The Seventh Noon Part 42

"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 pa.s.sed 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 t.i.ttle of its activity. The Others were still about him. The pigeons still cut gray circles through the suns.h.i.+ne 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 a.s.sailant 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."