CHAPTER XXXI

Larry was far more deeply moved this time when Maggie drove away

with Dick than on that former occasion when he had tried to play with

adroitness upon her psychological reactions. Now he knew that her very

world was shaken; that her soul was stunned and reeling; that she was

fighting with all her strength for a brief outward composure.

He had loved her for months, but he had never so loved her as in this

hour when all her artificial defenses had been battered down and she had

been just a bewildered, agonized girl, with just the emotions and

first thoughts that any other normal girl would have had under the same

circumstances. His great desire had been to be with her, to comfort her,

help her; but he realized that she had been correct in her instinct to

be by herself for a while, to try to comprehend it all, to try to think

her way out.

When Maggie was out of sight he excused himself from having tea, left

Hunt and Miss Sherwood upon the veranda, and sought his study. But

though he had neglected his work the whole day, he now gave it no

attention. He sat at his desk and thought of Maggie: tried to think

of what she was going to do. Her situation was so complicated with big

elements which she would have to handle that he could not foretell just

what her course would be. It was a terrific situation for a young woman,

who was after all just a very young girl, to face alone. But there was

nothing for him but to wait for news from her. And she had not said even

that she would ever let him hear.

While he considered these matters he had risen and paced the room. Once

he had paused at a French window which opened upon a side veranda, and

had seen below him a few yards away Joe Ellison, whose interest in his

flowers had established his workday from sunrise to sunset. Joe Ellison

had been pulling tiny weeds that were daring to attempt to get a start

in a rose-garden. Larry's mind had halted a moment upon Joe. Here at

least was a contented man: one who, no matter what happened, would

remain in ignorance of possibly great events which would intimately

concern him. Then Larry had left the window and had returned to his

thoughts of Maggie.

But Larry's thoughts were not to remain exclusively with Maggie for

long. Shortly after six Judkins entered and announced that a man was at

the door with a message. The man had refused to come in, saying he was

only a messenger and was in a hurry; and had refused to give Judkins

the message, saying that it was verbal. Thinking that some word had come

from his grandmother, or possibly even from Maggie, Larry went out upon

the veranda. Waiting for him was a nondescript man he did not know.

“Mr. Brandon, sir?” asked the man.

“Yes. You have a message for me?”

Before the man could reply, there came a shout from the shrubbery beyond

the drive:

“Grab him, Smith! He's the man!”

Instantly Smith's steely arms were about Larry, pinning his elbows to

his sides, and a man broke from the shrubbery and hurried toward the

house. Instinctively Larry started to struggle, but he ceased as he

recognized the man coming up the steps. It was Gavegan. Larry realized

that he had been shrewdly trapped, that resistance would serve no end,

and the next moment handcuffs were upon his wrists.

“Well, Brainard,” gloated Gavegan, “we've landed you at last!”

“So it seems, Gavegan.”

“You thought you was damned clever, but I guess you know now you ain't

one, two, three!”

“Oh, I knew how clever you are, Gavegan,” Larry responded dryly, “and

that you'd get me sooner or later if I hung around.”

As a matter of fact Larry's capture, which was as unspectacular as his

escape had been strenuous, was the consequence of no cleverness at

all. Larry had said to Barney Palmer the night before that he knew who

Barney's sucker was; and Barney had passed this information along to

Chief Barlow. “Follow every clue; luck may be with you and one of the

clues may turn up what you want”:--this is in substance an unwritten

rule of routine procedure which effects those magnificent police

solutions which are presented as more mysterious than the original

mystery--for it is well for the public to believe that its police

officers are unfailingly more clever than its criminals. Barlow had

done some routine thinking: if Larry Brainard knew Dick Sherwood was

the sucker, then watching Dick Sherwood might possibly reveal the

whereabouts of Larry Brainard. Barlow had passed this tip along to

Gavegan. Gavegan had grumbled to himself that it was only a thousand to

one shot; but luck had been with him, and his long shot had won.

Miss Sherwood, Hunt behind her, had been drawn by the sound of voices

around to the side of the veranda where stood the four men. “What are

you doing?” she now sharply demanded of Gavegan.

“Don't like to make any unpleasant scene, Miss Sherwood, but I've gotta

tell you that this so-called Brandon is a well-known crook.” Gavegan

enjoyed few things more than astounding people with unpleasant facts.

“His real name is Brainard; he's done time, and now he's wanted by the

New York police for a tough job he pulled.”

“I knew all that long ago,” said Miss Sherwood.

“Eh--what?” stammered Gavegan.

“Mr. Brainard told me all that the first time I saw him.”

“Hello, Gavegan,” said Hunt, stepping forward.

“Well, I'll be--if you ain't that crazy--” Again the ability to express

himself coherently and with restraint failed Gavegan. “If you ain't that

painter that lived down at the Duchess's!”

“Right, Gavegan--as a detective always should be. And Larry Brainard was

then, and is now, my friend.”

