The Camera Fiend Part 26

"On my part, certainly; but how do I know he couldn't get more power over me in my sleep than at any other time? He saw me walking in my sleep with this wretched revolver. He said himself I'd given him the chance of a lifetime. You may be sure he meant before that poor man's death, not after it."

"It isn't possible," declared Phillida, as though she had laid hold of one solid certainty in a sea of floating hypotheses. "And I know he hasn't a pistol of his own," she added, lest he should simplify his charge.

But there they were agreed.

"He hadn't one on him that morning; that I can swear," said Pocket, impartially disposing of the idea. "Mine was the only one in that cape of his, because I once jolly nearly had it out again when he came back into the room. There was nothing of the sort in his other coat, or anywhere else about him, or I couldn't have helped seeing it." Phillida accepted this statement only too thankfully. She beamed on the boy, as if in recognition of a piece of downright magnanimity towards an enemy whom she could now understand his regarding in that light. If only he would go before the enemy returned! If her uncle had such a power over him as he himself seemed to feel, then that was all the more reason for him to go quickly. But Pocket was not the man to get up and run like that. Perhaps he enjoyed displaying his bravery on the point, and keeping his companion on tenter-hooks on his account; at any rate he insisted on finishing his breakfast, and gave further free expression to the wildest surmises as he did so. And yet he was even then on the brink of a discovery which was some excuse for the wildest of them all, while it demanded a fresh solution of the whole affair.

He had been fingering the recovered weapon in his pocket, almost fondling it, though with mingled feelings, as the Prodigal Son of his small possessions; suddenly it leapt out like a live thing in his hand, and clattered on the table between the girl and boy. It was a wonder neither of them was shot dead in his excitement. His whole face was altered; but so was his whole life. She could not understand his incoherent outburst; she only knew that he was twisting the chambers round and round under her nose, and that there appeared to be live cartridges in all six.

"Don't you see?" the words came pouring. "Not one of them's been fired-it's as I loaded it myself the other night! It can't have been this revolver at all!"

"But you must have known whether you fired or not?"

"I tell you I was walking in my sleep till the row woke me. I'd only heard it once before, in a room. It sounded loud enough for the open air, though I do remember wondering I hadn't felt any kick. But I was so dazed, and there was this beastly thing in my hand; and he took it from me in such a rage that of course I believed I'd let it off. But now I can see I can't have done. It wasn't my revolver and it wasn't me!"

"Yet you say yourself my uncle didn't carry one?"

"I'll swear he didn't; but there's another man in all this! There was the man they arrested on Sat.u.r.day-the man I was so keen to set free!"

The boy's laugh grated; he was beside himself with righteous joy. What was it to him that his innocence implied another's complicity? Only too characteristically, he saw simply the central fact from his own point of view; but was it such an undoubted fact as he hot-headedly supposed?

There was the broken negative to confirm a certain suspicion, but that was not enough for Phillida.

She asked if he had no more cartridges, and he said he had a few loose in his waistcoat pocket; he had thrown away the box. "Then my uncle might have put in a fresh one while you were asleep."

"Why should he?"

"I don't know, but it sounds quite as possible as the other."

"I'll soon tell you if he did!" cried Pocket. "There were fourteen in the box to start with, because I counted them, and we only shot away one at the Knaggses' before we were cobbed. That left thirteen-six in the revolver and seven in my pocket. There are your six, and here's one, two, three, four-and three's seven!"

He swept them over the cloth like crumbs, for her to count them for herself, while he looked on with flaming cheeks and wagging tongue. He was beginning to see what it all meant now, but still only what it meant to him and his. He could look his people in the face again; that was the burden of his loud thanksgiving. He was as sure of his innocence as though the dead man had risen to prove it.

"Very well," said Phillida, briskly; "then it's all the more reason you should go this minute, and catch the very first train home."

And in her sudden anxiety to see him safely off, she was for helping him on with the overcoat he had brought down again with his bag; but he followed her out slowly, and he would not turn his back.

"I can't leave you now," he said; and she knew that he saw it from her side at last.

"Why not?"

"Because the whole thing's altered! I'm not going to leave you with a man like that!"

So Pocket, without a moment's thought either for her immediate feelings or the ultimate consequences to himself; and yet with an unconscious air of sacrifice more wounding than his actual words. She would have flung open the door, and ordered him out, but he got his back to it first. So her big eyes blazed at him instead.

"You're very kind!" she cried. "But suppose I don't believe a word you say against my uncle behind his back?"

"I shall wait and say it to his face. That's another reason for waiting."

"Do you think you're the person to judge him-a boy like you?"

"I don't say I am. I only say that print--"

"How do you know he took the negative?"

