ISABEL OSTRANDER: Mystery & Western Classics: One Thirty, The Crevice, Anything Once, The Fifth Ace & Island of Intrigue. Isabel Ostrander
far away, and you seemed nervous, ill at ease. I wondered about it at the time.”
“It was because of father. To you he appeared in the best of spirits, as you say, but I, who knew him better than any one else on earth, realized that he was forcing himself to be genial, to take an interest in what we were saying. For days he had been overwrought and depressed. As you know, he has confided in me, absolutely, since I have been old enough to be a real companion to him. I thought that I knew all his business affairs—those of the last two or three years at least—but latterly his manner has puzzled and distressed me. Then, while you were in the dining-room, the telephone rang twice.”
“Yes; the calls were for your father. When he was summoned to the wire he immediately had the connection given to him on his private line, here in the library. After he returned to the dining-room he did seem slightly absent-minded, now that I think of it; but it did not occur to me that there could have been any serious trouble. You know, dearest, ever since the evening when he promised to give you to me, he has consulted me, also, to a great extent about his financial interests, and I think if any difficulty had arisen he would have mentioned it.”
“Still, I am convinced that something was on his mind. I tried to approach him concerning it, but he was evasive, and put me off, laughingly. You know that father was not the sort of man whose confidence could be forced even by those dearest to him. I had been so worried about him, though, that I had a nervous headache, and after you left, Ramon, I retired at once. An hour or two later, father had a visitor—that fact as you know, the coroner elicited from the servants, but it had, of course, no bearing on his death, since the caller was Mr. Rockamore. I heard his voice when I opened the door of my room, after ringing for my maid to get some lavender salts. I could not sleep, my headache grew worse; and while I was struggling against it, I heard Mr. Rockamore depart, and my father’s voice in the hall, after the slamming of the front door, telling Wilkes to retire, that he would need him no more that night. I heard the butler’s footsteps pass down the hall, and then I rose and opened my door again. I don’t know why, but I felt that I wanted to speak to father when he came up on his way to bed.”
Anita paused, and Ramon, in spite of himself, felt a thrill of puzzled wonder at her expression, upon which a dawning look, almost of horror, spread and grew.
“But he did not come, and after a while I stole to the head of the stairs and looked down. There was a low light in the hall and a brighter one from the library, the door of which was ajar. I supposed that father was working late over some papers, and I knew that I must not disturb him. I crept back to bed at last, with a sigh, but left my own door slightly open, so that if I should happen to be awake when he passed, I might call to him.
“Presently, however, I dozed off. I don’t know how long I slept, but I awakened to hear voices—angry voices, my father’s and another, which I did not recognize. I got up and by the night-light I saw that the hands of the little clock on my dresser pointed to nearly three o’clock. I could not imagine who would call on father so very late at night, and I feared at first it might be a burglar, but my common sense assured me that father would not stop to parley with a burglar. While I stood wondering, father raised his voice slightly, and I caught one word which he uttered. Ramon, that word sounded to me like ‘blackmail!’ Why, what is it? Why do you look at me so strangely?” she added hastily, at his uncontrollable start.
“I? I am not looking at you strangely, dear; it is not possible that you could have heard aright. It must have been simply a fancy of yours, born of the state of your nerves. You could not really have understood.” But Ramon Hamilton looked away from her as he spoke, with a peculiarly significant gleam in his candid eyes. After a slight pause he went on: “No one in the world could have attempted to blackmail your father. He was the soul of honor and integrity, as no one knows better than you. Why, his opinion was sought on every public question. You remember hearing of some of the political honors which he repeatedly refused, but he could, had he wished, have held the highest office at the disposal of the people. You must have been mistaken, Anita. There has never been a reason for the word ‘blackmail’ to cross your father’s lips.”
“I know that I was not mistaken, for I heard more—enough to convince me that I had been right in my surmise! Father was keeping something from me!”
“Dear little girl, suppose he had been? Nothing, of course, that could possibly reflect upon his integrity,—don’t misunderstand me—but you are only twenty, you know. It is not to be expected that you could quite comprehend the details of all the varied business interests of a man who had virtually led the finances of his country for more than twenty years. Perhaps it was a purely business matter.”
“I tell you, Ramon, that that man, whoever he was, actually dared to threaten father. When I heard that word ‘blackmail’ in the angriest tones which I had ever heard my father use, I did something mean, despicable, which only my culminating anxiety could have induced me to do. I slipped on my robe and slippers, stole half-way downstairs and listened deliberately.”
“Anita, you should not have done that! It was not like you to do so. If your father had wished you to know of this interview, don’t you think he would have told you?”
“Perhaps he would have, but what opportunity was he given? A few hours later, he was found dead in that chair over there; the chair in which he sat while he was talking with his unknown visitor.”
The young man sprang to his feet. “You can’t realize what you are saying; what you are hinting! It is unthinkable! If you let these morbid fancies prey upon your mind, you will be really ill.” His tones were full of horror. “Your father died of heart-disease. The doctors and the coroner established that beyond the shadow of a doubt, you know. Any other supposition is beyond the bounds of possibility.”
“Of heart-disease, yes. But might not the sudden attack have been brought on by his altercation with this man? His sudden rage, controlled as it was, at the insults hurled at him?”
“What insults, Anita? Tell me what you heard when you crept down the stairs. You know you can trust me, dear—you must trust me.”
“The man was saying: ‘Come, Lawton, be sensible; half a loaf is better than no bread. There is no blackmail about this, even if you choose to call it so. It is an ordinary business proposition, as you have been told a hundred times!’”
“‘It’s a damnable crooked scheme, as I have told you a hundred times, and I shall have nothing to do with it! This is final!’ Father’s tones rang out clearly and distinctly, quivering with suppressed fury. ‘My hands are clean, my financial operations have been open and above-board; there is no stain upon my life or character, and I can look every man in the face and tell him to go where you may go now!’
“‘Oh, is that so!’ sneered the other man loudly. Then his voice became insinuatingly low. ‘How about poor Herbert—’ His tones were so indistinct that I could not catch the name. Then he went on more defiantly, ‘His wife—’ He didn’t finish the sentence, Ramon, for father groaned suddenly, terribly, as if he were in swift pain; the man gave a little sneering laugh, and I could hear him moving about in the library, whistling half under his breath in sheer bravado. I could not bear to hear any more. I put my hands over my ears and fled back to my room. What could it mean, Ramon? What is this about father and some other man and his wife which the stranger dared to insinuate! reflected upon father’s integrity? Why should he have groaned as if the very mention of these people hurt him inexpressibly?”
“I don’t know, dear.” Ramon Hamilton sat with his honest eyes still turned from her. “You must have been mistaken; perhaps you even dreamed it all.” Anita Lawton gave an impatient gesture.
“I am not quite the child you think me, Ramon. Could that man have meant to insinuate that father in his own advancement had trod upon and ruined some one else, as financiers have always done? Could he have meant that father had driven this man and his wife to despair? I cannot bear to think of it. I try to thrust it from my thoughts a dozen times a day, but that groan from father’s lips sounded so much like one of remorse that hideous ideas come beating in on my brain. Was my father like other rich men, Ramon?