Miss Sherwood again spoke up sharply. “Mr. Gavegan--if that is your

name--you will please take those foolish things off Mr. Brainard's

wrists.”

Gavegan had been cheated out of creating a sensation. That discomfiture

perhaps made him even more dogged than he was by nature.

“Sorry, Miss, but he's charged with having committed a crime and is a

fugitive from justice, and I can't.”

“I'll be his security. Take them off.”

“Sorry to refuse you again, Miss. But he's a dangerous man--got away

once before. My orders is to take no risks that'll give him another

chance for a get-away.”

Miss Sherwood turned to Larry. “I'll go into town with you, and so will

Mr. Hunt. I'll see that you get bail and a good lawyer.”

“Thank you, Miss Sherwood,” Larry said. “Gavegan, I guess we're ready to

start.”

“Not just yet, Brainard. Sorry, Miss Sherwood, but we've got a search

warrant for your place. We just want to have a look at the room Brainard

used. No telling what kind of crooked stuff he's been up to. And to make

the search warrant O.K. I had it issued in this county and brought along

a county officer to serve it. Show it to the lady, Smith.”

“I have no desire to see it, Mr. Gavegan. I have more interest in

watching you while you go through my things.” And giving Gavegan a look

which made an unaccustomed flush run up that officer's thick neck and

redden his square face, she led the way into Larry's study. “This is

the room where Mr. Brainard works,” she said. “Through that door is his

bedroom. Everything here except his clothing is my property. I shall

hold you rigidly responsible for any disorder you may create or any

damage you may do. Now you may go ahead.”

“Let's have all your keys, Brainard,” Gavegan choked out.

Larry handed them over. With Miss Sherwood, Hunt, and Larry looking

silently on, the two men began their examination. They began with the

papers on Larry's desk and in its drawers; and in all his life Gavegan

had not been so considerate in a search as he now was with Miss

Sherwood's blue eyes coldly upon him. They unlocked cabinets,

scrutinized their contents, shook out books, examined the backs of

pictures, took up rugs; then passed into Larry's bedroom. Miss Sherwood

made no move to follow the officers into that more intimate apartment,

and the other two watchers remained with her.

A minute passed. Then Gavegan reentered, a puzzled, half-triumphant look

on his red face, holding out a square of paint-covered canvas.

“Found this thing in Brainard's chiffonier. What the he--I mean what's

it doing out here?”

There was not an instant's doubt as to what the thing was. Larry

started, and Hunt started, and Miss Sherwood started. But it was Miss

Sherwood who first spoke.

“Why, it's a portrait of Miss Cameron, in costume! And painted by Mr.

Hunt!” In amazement she turned first upon Larry and upon Hunt. “When did

you ever paint her portrait, when you did not meet Miss Cameron till

you met her here? And, Mr. Brainard, how do you come to possess Miss

Cameron's portrait?”

It was Gavegan who spoke up promptly, and not either of the two suddenly

discomfited men. And Gavegan instantly sensed in the situation a chance

to get even for the humiliation his self-esteem had just suffered.

“Miss Cameron nothing! Her real name is Maggie Carlisle, and she used

to live at a dump of a pawnshop down on the East Side run by Brainard's

grandmother. Brainard knew her there, and so did Mr. Hunt.”

“But--but--” gasped Miss Sherwood--“she's been coming out here as Maggie

Cameron!”

“I tell you your Maggie Cameron is Maggie Carlisle!” said Gavegan

gloatingly. “I've known her for years. Her father is Old Jimmie

Carlisle, a notorious crook. And she's mixed up right now with her

father and some others in a crooked game. And Brainard here used to be

sweet on her, and probably still is, and if he's been letting her come

here, without telling you who she is--well, I guess you know the answer.

Didn't I tell you, Miss, that give me a chance and I'd turn up something

against this guy Brainard!”

Miss Sherwood's face was white, but set with grim accusation that was

only waiting to pronounce swift judgment. “Mr. Hunt, is it true that

Miss Cameron is this Maggie Carlisle the officer mentions, and that you

knew it all the while?”

“Yes--” began the painter.

“Don't blame him, Miss Sherwood,” Larry interrupted. “He didn't tell you

because I begged him not to as a favor to me. Blame me for everything.”

Her judgment upon Hunt was pronounced with cold finality, her eyes

straight into Hunt's: “Whatever may have been Mr. Hunt's motives, I

unalterably hold him to blame.”

She turned upon Larry. The face which he had only seen in gracious moods

was as inflexibly stern as a prosecuting attorney's.

“We're going to go right to the bottom of this, Mr. Brainard. You

too have known all along that this Miss Cameron was really the Maggie

Carlisle this officer speaks of?”

“Yes.”

“And you have known all along that she was the daughter of this

notorious criminal, Old Jimmie Carlisle?”

The impulse surged up in Larry to tell the newly learned truth about

Maggie. But he remembered Maggie's injunction that the truth must never

be known. He checked his revelation just in time.

