The Luminous Face

“I’ll do as I like, anyway,” and young Lindsay’s eyes showed an ugly light, though his glance at Barry was furtive rather than belligerent.

“Of course you will, pighead!” Barry was thoroughly angry. “Now, tell me this; were you at Gleason’s at the time Ivy Hayes was there?”

“No! What do you mean?” the astonishment was real. “When was she there?”

“Oh, she didn’t kill Gleason. Don’t worry about that. But it does seem as if a great many people chose that day to call on the Western millionaire.”

“And all for the same purpose!” Louis shot out, with a sudden incisive perception.

“Of course,” Barry said, contemptuously; “I dare say I’m the only suspect who can’t be accused of killing the old man for lucre.”

“He wasn’t so awful old – and, I say, Barry, who else is suspected but you?”

“You!” Barry flashed back. “Or you will be! I meant to warn you in kindness, Louis, but you’re so ungrateful, I’ll let you alone. Better be careful, though.”

Louis sulked, so Barry left him, and went away. He went to Fred Lane’s office, and demanded an interview alone with the lawyer.

“What’s up?” Lane asked him.

“Oh, nothing. That’s the worst of it. I don’t believe, Lane, that they’ll ever get at the truth of the Gleason murder.”

“Then they’ll railroad you to the chair,” said Lane, cheerfully.

“What about the letter, Lane? Can you see through it?”

“No, I can’t. You wrote that signature, Phil; now think back and see how or when you could have done it?”

“Don’t be absurd! I couldn’t have done it, except as a signature to that very letter, and I didn’t do that.”

“But – ”

“But, look here, Lane – just supposing somebody wanted to blacken my name – in this connection. What a roundabout way to take! Imagine some one writing that screed on the Club typewriter, and managing somehow to get my signature on it – could it be done with a transfer paper, or something of that sort?”

“Don’t think so – it would be backward, then, wouldn’t it?”

“Why, yes – ”

“But did nobody ever persuade you to sign a sheet of blank paper? Wanted your autograph, or that sort of thing?”

“Never! I’m not a celebrity!”

“Well, here’s an idea! Did anybody ever get you to sign a paper written in pencil? Then, he could rub out the pencil marks and type in the letter?”

“No, smarty! Why, that has been suggested by some one. But the expert said that the pencil marks would show, even if carefully erased.”

“You mean the erasure would leave its traces. That’s right, it would. And if ever there was a genuine looking letter that’s one.”

“On the surface, yes. But if I were a detective, I would note at once that the letter itself is not in a phraseology that I would use – ”

“And if I were a detective, I should note that, too, and set it down as a further proof of your cleverness!”

“Hello, Lane, are you convinced of my guilt?”

“Not a bit of it, but I am frankly puzzled about that letter. It’s so positively Club paper, Club typewriter, your signature – what’s the answer?”

“I’ll find out – I swear I will!”

“If you don’t, old chap, it’ll go hard with you, I fear.”

“As a starter, I’m going to see that Hayes girl. No, I don’t think she’s implicated, but I may be able to get something new.”

“Go ahead. Sound her and you may, at least, find some new way to look. Louis Lindsay never did it – ”

“Oh, no, I know that! He’d hardly have nerve to kill a fly!”

To the home of Ivy Hayes Barry went next.

The girl willingly saw him, and seemed glad to discuss the matter.

After some preliminary conversation and as Barry grew more definite in his queries, she began to be a little frightened, and was less frank in her responses.

“You came to see me before, Mr Barry,” she said, “and I told you then all I knew about this thing. Now, I’ve no more to tell.”

“I think you have. I remember the other time I was here, you had a sudden recollection, or thought, and you gave a startled exclamation. What was that thought?”

“As if I could recall! I suppose I was nervous – I often jump like that. It’s – it’s temperament, you know.”

“It was more than that. You did think of something that gave you a new idea regarding Mr Gleason’s murder or murderer. Now, don’t say you didn’t, for I know it. Come across, Ivy, tell me what it was – or you may get in deep yourself.”

“Tell me this, Mr Barry,” and the girl spoke quietly and earnestly; “is there any danger of my being suspected? For, if so, I’ll tell something. It’s awful mean to tell it – but I’ve got myself to look out for – oh, no – no! I don’t know anything! Not anything!”

