The Bail Jumper Part 12

"Now don't get angry," said Graves. "You lost your temper here once before, and while I don't say I blame you, the rough-house with Elton didn't improve your case any. Fact is, if you can't see it for yourself, that I'm not here to sell goods, but to _watch you_!"

"Watch me?" exclaimed Burton, straightening up and taking in the other man at a glance as though measuring him physically. "Then you're a--"

"A detective. Yes."

"Well, what have you found? Can you add anything to a bunch of keys and a suspicion?"

"I haven't found much yet, but I expect to shortly. That's why I wanted to speak to you now. I have a warrant to search your room and personal belongings, and I propose to do so to-day. It's altogether unprofessional in me to tip you off, but, hang it, I like you, Burton, and if there's any changes you want to make down there slip away and get them done, and I won't be down for half-an-hour."

"Changes? What changes should I want to make? Your words are an insult, Graves, and if it were not for your evident sincerity I'd start making the changes right here and now. No, I want no changes! Bring all the world along, and let them see me searched in public."

"You carry it with a high hand, my young friend," said Graves. "However, I can do no more than warn you. Shall we go now? There should be at least one other present."

"Mr. Gardiner has just gone down to Goode's with some b.u.t.ter. We will detain him as a witness, if you think it necessary," was Burton's reply; "come, I am ready."

The two young men walked down the street, thronged with buggies, wagons and automobiles, until they reached Mrs. Goode's boarding-house. At the door they met Gardiner.

"Mr. Gardiner, will you do me a favour? I find that I have been working alongside of a detective, instead of a store clerk, as I imagined. He has a warrant to search my room. Will you come along, as a witness?"

"Why, yes, if you ask me to. This is a surprise for me. Graves, you need not report for work to-morrow morning."

The three went up to room sixteen. As they were about to enter Polly Lester came out. "I was just finishing tidying up," she explained to Mr.

Gardiner. Since the night at the river Burton had not spoken to her nor recognised her existence.

The detective began with Burton's clothes. He searched all the pockets and felt the fabric generally to ascertain if anything might be quilted into it. Then he examined the bed, feeling the pillows and mattress very carefully. Then the washstand and bureau received attention, but without revealing anything of moment.

"There is only the trunk left," said Graves. "Will you let me have the key?"

"Go ahead; it isn't locked," Burton returned. "I wish you joy of all you find."

Each article in the trunk was lifted out and set on the bed, carefully.

Graves was at least a thorough workman. At last there were only a few items in the bottom of the trunk, and Gardiner was about congratulating Burton, when the detective cried, "h.e.l.lo, what have we here?"

Both spectators rushed to his side. At the very bottom of the trunk lay a large envelope, on which two large wax seals were visible.

"That looks like it," said Gardiner, in a tense voice. "Dig it out."

The package was produced and held before Burton. The young man was too astonished for speech.

"Well, what have you to say about it?" said Graves, at last.

"It is the stolen package," said Burton, with a dry sob. "But how it got there G.o.d only knows." He put his hand to his head; he looked around as one dazed, bewildered; his eye fell on the crack of the door, and through that crack he caught the gleam of another eye, blue-black as a hail-cloud on a summer night. He gasped, and would have rushed for the door, but Graves detained him.

"There's no hurry, Burton," he explained. "Perhaps you will see your way to make a clear breast of this business. If Mr. Gardiner gets his money back I think he might be big-hearted enough to withdraw the charge, although you have no right to expect such treatment from him, after betraying his trust in this way, and then trying to brazen it out as you have done. Of course, it's a criminal charge, and out of Gardiner's hands, but there's more ways of killing a dog than choking it with b.u.t.ter. I have something to do with the Department, and I promise you that if you come out and clean this thing up and express your regret there'll be no true bill found against you. The money is all there, isn't it?"

"I don't know. I didn't know any of it was there. I--"

Gardiner picked up the package and turned it over in his hands; suddenly it almost dropped from his fingers. "This package has been opened," he said to Graves.

The detective took it and withdrew the bills. They were bright, new ten dollar bank notes. He counted them.

"Well, I congratulate you, Gardiner. The package has been opened, but only one bill is gone. And the serial letter and number compare with the memo, furnished us by the bank. You have your money back, practically complete. What am I to do with this man?"

"Let him go. Burton, I'm sorry," said Gardiner.

"No, I won't let him go," said Graves. "He has refused a fair chance of liberty; now he must take the consequences. I advise you, Gardiner, to withdraw your bail. One of these days this fine fellow will be across the line."

"Leave that to me," said Gardiner, shortly.

Within an hour the finding of the stolen money in Burton's trunk was a general topic in the town; by evening it was common knowledge among all the crowd a.s.sembled for the sports.

Burton went straight to the store and locked himself in. Neither the streets nor the grounds were any place for him that day. Presently Gardiner let himself in and discovered the young man in the office.

"Burton," he said, speaking with some difficulty, "this is a bad mess.

There was every reason to expect your acquittal until this turned up.

