The Social Gangster Part 33

"Of course it is possible," he remarked at length, noticing that both Mrs. Ferris and I were watching him nervously, "that Miss Allison may know something that will throw some light on the affair. But it may be of an entirely private nature. I don't know how we'll get her to talk, but we must--if she knows anything. I'd like to stop at the Allison house, first."

"Very well," agreed Mrs. Ferris, leaning forward and directing the chauffeur to turn off before we reached Briar Lake on the main road.

We sped along and I could not help feeling that the young man who was driving the car was quite as eager as anyone else to bring help to his young master.

The Allison house proved to be a roomy, old-fashioned place on a rise of ground just this side of Briar Lake, for the Allisons had been among the first to acquire estates at the exclusive colony.

Mrs. Ferris remained in the car, while Kennedy and I went in to introduce ourselves.

We found the young society girl evidently now in full possession of her nerves. She was slender, fair, with deep blue eyes, not merely pretty, but with a face that showed character.

Anita Allison had been seated in the library, and, as we entered, I could see that she had hastily shoved some papers, at which she had been looking, into a drawer of the desk.

"Miss Allison," began Kennedy, "this is a most unfortunate affair and I must beg your pardon--"

"Yes," she interrupted, "I understand. As if I didn't feel badly enough--oh--they have to make it all so much harder to bear by arresting Fraser--and then all this notoriety,--it is awful."

I confess that I had not expected that we would see her so easily. Yet I felt that there was some constraint in her manner, in spite of that.

"I want to speak frankly with you, Miss Allison," went on Craig gently.

"Is there anything about the matter--of a personal nature--that you haven't told? I want to appeal to you. Remember, there is another life at stake, now."

She looked at us searchingly. Did she suspect that we knew something or was she herself seeking information?

"No, no," she cried. "There isn't a thing--not a thing that I know that I haven't told--nothing."

Kennedy said nothing himself, but watched her, apparently a.s.suming that she would go on.

"Oh," she cried, "if I could only _do_ something--anything. It might get my mind off it all. But I--I can't even cry!"

Plainly there was little except a sort of mental vivisection of her grief to be gained from her yet--even if she suspected something, of which I was not entirely sure.

We excused ourselves and left her, sunk deeply into a leather chair, her face buried in her hands, but not weeping.

"Is Mr. Allison at home?" inquired Craig as we pa.s.sed out through the hall, meeting the butler at the door.

"No, sir," he replied. "He went to New York this morning, sir, and said he'd be at the Club later this afternoon."

We climbed into the car and Kennedy looked at his watch. "It's getting well along in the afternoon," he remarked. "I think I'll go over to the Club. We may find Allison there now."

As we turned out into the main road our driver had to swerve for a car which turned off, coming from the city, as we had come a few minutes before. He looked around at it blackly, as it went up the road to the Allison house, for he had had to stall his own engine to avoid a collision. There was no one in the other car but a driver with a visored hat.

"Whose car was that?" asked Craig quickly.

"Allan Wyndham's," answered our driver, starting his engine.

"H'm," mused Craig. "Wyndham must have sent her a message from town. Too bad we hurried so to get up here."

At last, as we turned a bend in the main road, the broad chimneys, white columns and wide bal.u.s.trades of the Briar Lake Country Club loomed in sight.

The Country Club was a most pretentious building, yet, unlike many such clubs, had a very hospitable air in spite of its aristocratic and handsome appearance.

There was something very inviting about its wide sweep of roof and ample piazzas, some enclosed in gla.s.s, as we approached by the broad graveled driveway that swung in from the highway between the gentle curves of green lawns whose expanse was broken by the tall pines through which we caught a glimpse of the hills. It was indeed a beautiful country.

We entered a wide hall and came to the reception room crowded with luxurious armchairs and cozy corners. In a gla.s.s case stood the usual trophies.

Grouped about a huge deep fire was a knot of people, and here and there others were talking earnestly. One could feel that this was one of those social inst.i.tutions not to be in which argued that one was decidedly out of things. I could almost visualize the close scrutiny that new applicants would undergo, not so much as men among men, but through the eyes of the women folk, dissecting the wives and daughters of the family.

Founded originally because of the interest of the older members in horses and the hunt, the Club had now extended its activities to polo and motors, golf, tennis, squash, with a fine old English bowling green and ample shooting traps.

I could not blame Mrs. Ferris for not wishing to enter the Club just yet. She had left us at the door, promising to send the car back for our disposal.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE VACUUM BOTTLE

Fortunately, Dean Allison was at the Club, as we hoped, having just arrived by the train that left New York at the close of the banking day.

Someone told us, however, that Wyndham had probably decided to remain in town over night.

Allison was perhaps a little older than I had imagined, rather a grave young man who seemed to take his club responsibilities on the Council very seriously.

"I'd like to talk to you about this Evans case," began Craig when we had been introduced.

"Glad to tell you all I know," he responded cordially. "It isn't much, I'm afraid. It's terrible--terrible. We don't know what to think. My sister is all broken up by it, poor girl."

He led the way over to a corner, in a sort of bow window, and we sat down on the hard leather cushions.

"No, there isn't much I can say," he resumed. "You see, one of the recreations of the younger set at the Club is boxing--that's about all there was to it--not the amateurish thing one usually sees, but real scientific boxing.

"Fraser had adopted the so-called Fitzsimmons shift--you know, the right foot forward, while the left hand shoots out from somewhere near the hip, plunging at close range into the pit of the stomach."

Allison rose to ill.u.s.trate it. "Irving, on the other hand, had been advocating the Jeffries crouch as the only safeguard to meet it,--like that."

He threw himself into position and went on, "The bout had been arranged, accordingly, and it was _some_ bout, too. Most of us here are fond of boxing to keep fit.

"Well, at last Fraser got under his guard, I suppose you'd call it. He landed. For an instant, Irving stood up straight, his hands helplessly extended. Most of us thought he was fooling and Fraser jumped back, laughing at the way his contention had worked out. Then, slowly, struggling as if against the inevitable, Irving bent forward and toppled over on his face.

"That's where we woke up. We rushed forward and picked him up, apparently unconscious, and carried him to the locker-room. There was a good deal of excitement. Someone telephoned for a doctor, but couldn't seem to find one at home."

"Did you see anything peculiar take place in the locker-room?" asked Kennedy, following keenly.

"Anything peculiar?"

"Yes--anyone near him, perhaps--another blow--while he was unconscious."