"I don't, but--"

"But you jump to conclusions like a baby!" cried the girl, too quick for him in following up a confusing advantage. "I never heard anybody like you for flying from one wild notion to another; first you say he must have made you fire, though you own you were walking in your sleep with a loaded revolver, and then you're sure you never fired at all, simply because you find the revolver fully loaded after days and days! Then you find a photograph that needn't necessarily be what we thought it, that my uncle needn't have taken even if it was; but you jump to another conclusion about him, and you dare to speak of him to me as though you knew every horrid thing you chose to think! As if you knew him and I didn't! As if he hasn't been kind and good to me for years and years-and kind to you-far too kind--"

The strained voice broke, tears were running down her face, and in it and them there was more sincerity. Grief, and not anger, was the well of those bitter tears. And it was in simple supplication, not imperiously any more, that she pointed to the door when speech failed her. The boy's answer was to go close up to her instead. "Will you come with me?" he asked hoa.r.s.ely.

She shook her head; she was past surprise as well as indignation; she could only shake her head.

"My people would be as good to you as ever he was," urged Pocket extravagantly. "They'd understand, and you'd stay with us, Phillida! You might live with us altogether!"

She smiled very faintly at that.

"Oh, Phillida, can't you see that they'd do anything for you after all we've been through together? And I, oh! there's nothing I wouldn't do if only you'd come with me now this minute! I know there's a train about ten, and I know where we could borrow the money on the way. Come, Phillida, get on your things and come away from all this horror!"

He had gone on, even into details, encouraged by the tolerance or apathy which had allowed him to go on at all. He took it for indecision; but, whatever it was, she shook it off and declared once for all that she would never leave Dr. Baumgartner, even if everything was true about him, and he as mad as that would make him out.

"But he is!" cried Pocket, with most eager conviction. "That's the only possible explanation, and you'd believe it fast enough if you'd heard all he said to me that first night, and been with me in the dark-room when he developed his negative of the man he said I shot! You'd see how it all fits in, and how this other negative this morning simply shows he was at the bottom of that other affair as well! Of course he's mad; but that's the very reason why I can't go and leave you with him."

"He would be as he's always been to me."

"I believe he would," said honest Pocket.

"Then why don't you go away and leave us?"

"Because I can't."

"Because you won't!"

"Very well, because I won't and never will! But, mind you, it'll be your fault if anything happens to either of us after this!"

He only meant it as a last argument, though he did resent her fatal obstinacy, and all the obligations which it imposed upon himself. He stood chained in fetters of her forging, as it were to the stake, but he was prepared to stand there like a man, and he did not deserve the things she said to him in a fresh paroxysm of unreasonable wrath. He might be a baby, but he was not a complete coward, or simply trying to make her miserable, as she declared; neither, on this occasion, was he thinking only of himself. But Phillida seemed suddenly to realise that, for she broke off with a despairing little cry, and ran sobbing up the stairs.

A THIRD CASE

In days to come, when the boy had schooled himself not to speak of these days, nor to let his mind dwell on their mystery and terror, it was as a day of dark hours and vivid moments that he remembered the one which Phillida and he began alone together in her uncle's house. Those endless hours were either mercifully forgotten or else contracted to an endurable minimum; but the unforgettable moments would light themselves up in his memory without a detail missing.

There was their first encounter at the dark-room door, and Phillida standing all but barefoot in the ruby light, with her glorious hair about her shoulders, a picture that could never fade. Then there was the moment of the incriminating print, which the sun wiped out even as Phillida stood with it in her hands. That moment merged itself in the greater one of his discovery that the revolver was fully loaded, his inspiration that neither it nor he had done the fatal mischief in the Park. Then she was begging him to go (she who would keep him the time before!) and he entreating her to come with him, and neither giving way an inch, so that they quarrelled just when they should have stuck together, and she ran away in tears, and he stayed below in a glow of anger which dissolved his fears like snow in May.

That was the beginning of a black hour and more. Phillida was never to be forgiven, then; he was staying there at his peril, staying absolutely on her account, and so far from giving him the slightest credit for it, or a single word of encouragement, she said all sorts of things and was off before he could answer one of them. It was not for Pocket to see the many ironies of that moment, and not for him to recognise the tonic property of his heroic grievance. He could only see himself at the foot of those stairs, first gnashing his teeth and not sorry he had made her cry, then sitting down with his eye on the front door, revolver in hand, to await the click of the doctor's key. Another click was to answer it; and at the point of the c.o.c.ked revolver Baumgartner was to have made a clean breast of his crimes, not only to the giant-killer at the foot of the stairs but to the girl he meant to call to witness with her own ears.