Читать книгу The Mystery Of The Second Shot - Rufus Gillmore - Страница 11

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Ashley faced a smooth-surfaced macadam road which began at the end of the long causeway over which he had come. Two great square boulders marked the entrance. Up a rise, short but sharp, the road corkscrewed—in sight for only a few rods at a time. On either side clusters of bushy sumach and elderberry, thick tangles of golden rod, wild carrot and other weeds scrambled to its edge. An occasional birch, cypress or wild cherry tree rose above the shoulder-high vegetation. It was a miniature, half-grown wilderness—utterly untouched—nothing except this ribbon of macadam that promised a house.

As he neared the brow of the hill, he came to a sudden halt. A turn brought him to a grass-grown road leading off to the right through the thick shrubbery. The two roads were kept apart by big posts and a heavily timbered gate. The gate stood open; a key hung in the large padlock. On each side of the gate were huge “No Trespassing” signs—each a defiance to the other.

Here, then, was where the Thorpe-Newhall feud had come to a climax. Here, over a trivial right of way, one man had pitted himself against the other, each had studied how he most might provoke his neighbor. They had locked horns, fought on, each for his eggshell rights, until death, quicker than the courts, stepped in to pass judgment. And now—sole monument to a senseless strife—the gate stood wide open, the key in the padlock.

Following the main road to the left, Ashley found that beyond the next bend it came to the top of the hill. Straight before him lay the rear of a great, spreading colonial dwelling. Its huge chimneys and ostentatious bulk filled the eye with their dimensions. This must be the Newhall summer home. He perceived at once why the driver had referred to it scornfully as a hotel.

Clothes lay scattered on the grass to dry, but he saw no other evidence of occupancy. Passing by the side of the house, he came to its front and, a few feet beyond, to the edge of the cliff. He stopped in amazement. Coming up the road, the hemming-in shrubbery had given him a feeling of being deep in the green country. And here was the ocean—nothing but sea and sky, so far as the eye could see. His first sensation was one of delight at the scope and grandeur of the view. But not a boat or sail relieved the monotony of that stretching waste of blue water. Gradually, it began to wear on him. He moved nearer the edge of the cliff and looked down. Seventy feet below, the sea crept in over piles and masses of rocks. They were stained and hung with seaweed. These, the sea had won from the land and made its own, placing upon them its dark and sinister mark. The effect was bleak—unpleasantly bleak. A step nearer, and the sheer drop to the rocks below brought its inevitable impulse to throw himself over. Drawing back, his eyes fell upon a footpath running along the edge of the cliff. At intervals, the cliff had crumbled away, the worn footpath plunged over the edge to the sea-marked rocks seventy feet below. So this was the depressing site over which two men had fought so bitterly?

And then, Ashley turned and understood. Back toward the west and south stretched the marshes. Their soft, placid green soothed the eye. Beyond were little round hills with roads running like narrow ribbons to their tops. They were dotted with homely, weather-beaten houses. Here and there, these snuggled together in neighborly comfort, and a church spire marked the village. And everywhere was the soft green of the grass and the darker green of the trees. Here the country came down to the sea. When the spectator tired of one, he had but to turn to the other.

A scrubwoman with a broom and pail of water, coming out of the front door of the big house, interrupted Ashley’s reflections. Without noting his presence, she set to work to wash the paint on the front steps. He approached her.

“Is Miss Newhall at home?” he asked.

“You can go in and see,” she replied without looking at him.

Surprised, he went up the steps. Probably she was an extra woman hired for this work. One of the regular maids would meet him inside and take his name to Miss Newhall.

Entering, he heard voices upstairs, but he wandered aimlessly about the hall, looking into the neighboring rooms, without coming upon anyone. Finally he came back and sat down in the front hall. Someone would appear sooner or later.

Having settled this point, he gave attention casually to the voices upstairs. The first words he distinguished caused him to listen, astonished.

“No; I don’t want it—I won’t have it investigated,” he heard a woman declare in the petulant voice which he recognized as Miss Newhall’s.

“Listen! Let me tell you again just what it means, if you don’t,” a man persuaded.

“No; you’re only wasting your time.” Ashley heard the creak of her chair as she rose to emphasize her objection.

“Don’t be headstrong!” His sharp tone showed that the man was near the end of his patience. “I’ve already told you that Mr. Newhall leaves nothing except this insurance—everything else is hopelessly lost. It can’t be possible that you understand me.”

“I do.” Miss Newhall’s voice was icy.

“Wait!” Ashley visualized the man filling the pause by raising a hand in protest. “Let it go as suicide and this house—everything will be swept away—why, you’ll be left without a cent in the world or a roof over your head.”

“No. There’s the trust fund my mother left to me.”

“Your stepfather was the sole trustee of that. Gone, like all the rest.”

“I can’t believe it. He never would have done that—to me.”

“He had to.”

“I tried to get him to take my jewels and he wouldn’t.”

“Your jewels! My dear child, a drop in the bucket!”

“You seem ready to say anything to gain your point. My emerald necklace alone cost twenty thousand dollars. No, now let me talk a while. I know my father better than you do. He was too fond of me to spend my money and leave me with nothing. Even—”

“He did. I know —”

“Even—” Miss Newhall’s voice pierced shrilly through the interruption. “I say, even if he did, it all goes to show that I am right. Every point you have made proves that my father intended to do—what he did.”

The man took immediate advantage of the drop in her voice. “No, you are wrong, entirely wrong. Your father never committed suicide. He told me only the day before that his life was in danger. Not only that, but he told me from whom. On the day of his death, I know that he was to hold a long conference with this man. He telephoned me that he was to meet him again last night. He seemed afraid of the outcome of that talk. It was the first time I ever knew him to be scared of any living thing. It made a strong impression on me. The man he named was one who thought he had a grievance against him—his bitterest enemy. Your father feared him—why shouldn’t he have done it? Let him prove an alibi and clear himself. I didn’t intend to tell you his name, but you make it necessary. It was—”

“Stop!” The girl’s scream brought Ashley to his feet. “Don’t you dare bring his name into this,” cried Miss Newhall, in a voice choked with passion. “I know—I know he had nothing to do with it. Don’t you dare—I won’t have it—do you hear, I simply won’t have it?” Her voice quivered, broke, she began to sob.

“Very well, it’s for you to say. I’ve told you all I know and what I suspect. I won’t do a thing, if you’re determined to go against my advice and act like a silly, senseless child. But—but don’t you come to me with your complaints, if you regret what you are doing.”

The man ceased. The woman kept on sobbing as a woman sobs who intends to win her point.

“Well—” the man’s tone showed that he had given in, “I’ll attend to all those matters about the funeral. Good-bye.”

Ashley heard the man rise and make his way across the floor. The whole scene in the room on the floor above had taken place so quickly, their talk had gathered his attention so utterly that he had not had time to realize what he was doing. The sounds of departure aroused him for the first time to a full sense of the embarrassing situation in which he would be caught. For an instant he wavered; then he opened the front door, fled past the indifferent scrubwoman and hurried away down the road.