A Husband by Proxy Part 31

Garrison ignored the query for a moment.

"Where is Foster now?"

"No one knows--he seems to have run away--that's one of the worst things about it."

"But you came over here to warn him," said Garrison.

Dorothy flushed.

"That was my impulse, I admit, when you told me about the cigars. I hardly knew what else I could do."

"You are very fond of Foster?"

"I am very fond of Alice."

Garrison was glad. He could even have been jealous of a brother.

"But how could Foster have tampered with your cigars?" he inquired.

"Was he up there at Hickwood when you left them?"

"He was there all the time of uncle's visit, in hiding, and even on the night of his death," she confessed in a whisper. "Alice doesn't know of this, but he admitted it all to me."

"This is what you have been trying to conceal from me, all the time,"

Garrison observed. "Do the Robinsons have their suspicions?"

"I can't be certain. Perhaps they have. Theodore has exercised a very bad influence on Foster's life. He intimated once to me that perhaps Uncle John had been murdered."

Garrison thought for a moment.

"It is almost impossible for anyone to have had that suspicion who had no guilty knowledge," he said. "Theodore was, and is, capable of any crime. If he knew about the will and believed you had not fulfilled the conditions, by marrying, he would have had all the motive in the world to commit the crime himself."

"But," said Dorothy, "he knew nothing of the will, as I told you before."

"And he with an influence over Foster, who _did_ know all about the will?"

Dorothy changed color once again. She was startled.

"I never thought of that," she admitted. "Foster might have told."

"There's a great deal to clear up in a case like this," said Garrison, "even when suspicions point your course. I think I can land Mr.

Theodore on the things he attempted on me, but not just yet. He may reveal himself a little more. Besides, our alleged marriage will hardly bear a close investigation."

For the moment Dorothy was more concerned by his personal danger than by anything concerning the case.

"You told me a little of what was attempted in the park," she said.

"I've thought about it ever since--such a terrible attack! If anything dreadful should happen to you----"

She broke off suddenly, turned crimson to her hair, and dropped her gaze from his face.

In that moment he resisted the greatest temptation of his life--the impulse to sink at her feet on his knees, and tell her of his love. He knew she felt, as he did, the wondrous attraction between them; he knew that to her, as to himself, the impression was strong that they had known each other always; but hired as he had been to conduct an affair in which it had been particularly stipulated there was to be no sentiment, or even the slightest thought of such a development, he throttled his pa.s.sion and held himself in check.

"Some guardian angel must have hovered near," was all he permitted himself to reply, but she fathomed the depth of his meaning.

"I hope some good spirit may continue to be helpful--to us both," she said. "What are you going to do next?"

"Take you back to New York," said Garrison. "I must have you near.

But, while I think of it, please answer one thing more. How did it happen that your uncle's life was insured for that inventor in Hickwood, Charles Scott?"

"They were lifelong friends," said Dorothy. "They began as boys together. Uncle John was saved by this Mr. Scott, when he was twenty-one--his life was saved, I mean. And he was very much in love with Mr. Scott's sister. But something occurred, I hardly know what.

The Scotts never had much money, and they lost the little they had.

Miss Scott was very shamefully treated, I believe, by some other friend in the group, and she died before she was thirty--I've heard as a result of some great unhappiness.

"Uncle and Mr. Scott were always friends, though they drifted apart to some extent. Mr. Scott became an inventor, and spent all his poor wife's money, and also funds that Uncle John supplied, on his inventions. The insurance was Uncle John's last plan for befriending his old-time companion. There was no one else to make it in favor of, for of course the estate would take care of the heirs that he wished to remember. Does that answer your question?"

"Perfectly," said Garrison. "I think if you'll make ready we will start. Is there any particular place in New York where you prefer to stay?"

"No. I'd rather leave that to you."

"By the way," he said, his mind recurring to the motor-car incident and all that had followed, "did you know that when you deserted me so abruptly on the bridge, the chauffeur also disappeared--and left me with the auto on my hands?"

"Why, no!" she said. "What could it mean?"

"It seems to have been a stolen car," he answered. "It was left in charge of a strange young woman, too poor to own it--left her by a friend. She found it in my possession and accepted my explanation as to how it was I chanced to have it in my care. She is living in a house near Washington Square."

"How very strange!" said Dorothy, who had suddenly conceived some queer feminine thought. "If the house near Washington Square is nice, perhaps you might take me there. But tell me all about it!"

What could be actuating her woman's mind in this was more than he could tell. But--why not take her to that house as well as to any in New York?

"All right," he said. "It's a very nice place. I'll tell you the story as we go."

CHAPTER XXIII

THE ENEMY'S TRACKS

On the way returning to Gotham, Garrison learned every fact concerning John Hardy, his former places of residence, his former friends, his ways of life and habits that he deemed important to the issues and requirements now in hand, with Dorothy's stepbrother more than half suspected of the crime.

Dorothy gladly supplied the information. She had been on the verge of despair, harboring her fear and despair all alone, with the loyal desire to protect not only Foster, but Alice as well, and now she felt an immense relief to have a man's clear-headed aid.

Garrison held out no specific hope.

The case looked black for young Durgin at the best, and the fellow had run away. A trip to the small Connecticut town of Rockdale, where Hardy had once resided, and to which it had long been his wont to return as often as once a month, seemed to Garrison imperative at this juncture.

He meant to see Tuttle at six, and start for the country in the evening.

He outlined his plan to Dorothy, acquainting her with the fact that he had captured Theodore's spy, from whom he hoped for news.