Читать книгу Murder Runs in the Family - Footner Hulbert - Страница 8

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LANCE went home, changed his clothes, and immediately set out for Franklin Street. He could not rest that night until he had talked with Freda.

When he asked for her at the boarding-house he was invited to wait in the parlor. The other boarders, all elderly, were sitting around the room, playing cards and doing fancy-work. Lance preferred to remain in the hall.

When she came down, so pretty, so quiet, so straight, he began to tremble all over. He clenched his hands to control it. It was as if he were really seeing her for the first. There was a strange look in her eyes. She had on her hat and coat, and she said at once:

"Let us walk out. There is no place in this house where we can talk."

When the front door closed behind them, Lance caught up her hand and pressed it hard. Speech almost failed him. All he could get out was: "Oh, Freda!...Oh, Freda!"

"What's the matter?" she asked, sharply. She pulled her hand away.

"Jim Beardmore is dead," he said.

"I know it," said Freda, in a smothered voice.

Lance stopped short on the steps. "How did you know?"

"His son Tony just called me up and told me."

A sharp stab of jealousy went through Lance. "What is Tony Beardmore to you?" he demanded.

"Nothing," said Freda. "But Jim Beardmore is my employer. I'm his secretary."

Lance stared at her while he digested this piece of information.

They went down the balance of the steps. In the path leading through the front yard Freda turned to him with that extraordinarily level look of hers and asked him, quietly, "How did you know it?"

Lance turned red, and then all the color faded from his face. Too late he saw what a mistake he had made in rushing to her with the news. "I...I heard it downtown," he stammered. "Everybody is talking about it."

Freda's eyes were still fixed on his face. "You are lying," she said. "Anybody could see it."

He couldn't find a word to say.

There was a bench beside the path for the use of the boarders in fine weather. Freda dropped on it as if all the strength had suddenly run out of her legs. "Did you kill him?" she whispered.

"No!" cried Lance. "I swear it!"

"What need to swear it," she said, "unless your conscience is bad?"

He was silent.

She covered her face with her hands and her body rocked on the bench. The sight was more than Lance could bear. "Freda, I didn't do it! I didn't!" he murmured, brokenly. He put a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away with so terrible a shudder he dared not touch her again.

"Then how did you know it so soon?" she whispered.

"I won't lie to you any more," he said, recklessly. "I followed him this afternoon when he left the office. First downtown and then to a big house out in the country."

"For what purpose?" she asked.

"I wanted to find out what kind of a hold it was that he had over you. I could see that he was spoiling your life. I wanted to save you."

"You meant to kill him!" she whispered, accusingly.

Lance straightened up. "Well, I might have killed him," he said, quietly. "There mustn't be anything but the truth between you and me. When I got that note from you I saw red."

"Oh!" gasped Freda. "And now you're saying I put you up to it!"

Lance bent over the crushed figure, longing to take her in his arms. "No!" he said, deeply. "I stand by my own acts...I might have killed him. But somebody else was before me."

Freda crouched lower on the bench. "Do you expect me to believe that!" she whispered.

"It's the truth," said Lance. "I found him dead in the big house. Shot with a gun that was marked with his own name. It wasn't suicide, though. I met the killer in the woods afterwards. He tried to shoot me."

"This is an incredible story!" she murmured. "You are lying."

"Freda, look at me!" he begged. "You saw it in the beginning when I tried to lie; now you ought to see that I'm telling the truth...I love you! O God, how I love you! From the first moment I saw you I was no further use to myself! And now I love you a thousand times more! Look at me! Look at me!"

She obstinately kept her face hidden. "Did you think you could win me through a murder?" she whispered.

"No! When I bought the gun I never thought of myself at all. I just wanted to save you."

"Yet you came to me the moment he was dead!"

"I would not have come if I had killed him," said Lance, somberly. "I would just have disappeared."

Freda was silent.

"I came to you instinctively," Lance went on. "I couldn't rest until I had seen you. I haven't asked you what was between you and Jim Beardmore because, whatever it was, I know that you're on the square. I reckon I took it for granted that you would trust me the same way. I see my mistake."

"You started in by lying to me," she said.

He hung his head. "I was a fool," he muttered. "You looked at me so suspiciously, it seemed to cut all the ground from under me. I lost my head for the moment."

"I can't believe you now," she said in a muffled voice. "Leave me! I can't stand any more of this."

"Freda, I believe you love me a little," he said, softly, "or this wouldn't hurt you so much. Look at me! The other day when I held you in my arms I was sure of it!"

She sprang away from him. "No! You are horrible to me!" she murmured, hysterically. "I wish I had never laid eyes on you. I never want to see you again! Go! Go!"

Lance turned sore then. "Oh yes?" he said. "Women are a good bit different from men, it seems. I did not kill Jim Beardmore, but if I had it would have been to save you. If you had killed him—I reckon you had plenty of reason to do so—I wouldn't have asked the whys or wherefores of it. My only thought would have been to stand by you."

His anger stimulated her. She got the better of her weakness. "How dare you speak to me like that!" she said, facing him out. "You know nothing about me or what my feelings are. I didn't ask you to interfere in my life. I asked you to keep out of it!"

"Day before yesterday you kissed me," he murmured.

"That's not so!" she said, indignantly. "You are stronger than I. When you seized me I was helpless!"

"Oh, well, you can always get rid of me by informing against me to the police," said Lance, bitterly. "I don't mind telling you that it would be damned hard for me to clear myself if I were taken. I was too close to the murder to-night—to two murders, I reckon. I believe there was a cop killed later. With my gun."

"Do you have to insult me?" said Freda, sorely. "Go away! I only want to forget you."

"I'm going," said Lance, curtly.

At the first move he made to turn away her voice broke. "Wait!" she said, breathlessly. "What are you going to do?"

"What is it to you?" he muttered, sullenly.

"You must get out of town. You must go far away. Have you sufficient money?"

"I'm not going to run for it," he said, stubbornly.

"But this is suicidal!" she said, wringing her hands. "The death of Jim Beardmore will rouse the whole country. The police will never rest until they have run you down. All the millions of the Beardmore family will be back of them. You'll be caught!"

"All right," he said, "let them catch me. I'm not going to get out of Lounsbery until I get to the bottom of this business. I'm going to find out for myself who killed Jim Beardmore, and why."

"Think of me!" she pleaded. "You said that you did this for me."

"I didn't do it," said Lance.

"...And that I egged you on to do it! What about me if you are tried and perhaps convicted?"

"Your name won't be mentioned at the trial. At least not by me."

"Please...!"

"This is no good!" said Lance, harshly. He left her.