Now-well, now you're in for it."

The young man sat with his face between his hands, and made no reply.

At length Gardiner continued. "I hate to think you guilty, Burton, I really do, for your own sake, and for your father's, and for your-friends! But what else can I think? And if I, who have stood by you, protesting you innocent, all along, must admit your guilt, what will the people in the town and country, who are only too glad to believe evil, think of you? You will be a marked man, and an avoided man. I don't like to say it, but it is quite impossible for me to keep you any longer in my employ. The fact is, Burton, you're up against it.

I don't want to see you go to jail, but if you come to trial that's what's going to happen. If you take my advice you'll get out while the coast is clear."

"But you are my bondsman! You will have to forfeit the bail!"

"I know. But I am willing to do that, to see you safe at liberty. I may lose the bail, but I have the money back, so I'm really nothing more out. You can get across the line to-night, and work west or south or east. The world is big, and if you straighten up you will soon find chances of useful life. If you go to jail your life is ruined, but if you take my advice you may still be a credit to yourself."

"They'll follow me," the young man moaned. "They'll get me anywhere."

"No, they won't. If you were a murderer, or a criminal of that sort, public opinion would keep them after you, but a case of this kind is really a private matter after all, and will soon be forgotten. Have you money?"

"A little."

Gardiner took a roll from his pocket. "There is a hundred dollars," he said. "That should see you out of harm's way."

"I can't take it, Mr. Gardiner; I really can't. You have done too much for me already."

"Take it as a loan, then.... Well, think it over. I'll leave it here in the till, and if you're as wise as I take you to be, both you and the money will be missing to-night. Good-bye, Burton," he said, but without offering to shake hands. "I have to drive out to Grant's."

There was a significance in the last remark that did not escape Burton.

As he sat in the dimly lighted office in the dark, empty, silent store, the ruins of his life came crashing down upon him. He tried to think calmly, to collect his thoughts, but his mind was a chaos of emotions.

Out of the maze of perplexities, complete mysteries and half known truths more baffling still, a few characters, a few incidents, gradually distinguished themselves. The night at Grant's, the singer, and his recital, spoken to an audience but aimed at one soul; the sacramental day at Crotton's Crossing, again in memory he rehea.r.s.ed it; he recalled the great stone, he saw the faces blend in the smiling water, and the solemn red sun look through the serried bars-! Ah, the bars! Prophetic vision which he had left unread! Bars, bars between him and the sunlight! Yes, bars, and cold, wet stone walls. They stared at him now, they glared at him, wet and shiny, out of the dark corners. They circled him, they compa.s.sed him, they crowded him. Bars, and stones, and water!

They would strip him of the dress of civilization and clothe him in the garb of infamy. They would feed his body with prison fare, but his soul they would leave to shrivel and starve. However innocent he might go in, only a criminal could he come out. There was something worse than being a fugitive. Better to defy the law and the officers of the law than to let them thrust him into the criminal mill. Gardiner was right. He would fly. The world was large, there still was a chance for him, he would learn to live-and forget.

A mental numbness followed the strain of these thoughts; he did not sleep, but he lost consciousness of time. When he came to himself it was quite dark, and he was hungry. He groped his way through the store and found some cheese and biscuits, which he thrust into his pocket. Then he remembered the money Gardiner had left, but as he reached to take it from the drawer his hand paused, irresolute. Surely Gardiner had done enough for him; Gardiner, who had gone his bond and then urged him to fly. He turned away, the money untouched.

Burton let himself out by a side door; the outer air was strangely hot and oppressive. He heard many voices, and a babel of strange, confused sounds; horses being hurried into shafts, automobiles whirring along the streets. He made his way to a lane, and a large drop of rain spat on his face. His eyes were as yet unaccustomed to distant objects, but he turned to the west and beheld the heavens a-seethe with lightning-not a vivid glare that blinds the beholder, but a bright silvery flush playing like the aurora behind a ma.s.s of dark-blue cloud. Burton knew the country well enough to read the menace at a glance; the heavy blue-black cloud riding ahead of the storm never hunts except for big game. The air was oppressively still, but shortly it would be torn with the violence of the tornado; the half-obscured lightning, now playing all the way from the horizon to the zenith, would break in jagged, white-hot thunder bolts through the uneven atmosphere, and at its heels would come the deluge of rain and, perhaps, hail. It was not an uncommon scene; once or twice a season these terrifying storms were to be expected, and farmer and merchant alike watched anxiously for the straight, misty, greyish cloud and listened for the accompanying rumble of the dreaded hail.

But to the fugitive the threatened storm meant nothing. The warfare of the elements could tear no deeper than the warfare of his own soul; the fire-edged death from heaven would furnish honourable end to a discouraging struggle. Avoiding the main roads, he made his way into the country, but on every trail were rigs driving by at high speed. The drivers and occupants were much too concerned with the problem of getting home dry and safe to pay attention to pedestrians on the road, and he walked on mechanically, confident that none recognised him and that none cared.