The Mystery of Murray Davenport Part 27

She shook her head, and repeated sadly: "You are not the same."

"But surely the love I have for you--that is the same--the old love transmitted to the new self. In that, at least, Murray Davenport survives in me--and I'm willing that he should."

Again she vainly asked: "What was it in him that I loved--that I still love when I think of him? I try to think of you as the Murray Davenport I knew, but--"

"But I wouldn't have you think of me as Murray Davenport. Even if I wished to be Murray Davenport again, I could not. To re-transform myself is impossible. Even if I tried mentally to return to the old self, the return would be mental only, and even mentally it would never be complete. You say truly the old Murray Davenport is lost. What was it you loved in him? Was it his unhappiness? His misfortune? Then, perhaps, if you doom me to unhappiness now, you will in the end love me for my unhappiness." He smiled despondently.

"I don't know," she said. "It isn't a matter to decide by talk, or even by thought. I must see how I feel. I must get used to the situation. It's so strange as yet. We must wait." She rose, rather weakly, and supported herself with the back of a chair. "When I'm ready for you to call, I'll send you a message."

There was nothing for Turl to do but bow to this temporary dismissal, and Larcher saw the fitness of going at the same time. With few and rather embarra.s.sed words of departure, the young men left Florence to the company of Edna Hill, in whom astonishment had produced for once the effect of comparative speechlessness.

Out in the hall, when the door of the Kenby suite had closed behind them, Turl said to Larcher: "You've had a good deal of trouble over Murray Davenport, and shown much kindness in his interest. I must apologize for the trouble,--as his representative, you know,--and thank you for the kindness."

"Don't mention either," said Larcher, cordially. "I take it from your tone," said Turl, smiling, "that my story doesn't alter the friendly relations between us."

"Not in the least. I'll do all I can to help the illusion, both for the sake of Murray Davenport that was and of you that are. It wouldn't do for a conception like yours--so original and bold--to come to failure. Are you going to turn in now?"

"Not if I may go part of the way home with you. This snow-storm is worth being out in. Wait here till I get my hat and overcoat."

He guided Larcher into the drawing-room. As they entered, they came face to face with a man standing just a pace from the threshold--a bulky man with overcoat and hat on. His face was coa.r.s.e and red, and on it was a look of vengeful triumph.

"Just the fellow I was lookin' for," said this person to Turl. "Good evening, Mr. Murray Davenport! How about my bunch of money?"

The speaker, of course, was Bagley.

CHAPTER XVII.

BAGLEY SHINES OUT

"I beg pardon," said Turl, coolly, as if he had not heard aright.

"You needn't try to bluff _me_," said Bagley. "I've been on to your game for a good while. You can fool some of the people, but you can't fool me.

I'm too old a friend, Murray Davenport."

"My name is Turl."

"Before I get through with you, you won't have any name at all. You'll just have a number. I don't intend to compound. If you offered me my money back at this moment, I wouldn't take it. I'll get it, or what's left of it, but after due course of law. You're a great change artist, you are. We'll see what another transformation'll make you look like.

We'll see how clipped hair and a striped suit'll become you."

Larcher glanced in sympathetic alarm at Turl; but the latter seemed perfectly at ease.

"You appear to be laboring under some sort of delusion," he replied.

"Your name, I believe, is Bagley."

"You'll find out what sort of delusion it is. It's a delusion that'll go through; it's not like your _ill_usion, as you call it--and very ill you'll be--"

"How do you know I call it that?" asked Turl, quickly. "I never spoke of having an illusion, in your presence--or till this evening."

Bagley turned redder, and looked somewhat foolish.

"You must have been overhearing," added Turl.

"Well, I don't mind telling you I have been," replied Bagley, with recovered insolence.

"It isn't necessary to tell me, thank you. And as that door is a thick one, you must have had your ear to the keyhole."

"Yes, sir, I had, and a good thing, too. Now, you see how completely I've got the dead wood on you. I thought it only fair and sportsmanlike"--Bagley's eyes gleamed facetiously--"to let you know before I notify the police. But if you can disappear again before I do that, it'll be a mighty quick disappearance."

He started for the hall, to leave the house.

Turl arrested him by a slight laugh of amus.e.m.e.nt. "You'll have a simple task proving that I am Murray Davenport."

"We'll see about that. I guess I can explain the transformation well enough to convince the authorities."

"They'll be sure to believe you. They're invariably so credulous--and the story is so probable."

"You made it probable enough when you told it awhile ago, even though I couldn't catch it all. You can make it as probable again."

"But I sha'n't have to tell it again. As the accused person, I sha'n't have to say a word beyond denying the ident.i.ty. If any talking is necessary, I shall have a clever lawyer to do it."

"Well, I can swear to what I heard from your own lips."

"Through a keyhole? Such a long story? so full of details? Your having heard it in that manner will add to its credibility, I'm sure."

"I can swear I recognize you as Murray Davenport."

"As the accuser, you'll have to support your statement with the testimony of witnesses. You'll have to bring people who knew Murray Davenport. What do you suppose they'll swear? His landlady, for instance? Do you think, Larcher, that Murray Davenport's landlady would swear that I'm he?"

"I don't think so," said Larcher, smiling.

"Here's Larcher himself as a witness," said Bagley.

"I can swear I don't see the slightest resemblance between Mr. Turl and Murray Davenport," said Larcher.

"You can swear you _know_ he is Murray Davenport, all the same."

"And when my lawyer asks him _how_ he knows," said Turl, "he can only say, from the story I told to-night. Can he swear that story is true, of his own separate knowledge? No. Can he swear I wasn't spinning a yarn for amus.e.m.e.nt? No."

"I think you'll find me a difficult witness to drag anything out of," put in Larcher, "if you can manage to get me on the stand at all. I can take a holiday at a minute's notice; I can even work for awhile in some other city, if necessary."

"There are others,--the ladies in there, who heard the story," said Bagley, lightly.

"One of them didn't know Murray Davenport," said Turl, "and the other--I should be very sorry to see her subjected to the ordeal of the witness-stand on my account. I hardly think you would subject her to it, Mr. Bagley,--I do you that credit."

"I don't know about that," said Bagley. "I'll take my chances of showing you up one way or another, just the same. You _are_ Murray Davenport, and I know it; that's pretty good material to start with. Your story has managed to convince _me_, little as I could hear of it; and I'm not exactly a 'come-on' as to fairy tales, at that--"