“You do. You’ve already proved it. Now, Ivy, I won’t exaggerate your danger, but I’ll tell you that I think the only real suspects they have, as yet, are you and me. As I’m not the criminal, and as I shall do my very best to prove that, suspicion may come back on you. I don’t say this to frighten you. I merely state the fact. So, don’t you think yourself that you’d better tell me what you know, and I assure you that I will use the knowledge with discretion.”

“Oh, I can’t tell,” and the girl burst into tears. “I can’t tell anybody, and you least of all!”

Barry stared. What could such a speech mean?

“Please go away,” Ivy moaned. “Go away now, and come tomorrow. Then I’ll decide what to do.”

“No,” Barry said sternly; “you know something, and you must tell me. If you refuse I’ll go away, but I’ll send Mr Prescott here – and I’m sure you’d rather tell me – wouldn’t you, Ivy?”

Barry’s tone was ingratiating, and too, his words carried conviction. Ivy wiped her eyes and looked at him dolefully.

“I don’t know what to do. You see, for me to tell what I know would be mean – oh, worse than mean – it would be too low down for words! And yet – I don’t want to be arrested!”

“Then tell – tell me, my girl – you’ll feel better to tell it.”

Barry sensed the psychological moment, and knew he must get the story out of Ivy, while she was frightened. If she really knew how little she was suspected, she might never tell. And Barry felt it imperative that her knowledge be revealed.

Persuaded by his urgency, Ivy began.

“Well, you see, I went there about half past five – ”

“How do you know the time so well – most people don’t.”

“Oh, I don’t know how I know it, but I just happen to. I was due home at six, so I went there at five-thirty, or within a few minutes of that time. Does it matter?”

“No; go on.”

“Well, I rang the bell, you know, and the door clicked open and I went up and Mr Gleason let me in.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I hadn’t been there hardly any time at all – not ten minutes, anyhow, when Mr Gleason’s bell rang again. And I said, ‘Who is it?’”

“What made you think he would know who it was?”

“Don’t know as I did. Guess I just said it – but, anyway – he said – ‘It’s Miss Lindsay – I expect her – she mustn’t see you here!’”

“What did you do?”

“Why, he pushed me through into the dining-room – ”

“He never used the dining-room – ”

“Oh, he did sometimes. Well, anyway, the room was there – and he pushed me in, and told me to go through the pantry and down the back stairs and out that way.”

“Why did he push you? Weren’t you willing to go?”

“Yes, but I was rattled – bewildered. And, I’ve never seen Miss Lindsay, and I was curious to see her. I didn’t mind being found in Mr Gleason’s rooms, but he minded very much. And so he hurried me off, and that’s when he told me he’d give me the bracelet, if I’d sneak off without making a sound.”

“And did you?”

“Yes; but I waited a minute to try to see Miss Lindsay.”

“Did you see her?”

“No; the door opened the wrong way. I peaked through the crack, but I couldn’t see her. I heard her, though.”

“You did?” Barry’s nerves were pounding, his heart beat fast, as he listened for, yet dreaded her further speech.

“Yes, and I couldn’t make out a word she said, her voice was so low. But they were quarreling – or at least discussing something on which they didn’t agree.”

“What was it?” Barry controlled himself.

“I don’t know. Mr Gleason walked up and down the room as he talked – he often did that – but it kept me from pushing the door a speck wider open. In fact, he pushed it tight shut as he passed it.”

“Did he suspect you were there listening?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. He just closed it on general principles. Maybe he thought I was there. But after that I couldn’t hear a word, so I went through the pantry and down the back way.”

“Anybody see you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re sure it was Miss Lindsay who was there?”

“Yes. I heard Mr Gleason say ‘my sister is your stepmother, I know,’ and again he said, ‘Yes, you’re Lindsay – you’re both Lindsays – but I’ve made my will – ’ that’s all I heard.”

“What time did you leave there?”

“It must have been about quarter to six, for I was home at six.”

“And Miss Lindsay was there when you left.”

“Oh, yes, she was there when I left.”

And then, Philip Barry’s secret fear was confirmed.

CHAPTER XIII – Philip and Phyllis

Philip Barry, though of the artistic temperament common to his calling, had also a businesslike instinct that prompted him to straight-forward measures in any case where he was specially interested.

And he was deeply interested in learning that Phyllis had been at Gleason’s rooms the afternoon of the murder, and he wanted the matter cleared up to his own satisfaction.

Wherefore, he went to Phyllis herself and inquired concerning it.

“Were you at Mr Gleason’s that day?” was his somewhat direct way of opening the conversation.

They were alone, in the Lindsays’ library, and Phyllis, looking demure enough in a little white house gown, was in perverse mood.

