Charred Wood Part 14

"They will not find me."

"Then we can go away. There is a great West in this country. I have my jewels, you know. We could hide. We could live like other people.

We could be just alone together."

"But would you be happy, Carlotta?"

"I should be happy anywhere with you, Luigi. It is too much to pay for being a d.u.c.h.ess, to lose all I want in life."

"But many d.u.c.h.esses must do that, you know. I never have asked such a sacrifice, though, G.o.d knows, I have wanted it."

"You have never asked, Luigi, and that makes me all the more happy to give. I will tell you when to come."

With an ardent embrace the two parted. She stepped inside the tree and closed the door.

The young officer turned. Mark knew that the time had come for action, and jumped for the other side--but too late. There was no sound, but powder burned Mark's hand--powder from the m.u.f.fled gun barrel which he had tried to knock aside. The lover stood for an instant with his eyes wide open, as if in wonder at a strange shock, but only for an instant.

Mark sprang to his side, and caught him as he fell to the ground.

There was a heavy crashing through the underbrush, then a voice was raised in an oath and there was the sound of a struggle. Mark looked up as Saunders broke through the bushes dragging after him the body of the murderer. Dropping his unconscious burden, the detective came up to where Mark was bending over the victim and pulled a little electric glow lamp from his pocket.

"Let me look at him, Griffin," he said. He looked long and earnestly at the man's face, then snapped off the light.

"He's the man," he announced.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Saunders looked long and earnestly at his face. "He's the man!" he announced.]

"Who is he?" asked Mark quickly.

"The man I told you about--the man I took you for--the man for whose sake the d.u.c.h.ess ran away--the chap I was watching for."

"And the other?" Mark nodded toward the gunman, who still lay unconscious.

"Oh, he doesn't matter." Saunders spoke carelessly. "He'll get out of it. It's all been arranged, of course. They really sent me here to watch her; evidently they had him trailed from the beginning."

Crossing over, Saunders again snapped on his light, and examined the face and clothing of the murderer.

"It's easy to see, Griffin, what the game was. This chap is one of the foreigners at the railroad camp. He can say he was out hunting--shooting squirrels--anything."

"He can't say that," put in Mark quickly, "for I saw him do it. I tried to stop him."

Saunders turned quickly to Mark.

"Forget it, Griffin," he said earnestly. "You saw nothing. Keep out of it. If it were only a common murder, I'd tell you to speak. But this is no common murder. There are international troubles mixed up in it. No one will thank you, and you will only get into difficulties.

Why, the biggest men in the country would have a special messenger down here inside of twenty-four hours to keep you silent if they knew who were behind this thing. For G.o.d's sake, leave it alone. Let this fellow tell his story." He pointed to the man who was now coming to his senses. "He has it all prepared."

"I'll leave it alone only if the man is dead; but, good G.o.d! you can't expect me to leave him here to the mercy of that brood if he's only wounded."

The detective smiled grimly.

"Wounded! Why, Griffin, do you think they would send a man who would miss? Come, look at him."

Mark placed his hand over the young officer's heart. He felt for the pulse, and looked into the face.

"Come, Saunders," he said, "we can do nothing for him."

CHAPTER XI

THIN ICE

"I don't think you quite realize, Griffin," Saunders' voice had quite an uneasy tremor in it, as he spoke, "that you are in some danger."

The detective was sitting in Mark's bedroom, and the clock was striking midnight in the hotel office below. They had returned together from the bluff road and had been discussing the tragedy ever since.

"I think I do," Mark answered, "but I don't very much care."

"Then," said Saunders, "you English have some nerves!"

"You forget, Saunders, that I am not quite English. I am half Irish, and the Irish have 'some nerves.' But I am really hit very hard. I suppose it's the English in me that won't let me show it."

Saunders did not answer for a moment. Then he took his cigar out of his mouth.

"Nerves?" he repeated half laughingly. "Yes, nerves they have, but in the singular number."

"Beg pardon?"

"Oh, I forgot that your education in United States has been sadly neglected. I mean to say that they have _nerve_, not nerves."

"By which you mean--?"

"Something that you will need very soon--grit."

"I--I don't quite understand yet, my dear fellow. Why?"

The face of Saunders was serious now. The danger that confronted both of them was no chimera.

"Look here, Griffin," he broke out, "that murderer did this thing under orders. He either has had a story fixed up for him by his employers, or he will try to put the deed off on someone else. An explanation must be given when the body is discovered in the morning. All was certainly foreseen, for these chaps take no chances. Now, you may wager a lot that his superiors, or their representatives, are not far away; no farther, in fact, than the railroad camp. You may be sure, too, that their own secret service men are on the job, close by. The question is, what story will this fellow tell?"

"You can--ah--search me, Saunders," retorted Mark.

Saunders laughed. Mark had a way of appearing cheerful.

"Come now, that's doing fine. 'Search you,' eh? That is just exactly what the police probably will do."

"Why?"

"Why? Because your being there was the unforeseen part of the whole tragedy. I think it quite upset their calculations. Your hand is marked with powder from the gun fire. Everyone will see that to-morrow. The princ.i.p.al will know something of it from the murderer.

In fact, he probably knows now. To-morrow they will be searching for the man with the powder mark. The murderer himself can swear that he saw someone fire at the man who was killed. He may charge robbery.

Only when the body is found shall we know what he is going to do. If they have taken his money, it means that you are going to be arrested, for they intend putting it on you. Unless I am mistaken, his pockets are inside out right now. The powder marks alone are enough to fasten suspicion on you. Then, you were absent all day, and someone certainly must have seen you on the bluff road. Above all, you love Ruth Atheson, and lovers have been known to kill rivals. My detective intuition tells me, Griffin, that you stand a good chance of being charged with murder."