Heart to heart

On the following day Coroner Granby, having deliberated long upon the matter, summoned a jury of twelve men to look into the case.

“I don’t want the responsibility on my shoulders alone,” was the way he put it, and his friends agreed with him.

So those who had testified were called upon to do so again. This time the questions asked were more numerous, and Henry Cross was kept on the rack a full hour. But no additional information was elicited from him. He refused to speak about his former quarrel with Chesterbrook, and the jury and the others present were left to think what they pleased about the matter.

Strange to say, not once during that inquest did the theory of suicide come up. If any juror thought of it, it was not mentioned by him. What cause had a young man, rich, and about to wed the lady of his choice, to take his own life? It was absurd.

It was dark by the time the testimony was all in and the coroner had finished his address to the jury. The lights were lit in a vacant room, and there the jurymen retired to consider their verdict. It was not long in coming, and once more they filed into the coroner’s presence.

“We find that Allen Chesterbrook came to his death by being stabbed to the heart with a dagger in the hand of some party unknown to this jury.”

It was a simple verdict, yet it covered the whole ground. The necessary paper was made out and signed, the jurymen filed up to the clerk to receive their pay, and the inquest was over.

Detective Hull had taken but little active interest in the hearing. He had sat quietly by, hardly listening to the greater part of the testimony. Only toward the close had he suddenly straightened up and manifested more attention.

His renewed interest was caused by the sudden appearance of Violet Harding, who glided in silently, and took a seat in the farthest corner. The young lady was neatly dressed in a suit of black. Over her dark military hat she wore a moderately thick veil, which, as she hesitated at the door, she had pulled down over her face—a face now inexpressibly sad, yet sweet and charming.

“Humph!” Jack Hull muttered to himself, and from that moment his eyes studied her keenly.

When the verdict had been brought in, he had noted that she half arose to her feet in her eagerness to hear what it was. Then, as the verdict was announced, he saw her shiver, rise up, and hasten out before the general dispersion that followed.

“Wonderful women!” murmured Jack Hull to himself, as he followed her out. “Either they have no nerve at all, or they have enough to stagger the biggest man alive. It’s a pity she wasn’t here when the dagger was produced.”

Jack Hull had not been idle. He had already learned that Violet Harding was an orphan, who had formerly lived in New York. On the death of her invalid mother she had come to Lakeview, and it had been Allen Chesterbrook who had procured for her the position at the office of the Lakeview Land Improvement Company. This had all been easy work. But he had learned more.

Violet boarded with an old widow lady who owned a neat, unpretentious cottage one street back from the lake, and somewhat removed from the center of the town. Under pretense of finding board for a lady friend, and with a vague idea of a new turn in his manner of working, Hull had called at the cottage and interviewed Mrs. Callum. He had learned that she had a spare room, next to that occupied by Violet, and was anxious to rent it. The room and board for a young lady—she wished no gentlemen—would be six dollars weekly. Would Mr. Ulmer—so Hull had allowed her to catch his name—be pleased to send the young lady around? She was certain the room would please her.

“I will tell the young lady with pleasure,” the detective had replied. “I expect her here in a day or two. By the way, have you any other boarders?”

And then Mrs. Callum had spoken of Violet, stated who she was and what she did, and added that she was sure Mr. Ulmer’s friend would like her; every one did.

“My friend is rather a timid young lady,” the detective had remarked. “She dreads going into a strange house. I am glad you think she would like your only other boarder. May I ask if you have much company coming to the house?”

“I have no one. Miss Harding has a gentleman come once in a while—or did have—but he won’t come any more,” and the woman’s tones became so impressive that he knew she referred to Chesterbrook.

He had tried to gain more information, but after that last remark Mrs. Callum had had but little to say, as he had gone off, stating he would at once communicate with his friend.

And now he followed Violet Harding down the street, and to that very cottage. After seeing her disappear within, he came to a halt on the corner, undecided what to do next. He hung around for over an hour, and just after dark she came forth again, clad in that same black dress, but with a light cape over her shoulders, for the evening was chilly.

He followed her through the street and down to the lake shore. She took almost the same path Henry Cross had taken the previous day. But before she came to the bridge at the gully, she halted, and, turning, walked up a slight bluff overlooking the rippling water, now bathed in the soft light of the new moon.

On the bluff she sat down. Afraid to draw too close, Jack Hull remained at a distance. He could not make out what she was doing, but saw her draw out a handkerchief, and use it on her face.

“I wonder if she is crying?” he thought. “That’s just like a woman—do a thing, and then be dreadful sorry the minute after. By the boots! I don’t know about this.”

He uttered the last thought half aloud. A man had passed along the road close to where he stood concealed behind some brush. The man had paused, but now he was making his way toward where Violet Harding was sitting. With a low whistle to himself Jack Hull looked about for some way of getting closer, and, at the risk of soiling his clothes, threw himself on the ground, flat, and wormed his way along in the tall grass.

He had scarcely advanced a dozen feet when he heard a slight shriek of alarm from Violet Harding, followed by a command from the man to keep silent.

“You followed me here!” the young woman exclaimed. “You have been watching me—dogging me!”

“What if I have?” returned the newcomer roughly. “You needn’t think Chesterbrook is going to have you all to himself.”

“Be still! Do you not know that Mr. Chesterbrook is dead?”

