answer at all; but, when they saw they could get nothing from the Bahia, they just pretended they did and described you as you stood before them."
"No, they didn't, Miss Varris," Preston had to correct her, although his heart leaped into his throat at this girl's passionate defence of him. "They described me as I was last night—the clothes and all—not as they saw me then."
"Then how could they describe you with your wrist hurt, when you didn't hurt it till this morning after breakfast?"
"I don't know that! I don't know that!" Preston stammered, confused. "But how do you know my wrist was hurt this morning—and not last night in the fight with Hareston? You merely had my word for that!"
"No, I hadn't!" the girl returned in triumph; "for I knew for myself that what you said was true. I saw you myself this morning when you hurt yourself helping the man with his motor."
"You didn't!" Preston cried incredulously.
"I did!" the girl confessed, coloring crimson. "For early this morning, after we were all packed up, I took Elsie out for a walk with me, and," she turned her face away for the first time, "I took her down the street toward the Hoe. You were pacing up and down in front of your hotel when the motor went wrong in the street beside you. I saw you spring out to fix it, and something fly up and strike your wrist, and saw the blood come, and you stood and laughed 'All right' to the people in the car before bandaging it. I—I won't tell how close I came to letting you know then that I was there! But, when the police put that in their description against you, I was sure it was part of a plot. So, I saw my chance to best them at their own plot! And," she triumphed gladly again, "I did it!"
"Miss Varris! Oh—oh, Miss Varris!" young Preston could only exclaim, incredulously.
He felt the blood sting hotter and hotter within him. He put out his hand and caught one of the girl's and held his over hers for a fleeting instant, and then Mrs. Varris's quiet voice in the hall brought his senses back to him.
"But how can that give me the right to stay?" he cried, as he let go her hand. "If that could clear me, you could have told it to the police. But it could not! I can take advantage of your—your evasions for me, to keep myself free. But I cannot stay with you with—without the truth."
"Do you suppose," the girl challenged, "that I could not account for your still staying up, after leaving me, without thinking you a thief?"
"No!" Preston cried. "For—oh, you said you, yourself, stayed up till after twelve, too! Could you understand me from that?"
But the girl now flushed deeper and bowed her head and did not answer.
Preston pulled himself together.
"But that only makes it more necessary for me to go till I can come back to you clear," he said hollowly. "So good-bye!" he cried. "It is only that I care so much to stay with you that again I can only say, Good-bye!"
He caught her hand once more. "Good-bye!" He crushed it between both his own, and was gone.