A Husband by Proxy Part 13

Her method of narrative was puzzling.

"You mean," said Garrison, "that after Mr. Scott had called and gone, Mr. Hardy went out temporarily, and in his absence Mr. Scott returned and remained for a time in his room?"

"I didn't git up to see what he wanted, or how long he stayed," said Mrs. Wilson. "I hate gittin' up when once I'm abed."

"And he went before Mr. Hardy's return?"

"Yes, I stayed awake for that; for although Charlie Scott may be honest enough, he's inventin' some crazy fiddlede-dee, which has been the crown of thorns of that dear woman all these----"

"Did they seem to be friends, Mr. Scott and Mr. Hardy?" Garrison interrupted mildly. "A clever woman, you know, can always tell."

"Ain't you New York men the quick ones to see!" said Mrs. Wilson. "Of course they was friends. The day he come Mr. Hardy was over to Charlie's all the livelong afternoon."

"Did Mr. Hardy get very many letters, or anything, through the mail?"

"Well, of course, I offered to go to the post-office, and bring him everything," said Mrs. Wilson, "but he went himself. So I don't know what he got, or who it come from. Not that I read anything but the postals and----"

"Did he get any packages sent by express?"

"Not that come to my house, for little Jimmie Vane would have brought 'em straight to me."

Garrison went directly to the mark around which he had been playing.

"Who delivered his birthday present--the box of cigars?"

"Oh, that was his niece, the very first evenin' he was here--and she the prettiest girl I ever seen."

"His niece?" echoed Garrison. "Some young lady--who brought them here herself?"

"Well, I should say so! My, but she was that lovely! He took her up to Branchville to the train--and how I did hate to see her go!"

"Of course, yes, I remember he had a niece," said Garrison, his mind reverting to the "statement" in his pocket. "But, upon my word, I believe I've forgotten her name."

"He called her Dot," said Mrs. Wilson.

"But her real name?" said Garrison.

"Her real name was Dorothy Booth before she was married," replied Mrs.

Wilson, "but now, of course, it's changed."

Garrison had suddenly turned ashen. He managed to control himself by making a very great effort.

"Perhaps you know her married name?" he said.

"I never forget a thing like that," said Mrs. Wilson. "Her married name is Mrs. Fairfax."

It seemed to Garrison he was fighting in the toils of some astounding maze, where sickening mists arose to clog his brain. He could scarcely believe his senses. A tidal wave of facts and deductions, centering about the personality of Dorothy Booth-Fairfax, surged upon him relentlessly, bearing down and engulfing the faith which he strove to maintain in her honesty.

He had felt from the first there was something deep and dark with mystery behind the girl who had come to his office with her most amazing employment. He had entertained vague doubts upon hearing of wills and money inheritance at the house where she lived in New York.

He recalled the start she had given, while playing at the piano, upon learning he was leaving for Hickwood. Her reticence and the strangeness of the final affair of the necklaces, in connection with this present development, left him almost in despair.

Despite it all, as it overwhelmed him thus abruptly, he felt himself struggling against it. He could not even now accept a belief in her complicity in such a deed while he thought of the beauty of her nature.

That potent something she had stirred in his heart was a fierce, fighting champion to defend her.

He had not dared confess to himself he was certainly, fatefully falling in love with this girl he scarcely knew, but his heart refused to hear her accused and his mind was engaged in her defence.

Above all else, he felt the need for calmness. Perhaps the sky would clear itself, and the sun again gild her beauty.

"Mrs. Fairfax," he repeated to his garrulous informant. "She brought the cigars, you say, the day of Mr. Hardy's arrival?"

"And went away on the six-forty-three," said Mrs. Wilson. "I remember it was six minutes late, and I did think my dinner would be dry as a bone, for she said she couldn't stay----"

"And that was his birthday," Garrison interrupted.

"Oh, no. His birthday was the day he died. I remember, 'cause he wouldn't even open the box of cigars till after his dinner that day."

Garrison felt his remaining ray of hope faintly flicker and expire.

"You are sure the box wasn't opened?" he insisted.

"I guess I am! He borrowed my screwdriver out of the sewin'-machine drawer, where I always keep it, to pry up the cover."

Garrison tacked to other items.

"Why did she have to go so soon?" he inquired. "Couldn't she have stayed here with you?"

"What, a young thing like her, only just married?" demanded Mrs.

Wilson, faintly blus.h.i.+ng. "I guess you don't know us women when we're in love." And she blushed again.

"Of course," answered Garrison, at a loss for a better reply. "Did her uncle seem pleased with her marriage?"

"Why, he sat where you're now settin' for one solid hour, tellin' me how tickled he felt," imparted the housewife. "He said she'd git everything he had in the world, now that she was married happy to a decent man, for he'd fixed it all up in his will."

"Mr. Hardy said his niece would inherit his money?"

"Settin' right in that chair, and smilin' fit to kill."

"Did the niece seem very fond of her uncle?"

"Well, at first I thought she acted queer and nervous," answered Mrs.

Wilson, "but I made up my mind that was the natural way for any young bride to feel, especial away from her husband."

Garrison's hopes were slipping from him, one by one, and putting on their shrouds.

"Did Mr. Hardy seem to be pleased with his niece's selection--with Mr.

Fairfax?" he inquired. "Or don't you know?"