Donaldson, without removing his clothes,
tumbled across his bunk and fell into a merciful stupor
which lasted until morning. He was aroused by
a rough shaking and staggered to his feet to find Saul
again confronting him. The latter had evidently
been some time at his task, for he exclaimed,
“I thought you were dead!
You certainly sleep like an honest man.”
“Sleep? Where am I?”
“You are at present enjoying a cell in the Tombs.
You seem to like it.”
Donaldson pressed his hand to his
aching eyes. Then slowly the truth dawned upon
him.
“What day is this?” he asked.
“Thursday.”
“Yes. Yes. That’s so.
And to-morrow is Friday.”
“That’s a good guess. Do you remember
what happened last night?”
“Yes, I remember. I ’m
under arrest. I remember the terror in the face
of that woman!”
Saul laughed inhumanly.
“Of all the bogie men I ever saw you were the
worst.”
“I suppose I ’ll be arraigned this morning.”
“I doubt it, old man.
In some ways you deserve it, but I’m afraid the
Chief won’t satisfy your morbid cravings.
Remember the story you told him?”
“Yes.”
“And you ’re wide enough
awake to understand what I ’m saying to you
now?”
“Perfectly,” answered Donaldson, growing
suspicious.
“Then,” exploded Saul,
“I want to ask you what the devil your blessed
game is?”
“I could n’t sacrifice an honest man,
could I?”
“Then,” went on Saul with
increasing vehemence, “I want to tell you plainly
that you ’re a chump, because you sacrificed
an honest man after all.”
“You have n’t arrested
Arsdale? Lord, Saul, you haven’t done that,
have you?”
“No,” answered Saul, “I was ass
enough to arrest you.”
“It would be wrong, dead wrong,
to touch the boy. He didn’t have anything
to do with this. There was no one with me.”
Saul took a long breath.
“I ’m hanged if I ever
saw a man hanker after jail the way you do.
And you ’ve got the papers full of it.
And pretty soon I ’ll be getting frantic messages
from the girl. And you ’ve made
all sorts of an ass of yourself. Do you hear you
chump of a hero, you?”
“What do you mean?” demanded Donaldson.
“I mean just this; that we ’ve
nailed the right man at last! Got him with the
goods on, so that we won’t need the identification
of a bunch of hysterical idiots to prove it.
We won’t even need a loose-jointed confession,
because we caught him black-handed. But my guess
wasn’t such a bad one it was n’t
Arsdale, but it was Jacques Moisson, his
father’s valet.”
“Jacques Moisson?”
“The son of that old crone Marie
there. He caught the dope habit evidently from
his master and has been to the bad ever since Arsdale
senior died. The old lady has been hiding him
part of the time in the garret of the house.”
Donaldson’s thoughts flew back
to the bungalow; it was this fellow then and not Arsdale
who had attacked him, if Saul’s story
was true.
Saul approached him with outstretched hand.
“You played a heavy game, Don.”
Donaldson grew suspicious.
“I don’t know what you
’re talking about,” he said, his lips coming
tightly together again.
“No. Of course not!
That’s right. Keep it up! But I
’ll have my revenge. I ’ll give
the newspaper boys every detail of it. I ’ll
see your name in letters six inches higher than they
were even this morning. I will; I swear it!”
“Saul,” said Donaldson
quietly, “you ’re doing your best to make
me go back upon my story. You can’t do
it.”
Saul folded his arms.
“Of all the heroic liars,”
he gasped, his face beaming, “you ’re the
prince. And,” he continued in an undertone,
“it ’s all for the sake of a girl.”
Donaldson sprang to his feet.
“Don’t bring in her name, Saul,”
he commanded.
“All for the sake of a girl,”
continued Saul undisturbed. “It took me
some time to work it out, but now I see. Take
my hand, won’t you, Donaldson? I want
to say God bless you for it.”
Donaldson hesitated. But Saul’s eyes were
honest.
“This is the truth you’re telling me?”
he trembled.
“The truth,” answered the other solemnly.
“Then you won’t touch
the boy? There is no further suspicion resting
upon him?”
“To hell with the boy!”
exploded Saul. “You ’re free yourself!
Don’t you get that?”
“Yes,” answered Donaldson.
He passed his hand thoughtfully over
his face. Then he glanced up with a smile.
“I need a shave, don’t I?” he asked.
“You sure do. Let’s
get out of here. And if I were you I ’d
get back to her about as soon as I could. It’s
early yet, so maybe she has n’t seen the papers.
I gave the boys the real arrest, so that they could
get out an extra on it and take the curse off the first
editions. And now,” he added, “and
now I ’m going to give them the story of their
lives the inside story of all this.”
“Don’t be a chump, Beefy!”
“I’ll do it,” answered
Saul firmly. “I’ll leave out the
girl but I ’ll give them the rest. I ’ve
got some rights in this matter after the way you ’ve
used me.”
“I know,” he apologized,
“but there didn’t seem any road out of
it. If you ’ll just keep quiet about ”
“Not a word. You ’ll
take your medicine. Besides, the dear public
will think you were crazy if they don’t learn
the truth.”
“I don’t care about that, if ”
“Bah! Come on. I
’ll get you past the bunch now, but you ’ll
have to run for your life after this.”
Saul put him with all possible despatch
through the red tape necessary to secure his acquittal,
and then led him out by a side door. He summoned
a cab.
“They ’re waiting,”
he chuckled. “Twenty of ’em with
sharpened pencils and, Holy Smoke, the
story! The story!”
