Part 27 (1/2)
”You possessed no previous knowledge of his purpose?”
”Only the barest outline--details were given me later.”
”Will you tell us briefly exactly what Hawley told you?”
The girl's bewildered eyes wandered from face to face, then returned to the waiting sheriff.
”May--may I sit down?” she asked.
”Most certainly; and don't be afraid, for really we wish to be your friends.”
She sank down into the chair, and even Keith could see how her slender form trembled. There was a moment's silence.
”Believe me, gentlemen,” she began, falteringly, ”if there is any fraud, any conspiracy, I have borne no conscious part in it. Mr. Hawley came to me saying a dying man had left with him certain papers, naming one, Phyllis Gale, as heiress to a very large estate in North Carolina, left by her grandfather in trust. He said the girl had been taken West, when scarcely two years old, by her father in a fit of drunken rage, and then deserted by him in St. Louis.”
”You--you saw the papers?” Waite broke in.
”Yes, those that Hawley had; he gave them to me to keep for him.” She crossed to her trunk, and came back, a manilla envelope in her hand.
Waite opened it hastily, running his eyes over the contents.
”The infernal scoundrel!” he exclaimed, hotly. ”These were stolen from me at Carson City.”
”Let me see them.” The sheriff ran them over, merely glancing at the endors.e.m.e.nts.
”Just as you represented, Waite,” he said, slowly. ”A copy of the will, your commission as guardian, and memoranda of identification. Well, Miss Maclaire, how did you happen to be so easily convinced that you were the lost girl?”
”Mr. Hawley brought me a picture which he said was of this girl's half-sister; the resemblance was most startling. This, with the fact that I have never known either father or mother or my real name, and that my earlier life was pa.s.sed in St. Louis, sufficed to make me believe he must be right.”
”You--you--” Waite choked, leaning forward.
”You don't know your real name?”
”No, I do not,” her lips barely forming the words. ”The woman who brought me up never told me.”
”Who--who was the woman?”
”A Mrs. Raymond--Sue Raymond--she was on the stage, and died in Texas--San Antonio, I think.”
Waite swore audibly, his eyes never once deserting the girl's face.
”Hawley told you to say that?”
”No, he did not,” she protested warmly. ”It was never even mentioned between us--at least, not Sue Raymond's name. What difference can that make?”
He stepped forward, one hand flung out, and Fairbain sprang forward instantly between them, mistaking the action.
”Hands off there, Waite,” he commanded sternly. ”Whatever she says goes.”