Part 46 (2/2)
”I hardly think she would be left, but it is impossible to tell. A son's loss is more than any other--to a mother.”
”Do you think so, Bertrand? It would be hardest of all to lose a husband, and the Elder has failed so much since Peter Junior's death.”
”Peter Junior seems to be the only one who has escaped suffering in this tragedy. Remorse in Richard's case, and stubborn anger in the Elder's--they are emotions that take large toll out of a man's vitality. If ever Richard is found, he will not be the young man we knew.”
”Unless he is innocent. All this may have been an accident.”
”Then why is he staying in hiding?”
”He may have felt there was no way to prove his innocence.”
”Well, there is another reason why the Elder should withdraw his offer of a reward, and when he comes back, I mean to try what can be done once more. Everything would have to be circ.u.mstantial. He will have a hard time to prove his nephew's guilt.”
”I can't see why he should try to prove it. It must have been an accident--at the last. Of course it might have been begun in anger, in a moment of misunderstanding, but the nature of the boys would go to show that it never could have been done intentionally. It is impossible.”
CHAPTER x.x.x
THE ARGUMENT
”Mr. Ballard, either my son was murdered, or he was a murderer. The crime falls upon us, and the disgrace of it, no matter how you look at it.” The Elder sat in the back room at the bank, where his friend had been arguing with him to withdraw the offer of a reward for the arrest. ”It's too late, now--too late. The man's found and he claims to be my son. You're a kindly man, Mr. Ballard, but a blind one.”
Bertrand drew his chair closer to the Elder's, as if by so doing he might establish a friendlier thought in the man's heart. ”Blind?
Blind, Elder Craigmile?”
”I say blind. I see. I see it all.” The Elder rose and paced the floor. ”The boys fought, there on the bluff, and sought to kill each other, and for the same cause that has wrought most of the evil in the world. Over the love of a woman they fought. Peter carried a blackthorn stick that ought never to have been in my house--you know, for you brought it to me--and struck his cousin with it, and at the same instant was pushed over the brink, as Richard intended.”
”How do you know that Richard was not pushed over? How do you know that he did not fall over with his cousin? How can you dare work for a man's conviction on such slight evidence?”
”How do I know? Although you would favor that--that--although--” The Elder paused and struggled for control, then sat weakly down and took up the argument again with trembling voice. ”Mr. Ballard, I would spare you--much of this matter which has been brought to my knowledge--but I cannot--because it must come out at the trial. It was over your little daughter, Betty, that they fought. She has known all these years that Richard Kildene murdered her lover.”
”Elder--Elder! Your brooding has unbalanced your mind.”
”Wait, my friend. This falls on you with but half the burden that I have borne. My son was no murderer. Richard Kildene is not only a murderer, but a coward. He went to your daughter while we were dragging the river for my poor boy's body, and told her he had murdered her lover; that he pushed him over the bluff and that he intended to do so. Now he adds to his crime--by--coming here--and pretending--to be--my son. He shall hang. He shall hang. If he does not, there is no justice in heaven.” The Elder looked up and shook his hand above his head as if he defied the whole heavenly host.
Bertrand Ballard sat for a moment stunned. Such a preposterous turn was beyond his comprehension. Strangely enough his first thought was a mere contradiction, and he said: ”Men are not hung in this state. You will not have your wish.” He leaned forward, with his elbows on the great table and his head in his hands; then, without looking up, he said: ”Go on. Go on. How did you come by this astounding information?
Was it from Betty?”
”Then may he be shut in the blackest dungeon for the rest of his life.
No, it was not from Betty. Never. She has kept this terrible secret well. I have not seen your daughter--not--since--since this was told me. It has been known to the detective and to my attorney, Milton Hibbard, for two years, and to me for one year--just before I offered the increased reward to which you so object. I had reason.”
”Then it is as I thought. Your offer of ten thousand dollars reward has incited the crime of attempting to convict an innocent man. Again I ask you, how did you come by this astounding information?”
”By the word of an eyewitness. Sit still, Mr. Ballard, until you hear the whole; then blame me if you can. A few years ago you had a Swede working for you in your garden. You boarded him. He slept in a little room over your summer kitchen; do you remember?”
”Yes.”
<script>