“Forget it, Saul. Forget it ”
But Saul only pushed him into the
cab and hurried back to his joyous mission.
Donaldson ordered the driver to the
Waldorf. He must get a clean shave, change his
clothes and get back to the Arsdale house before the
first editions were out heralding his arrest.
If Jacques had been arrested at the house it was
possible that the excitement might have prevented
them from learning anything at all of his part in the
mess.
He found a letter from Mrs. Wentworth
waiting for him. He tore it open. She
wrote:
“Oh, Peter Donaldson, I wish
I had the gift to make you understand how grateful
I am for all you ’ve done. But I can’t
until you come up and visit us. We reached here
safely and found everything all right. The deed
was given to me and the money you put in the bank for
me. The house now is all clean and the children
are playing out doors. My heart is overflowing,
Peter Donaldson. It is better than anything I
ever dreamed of here. My prayers are with you
all the time and I know they will be heard.”
So she ran on and told him all about
the place and what she had already accomplished.
Happiness breathed like a flower’s fragrance
from every line of it, until it left him with a lump
in his throat.
“That is something,” he
said to himself as he finished it. “It
has n’t been all waste.”
He went to the barber in better spirits
and came back to his room to read the letter again.
It was like a tonic to him. He looked from his
window a moment, to breathe the fresh morning air.
The street below him was alive once
more with its eager life. Men and women passed
to the right and left, the blind beggar still waited
at the corner, the world, expressed now through this
one human being, had abated not one tittle of its
activity. The Others were still about him.
The pigeons still cut gray circles through the sunshine
and the girl still waited. As he stood there
he heard the raucous cries of the newsboys shouting
“Extra,” and knew that he must go on and
face this final crisis. He could not delay another
minute.
When he reached the house he found
his worst fears realized. She was in the library
with a crumpled paper in her hand and Arsdale was
bending over her. As he greeted them they both
pushed back from him as though one of the dead had
entered. The boy was the first to recover himself.
He sprang to Donaldson’s side with his hand
out.
“I told her it was n’t
true,” he exclaimed. “I told her
it was all a beastly lie!”
He grasped Donaldson’s hand
and dragged him towards his sister.
“See,” he cried, “see,
here he is! The papers lied about him!”
The girl tottered forward. Donaldson
put out his arm and supported her.
“I ’m sorry you saw the
papers,” he said quietly. “I was
in hopes I should reach here before that.”
“But what is the meaning of it?”
“The police made a mistake, that ’s all,”
he explained.
Arsdale broke in,
“We ’ll sue them for it,
Donaldson! I ’ll get the best legal talent
in the country and make them sweat for this!
It’s an outrage!”
“I ’m sorry you saw the paper,”
he repeated to the girl.
Her pale face and startled eyes frightened
him. She had withdrawn from his arm after a
minute and now fell into a chair.
“The blasted idiots,” raged the boy.
The telephone rang imperiously and
Arsdale went to answer it, chewing invectives.
Donaldson crossed to the side of the girl.
“Where is Marie?” he asked.
“She is in bed again. Her poor knees are
troubling her.”
“I have both good news and bad
news for you,” he said after a moment’s
hesitation, “the real assailant has been found
and it is Jacques Moisson.”
The girl recoiled.
“Jacques!”
“So the police feel sure.
They say they caught him this morning in the attempt
to commit another robbery. The Arsdale curse
is upon him.”
“Oh,” she cried, “that is terrible.”
But as he had guessed, it was good
news also. There was no longer any doubt of
who brought that wallet to the bungalow. There
was no longer the grim suspicion of who might have
rifled her rooms. The spectres which had seemed
to be moving nearer and nearer her brother vanished
instantly. That burden at least was lifted from
her shoulders, even though it was replaced by another.
“Poor Marie! Poor Marie!” she moaned.
“I think she may suspect this,”
he said. “But it will be better for you
to tell her than the police.”
“Yes, I must go to her at once.”
Arsdale came to the door, his face
strangely agitated. He paused there a moment
clinging to the curtains. Then, almost in awe,
he came unsteadily towards Donaldson. The latter
straightened to meet him. The boy started to
speak, choked, and, finding Donaldson’s hand,
seized it in both his own. Then with his eyes
overflowing he found his voice.
“How am I ever going to repay you for this?”
he exclaimed in a daze.
Elaine was at his side in an instant.
“What is it, Ben? What is it now?”
“What is it?” he faltered.
“It’s so much it’s so
much, I can’t say it all at once.”
Donaldson turned away from them both.
“He,” panted the boy,
“he gave himself up for me. They thought
it was I, and he went to jail for me.”
“It was a mistake on their part,”
answered Donaldson. “They did n’t
know.”
“And so you shouldered it,” she whispered.
“I knew it would come out all right,”
he faltered.
“A reporter rang me up just
now,” ran on Arsdale. “He told me
the whole thing. The papers are full of it.
They they say you ’re great, Donaldson,
but they don’t know how great!”
“If you would n’t talk about it,”
pleaded Donaldson.
“Talk about it? I want
to scream it! I want to get out and stand in
Park Row and yell it. I want every living man
and woman in the world to know about it!”
“It’s all over it’s done
with!”
“No,” answered Arsdale,
“it’s just begun. I feel weak in
the knees. I must go I must be alone
a minute and think this over.”
He staggered from the room and Donaldson
turning to the girl, said gently, “Go to Marie
now. She will need you.”
“You,” she exclaimed below
her breath, “you are wonderful!”
He turned away his head and she left him there alone.