Part 92 (1/2)

And then he came across her boudoir cap again. It bewitched him. It was so utterly unmilitary, so far from usefulness or importance, all pliant and fragrant and adorably foolish. He put it back in its nest in the pocket next his heart. And his heart quickened its pace.

With that quickening came by reflex a sense of terror. What had become of Persis? He had left her to the mercies of Enslee. It occurred to Forbes that if a man had dealt with him as he had dealt with Enslee he would be so maddened that he would run amuck and slay the first thing he met, and first of all the woman who had dragged him into such shame below shame.

What if Enslee had attacked Persis? Beaten her, or torn her face with his nails, or hurled her out into the street? Forbes felt that he must go to her rescue. The impulse lasted only long enough to be ludicrous.

What right had he in that household? What harm could Enslee wreak upon Persis to equal the wrongs that Forbes had done her? He blamed himself for everything, and, blaming himself, absolved Persis, forgave her, loved her again.

In this seethe of moods the card of Hallard arrived with a request for his expert military opinion on a subject that had been one of his hobbies in the days when military ambition was the major theme of his life. It renewed his hope. It was like the feel of something solid underfoot to a spent swimmer in cross-currents.

He welcomed Hallard with cordiality, apologized for the disorder of the room, expressed an opinion that he had met Hallard somewhere before.

Hallard said he thought not. As he stated his plans for a Sunday special, a ”symposium” of views on Philippine fortification, he picked up the silver-handled revolver on the table and laughed:

”Is this lady-like weapon the latest government issue?”

Forbes did not laugh; he flushed as he shook his head. A wild thought came to Hallard. Forbes might have been present at Mrs. Enslee's death.

He might have killed her himself with her own revolver. It was a wild theory; but he had known so much of murder, and had come upon such fantastic crimes, that nothing seemed impossible to him.

With pretended carelessness he broke the silver revolver open and glanced at the cylinder. Every chamber was full but one. Had a shot been fired from it, or had one chamber been left unloaded for the hammer to rest on?

Hallard put down the weapon and talked yellow journalism of the Philippine problem. A little later he said, quite casually:

”Too bad about Mrs. Enslee, wasn't it, Captain?”

The startled look of Forbes confounded his theories.

”What is too bad about Mrs. Enslee?”

”Her sudden death, I mean.”

”Her death!” Forbes cried, the world rocking with sudden earthquake.

”Her death! Not Persis! Persis isn't dead?”

”Why, yes; didn't you know?”

”My G.o.d! My G.o.d! how did she die? She was well, perfectly well at--at--this afternoon when I--tell me, man, man, what do you mean?”

Hallard was readjusting his case. He spoke very gently.

”I'm mighty sorry to have told you without warning. I thought, of course, you knew. You were a great friend of the family, weren't you, Captain?”

Forbes whitened at this, but his grief was keener than his shame.

”Tell me, how did she die?”

”The story we get is that she killed herself--stabbed herself!”

Forbes gripped his head in his arms and bowed to the thunderbolts cras.h.i.+ng about him. At length his distorted face appeared again and he demanded:

”Who was with her when she killed herself?”

”Her husband.”