“Good gracious, Phil, are you beginning to suspect me? Go to Millicent with your theories? She has thought from the first that I shot her brother. Go over to her side, if you like.”

“I don’t like! It isn’t a question of ‘sides’! And if it is, of course, I’m on your side. You know that, don’t you, Phyllis? You know I’m for you, first, last and all the time.”

“Then help me, Phil, and sympathize, and don’t come rushing in here and screaming out, ‘Was I at Mr Gleason’s when he was killed?’”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You did, practically. Now, what do you mean by it?”

“Why,” Barry hesitated, “why, I’ve been to see that – ”

“Ivy Hayes?”

“Yes. And she said you were there.”

“Ivy Hayes said I was there! She must be crazy!”

“Weren’t you? Tell me you weren’t, Phyllis. I’ll be so glad to know it. Where were you that afternoon, late? You never would say.”

“Why should I? I won’t say now, either, but I was not at Mr Gleason’s.”

“Oh, then that’s all right.” Barry’s tense expression relaxed, and he smiled. “Then that youngster made it all up. I fancied she did – just to make a sensation.”

“Why – what did she say, exactly?” Phyllis looked ill at ease.

Barry couldn’t suspect her sincerity, but he watched her as he told of his interview with Miss Hayes.

“She said I was there! That she was hidden in another room while I was there! Why, I wasn’t there at all!”

“You didn’t go to Mr Gleason’s the day of – the day he died?”

“No, I’ve never been there! Why should I go? It isn’t my custom to go to the homes of men I know. They call on me.”

“Of course, Phyllis – don’t get angry, dear. I didn’t think you’d go there – but there might have been a reason – an errand, you know.”

“Well, there wasn’t. I wish you’d all stop trying to find out who killed that man! What difference does it make? He’s dead, and it won’t bring him to life to punish his murderer. I think Millicent is foolish about it.”

“It’s natural, Phyllis, dear. It isn’t exactly revenge, but more an avenging spirit. It’s human nature to demand a life for a life.”

“But it can’t be found out. If they do arrest somebody, it’ll most likely be the wrong person.”

Phyllis looked very lovely as she drew her brows together in a perplexed frown and then smiled.

“Oh, make them stop, Phil. If you advise Millicent, she’ll stop.”

“I’m afraid my sense of justice is too strong – ” Barry began, but Phyllis interrupted him:

“It is too strong if it’s stronger than your wish to please me,” and she pouted like a scolded child.

“Nothing in my heart is stronger than my wish to please you,” Barry said, gravely, “and you know it, Phyllis. If you make it a condition, I will most certainly suggest to Mrs Lindsay that she give up her quest. But, such advice would be against my own better judgment.”

“But why, Phil?” Phyllis was coaxing now. “Don’t you feel sure they’ll never find the murderer?”

“If they don’t, Phyllis, they’ll always suspect me.”

“What do you care – since you are innocent?”

“I care very much! Why, my dear girl, do you suppose I could carry that burden all my life? Always go about, knowing that many people – or even a few people suspected me of Robert Gleason’s murder? No; when I think about it, I’m ready to move heaven and earth, if that were possible, to find the true criminal!”

Phyllis shuddered and her face went white.

“Couldn’t you forget in time?” she said, bravely struggling to speak steadily.

“Never! Why, Phyllis, that letter is enough to condemn me – only I didn’t write it.”

“Didn’t you, really, Phil?”

The girl leaned forward, and looked into his eyes so earnestly that Barry recoiled in amazement. Did she suspect him? Phyllis!

“Don’t!” he cried out, “don’t look as if you thought me guilty! You, of all people!”

“Oh, I don’t,” she said, quickly, “but I thought you might have written the letter, meaning something else. The fact of your writing it doesn’t make you the criminal.”

“But I didn’t. Listen, Phyllis – I love you – oh, sweetheart, how I love you! but I’ve resolved not to ask you for love, until I can offer you an unstained name – ”

“Your name isn’t stained! I won’t have you say such things!”

Her sweet smile was encouraging, but Barry shook his head:

“No, dear, you mustn’t even be kind to me. I can’t stand it! You know my name is affected until the mystery of that letter is explained. It’s the most inexplicable thing! Why, look at it! We fellows all discussed murder, and discussed Gleason and that very day he was killed and that letter was found in his desk! It was a piece of diabolical cleverness on somebody’s part!”

“But, Phil, just as an argument. How could anybody write that letter but you?”