“Yes.”

“And is it true that Maggie Carlisle is herself what is known as a

crook?--or has had crooked inclinations or plans?”

“It's like this, Miss Sherwood--”

“A direct answer, please!”

“Yes.”

“And is it true, as this officer has suggested, that you were in love

with her yourself?”

“Yes.”

“You are aware of my brother's infatuation for her? That he has asked

her to marry him?”

“Yes.”

Her voice now sounded more terrible to Larry. “I took you in to give you

a chance. And your repayment has been that, knowing all these things,

you have kept silent and let me and my brother be imposed upon by a

swindling operation. And who knows, since you admit that you love

the girl, that you have not been a partner in the conspiracy from the

first!”

“That's exactly the idea, Miss!” put in Gavegan.

Larry had foreseen many possible wrong turns which his plan might take,

but he was appalled by the utter unexpectedness of the actual disaster.

And yet he recognized that the evidence justified Miss Sherwood's

judgment of him. It all made him seem an ingrate and a swindler.

For the moment Larry was so overwhelmed that he made no attempt to

speak. And since for once Gavegan was content merely to gloat over his

triumph, there was stiff silence in the room until Miss Sherwood said

in the cold voice of a judge after a jury has brought in a verdict of

guilty:

“Of course, if you think there is anything you may say for yourself, Mr.

Brainard, you now have the chance to say it.”

“I have much to say, but I can't blame you if you refuse to believe

most of it,” Larry said desperately, fighting for what seemed his last

chance. “I loved Maggie Carlisle. I believed she had splendid qualities.

Only she was dominated by the twisted ideas Old Jimmie Carlisle had

planted in her. I wanted to eradicate those twisted ideas, and make

her good qualities her ruling ones. But she didn't believe in me.

She thought me a soft-head, a police stool, a squealer. Then I had to

disappear; you know all about that. Not till I had been with you for

several weeks did I learn that she was being used in a swindling scheme

against Dick.

“I did think of telling you or Dick. But my greatest interest was to

awaken that better person I believed to be in her; and I knew that the

certain result of my exposing her to you would be for me to lose the

last bit of influence I had with her, and for her to pass right on to

another enterprise of similar character. So the idea came to me that if

I didn't expose her, but caused her to be received with every courtesy

by her intended victims, the effect upon her would be that she would

feel a revulsion for what she was doing and she would come to her best

senses. I told this to Mr. Hunt; that's why he agreed not to give her

away. And another point, though frankly this was not so important to me:

it seemed to me that a good hard jolt might be just what was needed to

make Dick take life more seriously, and I saw in this affair a chance

for Dick to get just the jolt he needed.

“That's all, Miss Sherwood. Except that I have seen signs which make me

believe that what I figured would happen to Maggie Carlisle have begun

to happen to her.”

“Bunk!” snorted Gavegan.

“I know that part of what he says is true,” put in Hunt.

Miss Sherwood ignored Hunt and his remark. The look of controlled wrath

which she held upon Larry did not change. Larry recognized that his

statement had sounded most implausible. Miss Sherwood in her indignation

considered only that her kindness had been betrayed, her hospitality

outraged, and that those she had accepted as friends had sought to

trick her family in the worst way she could conceive; and she spoke

accordingly.

“If that is the best Mr. Brainard has to say for himself, Mr. Gavegan,

you may take him with you, and without any interference from me. I ask

only that you take him out of the house at once.”

With that she moved from the room, not looking again at either Hunt

or Larry. For a brief space there was silence, while Gavegan let his

triumph feed gloatingly upon the sight of his prisoner.

This brief silence was broken by a low, strange sound, like a human

cry quickly repressed, that seemed to come from just outside the French

windows.

“What was that?” Larry asked quickly.

“I didn't hear anything,” said Gavegan whose senses had been thoroughly

concentrated upon his triumph.

“I did,” said Hunt. “On the veranda.”

“We'll see. Watch him--” to the county officer; and Gavegan followed

Hunt to the French windows and looked out. “No one on the veranda, and

no one in sight,” he reported. “You fellows must have been dreaming.”

He returned and faced Larry. “I guess you'll admit, Brainard, that I've

got you for keeps this time.”

“Then suppose we be starting for Headquarters.” Larry responded.

Hunt moved to Larry's side. “I'll just trail along after you, Larry.

Anyhow, this doesn't seem to be any place for me.”

A few minutes afterwards Larry was in a car beside Gavegan, speeding

away from Cedar Crest toward the city. Larry's thoughts were the

gloomiest he had entertained since he had come out of Sing Sing months

before with his great dream. All that he had counted on had gone wrong.

He was in the hands of the police, and he knew how hard the police would

be. He had incurred the hostility of Miss Sherwood and had lost what had

seemed a substantial opportunity to start his career as an honest man.

The only item of his great plan in which he did not seem to have failed

completely was Maggie. And he did not know what Maggie was going to do.