“So I heard. But I don’t pay much attention to those things. I——”

“You pay more attention to drink, to cards, and to the race track,” she went on, with a sneer.

“Don’t preach to me, Miss Madcap! And to what did you pay attention?—tell me that. Sneaking out of New York, and coming down here with a rich chap——”

“Hush! You have no right to insult me. To insult another——”

“Maybe you expected to marry him, and that other girl cut you out.”

In a wild rage the young woman clapped her hand over the fellow’s mouth. In a moment all her mildness of manner vanished, and she seemed like another person. She pushed him violently backward.

“Why did you follow me from New York? Why did you not return to your former haunts, and leave me alone? You shall get nothing out of me here.”

“I’m not asking for money, Violet. I’ve got another scheme in my head to get that—piles of it, too.”

“Not honestly.” She laughed bitterly.

“Yes, honestly,” he growled. “I’ve struck a bonanza; something I’ve been on the hunt for for years.”

“I hope it will make you more respectable,” she returned sarcastically.

“Ha, ha! You talk to me about respectability! I reckon I’m as good as you. But there, don’t let us quarrel any more.”

“What do you want of me?”

“Supposing I was rich and that I turned over a new leaf?”

“Well?”

“Would you marry me then?”

“Never.”

“But if I changed my habits, got to be quite respectable, you know, and had the rocks to let you live like a lady, as you deserve——”

“I would never marry you, never! I detest the sight of you. Why should I marry you? I do not love you, never did love you. Do you already forget that when I was in New York you did all you could to ruin my happiness?”

The young woman poured out the words as if they were so much molten lead, a torrent of living fire. But he did not quail. He was angry, and his dark eyes blazed with a jealous light. When it came to temper, these two were well matched.

“I had good excuse to be enraged. You loved that Chesterbrook!” he fairly hissed. “What a pity somebody killed him; or did he commit suicide? I heard somebody talk of that. But, then, he was going to marry another girl; I heard that, too,” he went on, sarcastically. “I suppose he thought you were good enough for a jolly companion.”

“Oh, you wretch!” she shrieked. “Cease your slander of the dead.”

“All right; we won’t mention him again.”

“Now, another favor. I want you to relieve me of your presence. I came out here to be alone.”

“And I came a good distance to see you. I’m not going to be put off like a——”

He did not finish. She had been edging away from him, and now she turned suddenly, and sped with flying feet toward the road. He was astonished; but quickly recovering, he leaped after her, and soon closed the gap between them.

“Once more in the toils, my little bird! Now you will listen to me,” he cried, as he caught her about the waist. “You will listen whether you wish to or not.”

“Oh, you coward! Release me.”

“Yes, release her at once,” put in a calm and determined voice beside them, and Jack Hull loomed up, his hand raised to strike the man should he dare disobey.

It would be hard to say which was the more astonished and alarmed, the girl or the man. Both started back, and their faces blanched equally.

“I don’t know your purpose in attacking this young lady,” went on Jack Hull; “but as she evidently wants you to leave, you had better do so at once.”

The man scowled. “This is none of your affair,” he began.

“I have made it my affair,” returned the detective, in the same cool tone. He turned to Violet Harding. “May I see you to your home, miss?”

The frightened look died out in her eyes and she looked grateful.

“Thank you; if you will, I shall be much obliged.”

“We shall meet again,” murmured her assailant, and without another word he hurried away in the darkness.

“I am glad I came along the road just when I did,” said the detective glibly. “That fellow was evidently some ruffian of the town, of which Lakeview has altogether too many. I take it you live in Lakeview, or are stopping there?”

“Yes,” she returned mildly. “I am very thankful to you,” she went on, in a steadier voice. “Your presence evidently averted a peril that I little suspected when I strolled here. I shall not walk out so far again, alone.”

He offered her his arm, and, as she took it, he felt she was trembling. He did not attempt to enter into conversation; it would be almost useless while she was in her present state of mind.

It was not long before Mrs. Callum’s cottage was reached.

“Thank you, Mr.——”

He murmured his name, but so indistinctly she did not catch it.

“My name is Violet Harding,” she returned. “I am very much obliged, indeed!” and then she entered the little garden, ran up the porch steps, and entered the house before he could say another word.

“Humph!” It was his favorite expression, and he uttered it several times in succession. He stared at the closed door as if half expecting her to reappear. But she did not, and he stalked off down the street.

“Now, what is a man to make of all that?” he asked himself. “Confound it! If that fellow hadn’t acted so roughly, but just kept on talking, I might have learned something. As it is, I am as much in the dark as ever. And I let that chap slip through my grasp, too. He might tell some things about that girl worth knowing. She has a beautiful face, and I don’t wonder that Chesterbrook thought a good deal of her.

“I’d think a great deal of her myself,” he went on. Then: “Bah, Jack Hull, what are you talking about? Don’t let the sight of a beautiful face turn you from your duty—from the unraveling of this complicated case. She is beautiful, but she is willful, and has a violent temper—the temper that made her commit this deed—if she really is guilty.”

He broke off for a moment, then continued: “But I may be in error. There is no use in jumping at conclusions. Her initials are V. H., her hair is golden, and she wears those self-same crinkly hairpins, but there may possibly be some mistake. Perhaps I had better send for Frank Barton, after all. I must have more evidence before I try to force a confession.”