“I don’t see, myself. But somebody did do it. I’ve thought it over and over. I’ve looked at this letter through a lens, but there’s no trace of erased writing, nor any possibility of my signature having been pasted into another sheet, or anything like that.”

“I’ve seen wonderful inlay work, where one piece of paper is joined to another actually invisibly.”

“So have I, and I thought of that. But it wasn’t done in this case. That sheet of paper – Club paper, is absolutely intact, it is typed just as I type things-a little carelessly – and the signature is like mine. I would say it is mine, only – I didn’t write it!”

“Maybe somebody hypnotized you.”

“No; I’ve never been hypnotized – nor has any one ever attempted such a thing with me. It’s diabolical, as I said. But I’ll find out if it takes my life time! Now, you see, dear, why I don’t want you to urge me to stop investigation on the part of anybody. Besides, Mrs Lindsay isn’t the only one eager to solve the mystery. The detectives, the police, are as anxious as she is.”

“I don’t think so. I think they’re getting tired of having no results. I think, if Millicent gave up the search, they soon would do so.”

“But why? Why, Phyllis, are you desirous of having it given up?”

“Oh, I don’t know! I’m tired of it, that’s all. And now, you’re dragging me into it – ”

“Phyllis, as you said to me – if you’re innocent, your name can’t be harmed.”

“Well – suppose I’m not innocent – would you stop then?”

Barry stared at her. He thought at first her speech was merely an outburst of the perversity which now and then showed in her volatile nature. But her face was drawn and white and her eyes dark with a sort of terror he had never before seen her show.

However, he saw no choice but to treat her speech lightly.

“Oh, yes, of course! But until you tell me you’re the villain of the piece, I shan’t be able to believe it.”

“I didn’t like Mr Gleason.”

“Who did? Check up, now. If we’re to suspect all who didn’t like the man, there’s Pollard, Davenport, you, me – ”

“And Mr Pollard’s mythical Westerner. Oh, Phil, I wish he could be found!”

“Who? Pollard?”

“No; the man he thinks came from the West – an old acquaintance of Mr Gleason’s.”

“Yes, he’s a fine suspect, but a bit intangible. Perhaps he wrote the note I signed!”

“Don’t jest, Philip. I’m – I’m so miserable.”

Phyllis bowed her face in her hands and cried softly.

“Don’t – don’t, Phyllis, darling. For heaven’s sake, keep out of the muddle.”

“But you dragged me into it! You came here checking up on my movements. Why did you do that?”

“I told you why. Because Ivy Hayes said you were there.”

“Oh, yes – so she did. I forgot that. Well – maybe I was – maybe I was – ”

“Phyllis, hush. You’re talking wildly. And here’s another thing. Where was Louis that afternoon?”

“Phil Barry, you stop! Are you going to accuse the whole family? Why don’t you ask where Millicent was?”

“I ask about Louis because I’ve been told he was there.”

“And I was there! And Ivy Hayes was there! And the man from the West was there! Quite a party!”

Phyllis laughed shrilly – not at all like her usual gentle laugh, and Barry watched her in alarm, lest she grow hysterical.

“I won’t,” she said, divining his fear. “I’m not hysterical, but I’m distracted. Oh, Phil, do help me!”

“Of course I will, little girl,” Barry held out his arms. “Come to me, Phyllis, let’s forget all the horrible things of life and just love each other – and belong.”

“No,” she drew away from him. “Not yet. If your name must be cleared – so must mine.”

“But your name isn’t even mentioned.”

“Yes, it is,” Phyllis said, speaking in a dull, slow way, “yes, it is – and the worst of it is, my name can’t be cleared.”

“Hush,” Barry cautioned, “somebody’s coming in.”

The street door closed, and a moment later, Manning Pollard made an appearance.

The conversation, though general, was not spontaneous, and after a short time, Barry took his leave. Though he did not consider Pollard an actual rival of his in Phyllis’ favor, yet he felt disgruntled when the other was present. And, too, he wanted to go off by himself to think over what Phyllis had said.

He knew her too well to imagine for a moment that she was merely upset by the whole situation and wanted the investigation to be stopped.

He knew she had some definite and imperative reason for begging him to quit searching and also that she meant something when she said her own name could not be cleared.

That remark, of course, could not be taken at its face value, but all the same, it meant something – and he must find out what.

Manning Pollard was confronted with the same question.

