Part 13 (1/2)

At last the crowd gave out a deep, hissing breath and surged forward.

They were bearing Challis Wrandall down the steps. The wall of policemen held firm; the morbid hundreds fell back and glared with unblinking eyes at the black thing that slowly crossed the sidewalk and slid noiselessly into the yawning mouth of the hea.r.s.e. No man in all that mob uncovered his head, no woman crossed herself.

Inwardly they reviled the police who kept them from seeing all that they wanted to see. They were being cheated.

Then there was an eager shout from the foremost in the throng, and the word went singing through the crowd, back to the outer fringe, where men danced like so many jumping-jacks in the effort to see above the heads of those in front.

”Here they come!” went the hoa.r.s.e whisper, like the swish of the wind.

”Stand back, please!”

”That's his mother!” cried a shrill voice, triumphantly,--even gladly. She was the first to give the news.

”Keep back!” growled the police, lifting their clubs.

”Which one is his wife?”

”Has she come out yet?”

”Get out of my way, d.a.m.n you!”

”Say, if these cops was doing their duty they'd--”

”That's what I say! No wonder they never ketch anybody.”

”Say, they don't seem to be takin' it very hard. I thought they'd be cryin' like--”

”Is that his wife?”

”Poor little thing! Ouch! You big ruffian!”

”Swell business, eh?”

”She won't be sayin' 'Where's my wanderin' boy--'”

”If we had police in this city that could ketch a street car we'd--”

”That's old man Wrandall. I've waited on him dozens o' times.”

”Did they have any children?”

Up in the front rank stood a slim little thing with yellow hair and carmined lips, wrapped in costly furs yet s.h.i.+vering as if chilled to the bone. Four plain clothes men were watching her narrowly. She was known to have been one of Challis Wrandall's a.s.sociates. When she shrank back into the crowd and made her way to the outskirts, hurrying as if pursued by ghosts, two men followed close behind, and kept her in sight for many blocks.

The motors and carriages rolled away, and there was left only the policemen and the unsatiated mob. They watched the undertaker's a.s.sistant remove the great bow of black from the door of the house.

By the end of the week the murder of Challis Wrandall was forgotten by all save the police. The inquest was over, the law was baffled, the city was serenely waiting for its next sensation. No one cared.

Leslie Wrandall went down to the steamer to see his sister-in-law off for Europe.

”Good-bye, Miss Castleton,” he said, as he shook the hand of the slim young Englishwoman at parting. ”Take good care of Sara. She needs a friend, a good friend, now. Keep her over there until she has--forgotten.”