Keith of the Border Part 27

"You possessed no previous knowledge of his purpose?"

"Only the barest outline--details were given me later."

"Will you tell us briefly exactly what Hawley told you?"

The girl's bewildered eyes wandered from face to face, then returned to the waiting sheriff.

"May--may I sit down?" she asked.

"Most certainly; and don't be afraid, for really we wish to be your friends."

She sank down into the chair, and even Keith could see how her slender form trembled. There was a moment's silence.

"Believe me, gentlemen," she began, falteringly, "if there is any fraud, any conspiracy, I have borne no conscious part in it. Mr. Hawley came to me saying a dying man had left with him certain papers, naming one, Phyllis Gale, as heiress to a very large estate in North Carolina, left by her grandfather in trust. He said the girl had been taken West, when scarcely two years old, by her father in a fit of drunken rage, and then deserted by him in St. Louis."

"You--you saw the papers?" Waite broke in.

"Yes, those that Hawley had; he gave them to me to keep for him." She crossed to her trunk, and came back, a manilla envelope in her hand.

Waite opened it hastily, running his eyes over the contents.

"The infernal scoundrel!" he exclaimed, hotly. "These were stolen from me at Carson City."

"Let me see them." The sheriff ran them over, merely glancing at the endors.e.m.e.nts.

"Just as you represented, Waite," he said, slowly. "A copy of the will, your commission as guardian, and memoranda of identification. Well, Miss Maclaire, how did you happen to be so easily convinced that you were the lost girl?"

"Mr. Hawley brought me a picture which he said was of this girl's half-sister; the resemblance was most startling. This, with the fact that I have never known either father or mother or my real name, and that my earlier life was pa.s.sed in St. Louis, sufficed to make me believe he must be right."

"You--you--" Waite choked, leaning forward.

"You don't know your real name?"

"No, I do not," her lips barely forming the words. "The woman who brought me up never told me."

"Who--who was the woman?"

"A Mrs. Raymond--Sue Raymond--she was on the stage, and died in Texas--San Antonio, I think."

Waite swore audibly, his eyes never once deserting the girl's face.

"Hawley told you to say that?"

"No, he did not," she protested warmly. "It was never even mentioned between us--at least, not Sue Raymond's name. What difference can that make?"

He stepped forward, one hand flung out, and Fairbain sprang forward instantly between them, mistaking the action.

"Hands off there, Waite," he commanded sternly. "Whatever she says goes."

"You blundering old idiot," the other exploded. "I'm not going to hurt her; stand aside, will you!"

He reached the startled girl, thrust aside the dark hair combed low over the neck, swung her about toward the light, and stared at a birthmark behind her ear. No one spoke, old Waite seemingly stricken dumb, the woman shrinking away from him as though she feared he was crazed.

"What is it?" asked the sheriff, sternly.

Slowly Waite turned about and faced him, running the sleeve of his coat across his eyes. He appeared dazed, confounded.

"My G.o.d, it's all right," he said, with a choke in the throat.

"She's--she's the girl."

Christie stared at him, her lips parted, unable to grasp what it all meant.

"You mean I--I am actually Phyllis Gale? That--that there is no mistake?"

He nodded, not yet able to put It more clearly into words. She swayed as though about to faint, and Fairbain caught her, but she slipped through his arms, and fell upon her knees, her face buried in her hands upon the chair.

"Oh, thank G.o.d," she sobbed, "thank G.o.d! I know who I am! I know who I am!"

Chapter x.x.xI. The Search for the Missing

The note of unrestrained joy of relief in the woman's voice rang through the room, stilling all else, and causing those who heard to forget for an instant the sterner purpose of their gathering. Fairbain bent over her, like a fat guardian angel, patting her shoulder, her eyes so blurred with tears as to be practically sightless, yet still turned questioningly upon Waite. The sheriff was first to recover speech, and a sense of duty.

"Then this lets Miss Maclaire out of the conspiracy charge," he said, gravely, "but it doesn't make it any brighter for Hawley so far as I can see--there's a robbery charge against him if nothing else. Any one here know where the fellow is?"

For a moment no one answered, although Keith took a step forward, reminded instantly of Hope's predicament. Before he could speak, however, Christie looked up, with swift gesture pushing back her loosened hair.

"He was to have met me at the theatre to-night," she said, her voice trembling, "but was not there when I came out; he--he said he had important news for me."

"And failed to show up--did he send no message?"

"Doctor Fairbain was waiting for me instead. He said that Mr. Hawley was called suddenly out of town."

The eyes of the sheriff turned to Fairbain, whose face grew redder than usual, as he shifted his gaze toward Keith.

"That was a lie," he confessed, lamely. "I--I was told to say that."

"Just a moment, Sheriff," and Keith stood before them, his voice clear and convincing. "My name is Keith, and I have unavoidably been mixed up in this affair from the beginning. Just now I can relieve the doctor of his embarra.s.sment. Miss Hope Waite and I have been a.s.sociated together in an effort to solve this mystery. This evening, taking advantage of the remarkable resemblance existing between herself and Miss Maclaire, Miss Hope decided upon a mask--"

"What's that," Waite broke in excitedly. "Is Hope here?"

"Yes, has been for a week; we've had all the police force of Sheridan hunting you."

The old man stared at the speaker, open-mouthed, and muttered something about Fort Hays, but Keith, paying little attention to him, hurried on with his story.