Apparently unable to control her nervous fear, Phyllis said, at once:

“Oh, Mr Pollard, can’t you help me? I’m in such trouble. That Miss Hayes says I was at Mr Gleason’s the day of the murder!”

“And were you?”

“No! – or, well, maybe I was. But that has nothing to do with it. Can’t you hush up the Hayes girl? Must she tell of it, if I was there?”

“It would be a pretty difficult matter to stop her mouth.”

“But if I paid her?”

“Ah, then you would get yourself in trouble! Don’t do anything of that sort, I beg of you! Tell me all about it, Miss Lindsay. I’m sure I can help – and if not, won’t it relieve you to talk it over? What is the new development?”

“Oh, only that probably I shall next be suspected of the Gleason murder!”

“Yes?” Manning Pollard didn’t look so intensely surprised as Phyllis had anticipated.

“Oh, I know Millicent has foolishly said that I did it – but she didn’t mean it. She’d suspect anybody from the mayor to the cook! But, now, that little chorus girl – or whatever she is – has said that I was in the room with Mr Gleason, when he – ”

“When he was killed! Oh, no!”

“Why, she practically says that. It seems she was there herself.”

“She was there! When Mr Gleason was shot!”

“Oh, she couldn’t have been – could she? But – you see I don’t know exactly what she said – ”

“Then don’t try to quote her, but tell me what you do know. Did she try to implicate you?”

“Yes – I think she did.”

“You’re not sure – ”

“No; only she said I was there – ”

“Were you?”

“I – I don’t want to tell you – ”

“Miss Lindsay, don’t tell me – don’t tell anybody! If you were there keep it to yourself – and if not – there’s no occasion to say so. I understand what you’re trying to do. Keep it up. That’s why I invented the Western man!”

“Invented him! You don’t really believe in him?”

“Oh, I suppose invented isn’t the right word. But – of course, I’ve no proof of his existence. He may well be a fact – or, again, he may not be. I only say that there’s a possibility – even a probability that Gleason may have known somebody out there who came after him here and killed him. Nobody can deny the possibility, at least.”

“No, of course not.”

“You’ve no idea of the identity of any such person?”

“I? Oh, no.”

“It would be a good thing if you could remember Mr Gleason’s having told you of such a one.”

Phyllis looked up suddenly, and caught Pollard’s meaning glance. Could it be? Was he hinting that she should make up some such story. It couldn’t be!

“Why?” she said, quietly.

“I think you know,” he spoke gently, “but if you want me to put it into words, I will. The Hayes girl has told several people – Mr Prescott among them, that you were at the Gleason rooms about six o’clock that night. Now, you know, you have refused to say where you were at that time – and it is not surprising that their suspicions are aroused. For you to deny being there would not be half so efficacious as for you to turn the thoughts of the detectives in some other direction. Suppose, for instance, you were to remember some man Mr Gleason told you of. Some name – let us say – and suppose the detectives set themselves to work to find the individual. If they can’t find him, you harm nobody, and – you divert attention from yourself.”

Phyllis did not pretend to misunderstand. Nor did she treat the matter lightly.

“You think I am in danger, then?” she asked.

“Oh, don’t say danger – I don’t like the word. But, your name will be bandied about – will be in the papers – unless you quash the thing in the beginning. You haven’t admitted you were there, but, suppose it is proved that you were, and suppose you tell of this man, of whom Mr Gleason spoke to you – spoke to you at that very time – and suppose your story is that you were there about six – that you left soon after – and that Mr Gleason was even then fearing the arrival of this enemy of his.”

Again Phyllis looked him in the eyes.

Pollard was a magnetic man, his face inspired confidence, but more than that, the girl read in the deep, dark eyes a troubled care for herself – for her own safety and well-being.

She knew Pollard admired her – most of her men friends did, but only now was she aware of his passionate love.

“It’s a terrible thing that I’m advising,” he said, in a whisper, “but I realize the gravity of the situation. Phyllis – I care so much – so much – and I can’t help seeing how things are tending. You know I have no shadow of suspicion of you – my beautiful – my darling – but others will – others will be swayed by the Hayes story, and – though you left the place before Mr Gleason was killed – yet it must have been only shortly before – and somebody did come in and kill him – so, why not say – ”

“I see your point, I see how I am endangered – even if I’m innocent. If I’m innocent.”

“Why do you say that?” Pollard looked at her wonderingly. “At least, don’t say it to me! And forgive my abruptness, but I must tell you how I love you. I must ask you if you can’t love me – oh, Phyllis, even a little? Do you, dear?”