"MURDER WILL OUT"

The sunny heart of Carolyn was vastly troubled by the unhappiness she saw about her. As Aunty Rose Kennedy would have said, "everything was at sixes and sevens."

"And I truly-looly wish we hadn't come away from there, Mamma Cam'ron," she sighed.

"Come away from where, dear?" her mother asked.

"From the Corners, and Uncle Joe, and Aunt Mandy, and Aunty Rose Kennedy, and Freda, and dear little Car'lyn Mandy, too! I love Baby Laird; but Car'lyn Amanda is our owniest own—isn't she?"

"Well," agreed her mother, "she is a near relative, at least."

"Yes. She is a relative of ours, isn't she? And you can do more for relatives—and they can do more for you—than other folks. Now, wouldn't it be nice if my friend at the Orowoc House was a relative of Baby Laird's father? Then he could go to him and get all the money he wanted—couldn't he?"

"Sh! It isn't nice to talk about other people's private affairs, Carolyn," admonished her mother.

"Why, mamma! 'tisn't private affairs, is it? It's the pale lady's affairs and Mr. Laird's affairs. And both Miss Molly and Barzilla are int'rested in it. And I'm sure Papa Cam'ron and you and me are awf'ly anxious 'bout Mr. Laird getting money so he can salt swordfish with Barzilla.

"So if he was related to my friend at the Orowoc House I guess likely he could go to him and get the money he wants. Barzilla thinks so," concluded Carolyn.

Her mother's curiosity was suddenly aroused again.

"Carolyn May," she asked, "what is that gentleman's name?"

"My friend?" the little girl asked complacently.

"Yes."

"His name is Henry. That is what the lady calls him. I heard her."

"I mean his last name."

"Oh, I never did ask him that," confessed Carolyn May. "Must all folks have last names? My friend's wife doesn't call him by it, like Mrs. Bridget Dorgan calls her husband."

"No; I presume she doesn't," smiled Mrs. Cameron. "Really, I suppose I should know more about these people with whom you spend so much time," she added reflectively.

"Why, my dear!" her little daughter exclaimed, "I know just lots about them. They live on a street named Riverside Drive. Didn't Papa Cam'ron take me and Prince there, Mamma? And I am to come to see them there after we all go back home in the fall. And they have a great big automobile, and the lady will come after me in it. She said she would. And bring me home again. Of course, if you are willing, Mamma. It is a be-a-u-ti-ful automobile. You just ought to see it."

"But Carolyn May!" gasped her mother in surprise. "Where did you ever see that automobile?"

"Why, that is so!" laughed the little girl. "I never told you 'bout that, did I? I forgot. Why, Mamma Cam'ron, this man and his wife are those people whose auto ran down my pale lady's go-cart. Don't you 'member? Wasn't it funny that they came to Block Island for the summer, too? And of course they didn't mean to smash Baby Laird's carriage. I didn't say anything to my pale lady 'bout their being the same folks," added the thoughtful little girl, "because maybe she would be afraid to have Baby Laird with them. But they just love babies. The lady had one herself once—a baby boy like Laird. But—but I guess she must have lost it, from what she said. Just like Aunty Rose lost her three, you know, Mamma."

"Those people ran down the baby's go-cart with their car?" murmured Mrs. Cameron. "And to whom Joe Bassett returned the twenty dollars the man gave Carolyn? He was not too proud to accept a carriage from Carolyn and me; but he refused assistance from those people! How did Mr. Bassett know to whom the money should be returned? Ah! his wife must have recognized the couple," decided Mrs. Cameron. "I declare! if these are the same people, then the Bassetts know their identity. If Mr. Bassett would not accept the twenty dollars for the wrecked carriage, of course he would accept no greater favour from that man.

"It is plain who they are," she decided, though, not aloud. "Lewis must be told about it. I wish he were here right now to advise me."

But Carolyn's father was not expected for another fortnight. Meanwhile there was something that might arise to force Joe Bassett and his wife and baby to leave Block Island hurriedly.

Bassett was grim-lipped, if not sullen looking. He was a man whose nature it was to bear trouble alone and silently. He might, Mrs. Cameron feared, accept the Arizona offer and start with his family for the West almost any day.

Carolyn May did not suspect this possibility as being at all immediate. She felt deeply for "the Lairds" nevertheless, and did all that her sunny heart dictated in the matter of cheerful prattle and friendly acts for the pale lady and her baby.

She was a very thoughtful little girl these days, too. The ten thousand dollars she had heard the secretary and René talking about made a lasting impression on her mind; and because the pale lady was in such trouble because of the lack of money, it was only natural that thought of the money loss of the man at the Orowoc House should be continually stirring in her busy brain.

"It is wonderful—" Carolyn said to him the next time she saw him. He was driving alone with his negro coachman on this occasion. She climbed into the back of the hotel carriage with him to ride to the life-saving station, Mamma Cameron having given her permission. "It's wonderful what folks can do with money," she went on.

"Indeed?" questioned the man with sudden harshness. "Are you money-mad, too, my little lady?"

