Part 15 (2/2)

With ample time in which to wonder what Dorothy's summons might imply, Garrison naturally found himself in the dark, despite his utmost efforts at deduction.

He welcomed the chance thus made possible to behold her again so soon, after what he had so recently discovered, and yet he almost dreaded the necessity of ferreting out all possible facts concerning her actions and motives for the past six weeks, the better to work up his case.

Wherever it led him, he knew he must follow unrelentingly.

Masquerading as her husband, he had involved himself in--Heaven alone knew what--but certainly in all her affairs, even to the murder itself, since he was alleged to have married her prior to John Hardy's death, and was now supposed to benefit, in all probability, by some will that Hardy had executed.

The recent developments disturbed him incessantly. He almost wished he had never heard of Mr. Wicks, who had come to his office with employment. And yet, with Dorothy entangled as she was in all this business, it was better by far that he should know the worst, as well as the best, that there was to be discovered.

He wondered if the whole affair might be charged with insidious fatalities--either for himself or Dorothy. He was groping in the dark--and the only light was that which shone in Dorothy's eyes; there was nothing else to guide him. He could not believe it was a baneful light, luring him on to destruction--and yet--and yet----

His gaze wandered out at the window on a scene of Nature's loveliness.

The bright June day was perfect. In their new, vivid greens, the fields and the trees were enchanting. How he wished that he and Dorothy might wander across the hills and meadows together!

A sweet, lawless wildness possessed his rebellious nature. His mind could reason, but his heart would not, despite all his efforts at control.

Thus the time pa.s.sed until New York was reached.

Un.o.bserved, the man who had shadowed Garrison so faithfully left the train at the Harlem station, to take the One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street crosstown car, in his haste to get to Ninety-third Street, where the Robinsons were waiting.

Garrison went on to the Grand Central, carried his suit-case to his room, freshened his dress with new linen, and then, going forth, lunched at a corner cafe, purchased another bunch of roses, and proceeded on to Dorothy's.

It was a quarter of two when he rang the bell. He waited only the briefest time. The door was opened, and there stood young Robinson, smiling.

”Why, how do you do, Cousin Jerold?” he said, cordially extending his hand. ”Come right in. I'm delighted to see you.”

Garrison had expected any reception but this. He felt his old dislike of the Robinsons return at once. There was nothing to do, however, but to enter.

”Is Dorothy----” he started.

”Won't you go right up?” interrupted Theodore. ”I believe you are not unexpected.”

Garrison was puzzled. A certain uneasiness possessed him. He proceeded quietly up the stairs, momentarily expecting Dorothy to appear. But the house was silent. He reached the landing and turned to look at Theodore, who waved him on to the room they had occupied before.

When he entered he was not at all pleased to find the elder Robinson only awaiting his advent. He halted just inside the threshold and glanced inquiringly from father to son.

”How do you do?” he said stiffly. ”Is Dorothy not at home?”

”She is not,” said old Robinson, making no advance and giving no greeting. ”Will you please sit down?”

Garrison remained where he was.

”Do you expect her soon?” he inquired.

”We shall get along very well without her. We've got something to say to you--alone.”

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