Out of a Labyrinth Part 57

CHAPTER x.x.xIX.

"LOUISE BARNARD'S FRIENDs.h.i.+P."

When she has finished her story there is a long silence, then she says, with a suddenness that would have been surprising in any other woman than the one before me:

"You say you have arrested Arch Brookhouse for the shooting of Dr.

Bethel. Tell me, is it true that Dr. Bethel is out of danger?"

"He is still in a condition to need close attention and careful medical aid; with these, we think, he will recover."

"I am very glad to know that," she says, earnestly.

"Miss Lowenstein, I have some reason for thinking that you know who is implicated in that grave-robbing business."

"I do know," she answers, frankly, "but not from them. The Brookhouses, father and sons, believed Dr. Bethel to be a detective, and to be candid, so did I. You know 'the wicked flee when no man pursueth.' They construed his reticence into mystery. They fancied that his clear, searching eye was looking into all their secrets. I knew they were plotting against him, but I had told Arch Brookhouse that they should not harm him. When I went down to the cottage with Louise Barnard, I felt sure that it was _their_ work, the grave-robbing.

"Tom Briggs was there, the fiercest of the rioters. Tom had worked about my stable for a year or more, and I thought that I knew how to manage him. I contrived to get a word with him. Did you observe it?"

"Yes, I observed it."

"I told him to come to The Hill that evening, and he came. Then I made him tell me the whole story.

"Arch Brookhouse had planned the thing, and given it to Briggs to execute. There were none of the regular members of the gang here to help him at that work, so he went, under instructions, of course, to Simmons and Saunders, two dissolute, worthless fellows, and told them that Dr.

Bethel had offered him thirty dollars to get the little girl's body, and offered to share with them.

"Those three did the work. Briggs buried the clothing and hid the tools.

Then, when the raid began, Briggs told his two a.s.sistants that, in order to avoid suspicion, they must join the hue and cry against Dr. Bethel, and so, as you are aware, they did."

This information is valuable to me. I am anxious to be away, to meet Simmons and Saunders. I open my lips to make a request, when she again asks a sudden question.

"Will you tell me where and how you arrested the Brookhouse gang? I am anxious to know."

"I will tell you, but first will you please answer one more question?"

She nods and I proceed.

"I have told you that Arch Brookhouse is charged with attempted abduction; I might say Louis Brookhouse stands under the same charge. Do you know anything about the matter?"

"I? No."

"Did you ever know Miss Amy Holmes?"

"Never," she replies, emphatically. "Whom did they attempt to abduct?"

"Three young girls; three innocent country girls."

"Good heavens!" she exclaims, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng fiercely, "that is a deed, compared with which horse-thieving is honorable!"

I give her a brief outline of the Groveland affair, or series of affairs, so far as I am able, before having heard Carnes' story. And then I tell her how the horse-thieves were hunted down.

"So," she says, wearily, "by this time I am known all over Trafton as the accomplice of horse-thieves."

"Not so, Miss Lowenstein. The entire truth is known to Carnes and Brown, the two detectives I have mentioned, to Jim Long, and to Mr.

Warren. The vigilants knew that the horses had been concealed near Trafton, but, owing to the manner in which the arrests were made, they do not know where. I suppose you are aware what it now becomes my duty to do?"

"a.s.suredly," with constrained voice and manner. "You came here to arrest me. I submit."

"Wait. From first to last it has been my desire to deal with you as gently as possible. Now that I have heard your story, I am still more inclined to stand your friend. The three men in Trafton who know your complicity in this business, are acting under my advice. For the present, you may remain here, if you will give me your promise not to attempt an escape."

"I shall not try to escape; I would be foolish to do so, after learning how skillfully you can hunt down criminals."

"Thanks for the compliment, and the promise implied. If you will give your testimony against the gang, telling in court the story you have told me, you shall not stand before these people without a champion."

"I don't like to do it. It seems cowardly."

"Why? Do you think they would spare you were the positions reversed?"

"No, certainly not; but--" turning her eyes toward the foliage without, and speaking wistfully, "I wish I knew how another woman would view my position. I never had the friends.h.i.+p of a woman who knew me as I am. I wish I knew how such a woman as Louise Barnard would advise me."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I wish I knew how such a woman as Louise Barnard would advise me."--page 438.]

Scarcely knowing how to reply to this speech, I pa.s.s it by and hasten to finish my own.

Will she remain in her own house until I see her again, which may not be until to-morrow? And will she permit me to leave Gerry Brown here, for form's sake?

Jim Long would hardly question my movements and motives, but Mr. Warren, who is the fourth party in our confidence, might. So, for his gratification, I will leave Gerry Brown at the Hill.

She consents readily enough, and I go out to fetch Gerry.

"Miss Lowenstein, this is my friend, Gerry Brown, who has pa.s.sed the night in your barn and in very bad company. Will you take pity on him and give him some breakfast?" I say, as we appear before her.

She examines Gerry's handsome face attentively, and then says:

"If your late companions were bad, Mr. Brown, you will not find your present company much better. You do look tired. I will give you some breakfast, and then you can lock me up."

"I'll eat the breakfast with relish," replies Gerry, gallantly; "but as for locking you up, excuse me. I've been told that you would feed me and let me lie down somewhere to sleep; and I've been ordered to stay here until to-morrow. It looks to me as if I were your prisoner, and such I prefer to consider myself."

I leave them to settle the question of keeper and prisoner as best they can, and go out to Jim.

He is smoking placidly, with Arch Brookhouse, in a fit of the sulks, sitting on an overturned peck measure near by, and Dimber Joe asleep on a bundle of hay in a corner.

We arouse Dimber and casting off the fetters from their feet, set them marching toward the town jail, where their brethren in iniquity are already housed.

Trafton is in a state of feverish excitement. As we approach the jail with our prisoners the air is rent with jeers and hisses for them, and "three cheers for the detective," presumably for me.