"Oh, no! I'm not mad at all. I'm just as pleasant," explained Carolyn, rather puzzled. "But sometimes, you know, I spend money in my 'magination. I call it playing 'If I Were Rich.' And my pale lady used to play it with me. Only, she did used to be rich her own self, and she can tell all about it."

"You are speaking of the baby's mother?" he asked with sudden attention. "Isn't that what you called the woman whose carriage our car crushed that time in New York? 'The pale lady'?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

"And was it she who sent back that twenty dollar bill to me?" he demanded, eying the child curiously.

"I guess her husband sent it back."

"Mr. Laird?"

"Yes, sir."

"Proud, are they?" snapped the man. "Can they afford pride, I wonder?"

But Carolyn May could not answer that. She only said slowly:

"Well, the pale lady doesn't care to play my game any more. I spect it's 'cause they want real money so bad that she don't feel like talking 'bout make-believe money."

"What do they want money for?" asked her friend.

"I don't just know. But it's something Barzilla wants him to do, I guess, and he can't do it without money—quite a lot of money," said Carolyn innocently. "Of course, I've got some money myself. But the pale lady and her husband aren't folks you could give money to. They are not like Johnny O'Harrity's folks who live in our basement."

"No?"

"No, indeed! They—they respect themselves too much, my mamma says. But my! they could do lots if they had—well—maybe ten thousand dollars."

"Quite a sum, for a fact. What would you do, Carolyn May, if you had that amount of money?"

"Oh!" the little girl cried suddenly. "There's that ten thousand dollars that you lost. You 'member that?"

The change of expression in her friend's face would have startled the little girl had she seen it. It was full half a minute before he spoke again.

"What do you know about that, Carolyn?" he asked harshly.

"Why, I thought you must know about it!" she prattled on. "But those men spoke as though maybe you didn't."

"What men?"

"The one who works for you—that came to the picnic, you know. You 'member? The dark, scowly man. And that other one who is your chauffeur."

"My secretary and René? Tell me what they said," the man commanded sternly. "When did you hear them talking—and where?"

"Why," explained Carolyn, fearing now that she had done or said something altogether wrong, "it was when I went down to call on the wooden-legged gentlemen at the Portugoosy cabin."

"The—the who? And where were you going?" demanded the man in amazement.

"Why, don't you know Mr. Cap'n Littlefield and his Cousin Oly? They're real int'resting characters. That's what my papa calls 'em. And they've got wooden legs. But I don't know how they got 'em," continued the little girl, "'cepting that they buy new ones when the old ones are worn out. And Mr. Cap'n Littlefield keeps a spare one that he only wears, so he says, on 'state and date occasions.'"

"Indeed!" murmured her friend.

"And that Portugoosy cabin is where Beppo used to live. Not Barzilla's pony, Beppo, but the man the pony is named after," added Carolyn May, eagerly. "Mr. Cap'n Littlefield and his cousin are living over there at the cabin just now."

"Hold on!" urged the man from the Orowoc House finally. "There is something that interests me more. About this ten thousand dollars you were talking of."

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you sure they said ten thousand, Carolyn May?"

"Oh, yes, sir!"

"And that it was money belonging to me?"

"My! didn't you know 'bout it at all?" she asked in surprise. "Just think! Those two men knew all about it and never told you."

"Inness and René?" demanded the man, his brow clouded again.

"Oh, yes, sir!"

"You must tell me," said her friend very seriously, "just what they said about the ten thousand dollars. It is something I must be sure of, my dear. All this time I have thought—Well, I have charged, perhaps, an innocent person with a terrible crime." He said this to himself rather than to the little girl and his countenance displayed more emotion than ever she had seen in it before. "Tell me all they said."

"Oh, I'm afraid I couldn't tell all," began Carolyn May.

"Listen!" exclaimed he eagerly. "Did they speak as though I had already lost the ten thousand dollars, or was about to lose it?"

"Oh, it's money you lost a long time ago. 'Cause the dark, scowly man told your chauffeur that he had spent it all. He must be a bad man to spend money that you lost, without saying anything to you about it."

"Undoubtedly he is," said her friend grimly. He encouraged Carolyn May to repeat all that she could remember of the conversation of the two men. He listened patiently to a deal of inconsequential prattle; but he finally got at the meat in the nut. He considered the result in information worth his effort. Being of a sharp, as well as a suspicious, mind, there was now constructed in his understanding an almost perfect theory regarding the loss of a certain ten thousand dollars, thought of which had long seared his memory.

He hardened his heart against his two unfaithful employ s while he listened to the child's story. They were still within his reach. He was the more bitter because the circumstantial evidence of the crime had pointed toward his own son.

"I'll get at René," he muttered. "I'll make him tell me all!"

Now, René was a weakling. Pressure brought to bear upon the chauffeur must quickly bring to light the truth. "Murder will out" is an old and true saying. Time brings most crime to the surface, and in this case its revelation must free the innocent of all suspicion connected with the loss of the ten thousand dollars!