Natalie Sumner Lincoln

“ CHERCHEZ LA FEMME Guy Trenholm helped Miriam into his powerful roadster and then, with a murmured word of apology, slipped back into his bungalow. Miriam waited patiently, unmindful of his prolonged absence and thankful for the opportunity of rest undisturbed. Her ideas were confused—chaotic. The thirteen messages which she and Trenholm had just decoded were ringing in her head, but, try as she would, she could think of no solution to the enigma. The Law of Chance had indeed plunged her into an impenetrable mystery. ”

“ THREE BEEHIVES Miriam looked at her watch—two o’clock. The brilliant sunlight and the out of doors exerted an appeal she could not resist. Stopping only long enough to put on her hat and coat, she started down the corridor and, when passing Mrs. Nash’s door, paused irresolutely. Mrs. Nash had recovered, when she left her at eight o’clock that morning, from her fright at discovering the disguised man in her room, but Miriam was troubled about her heart condition. She felt that she should speak to Somers before she went for her walk. ”

“ It was Alan Mason who answered and not Doctor Roberts. “I detected the odor of chloroform when I carried you to your bedroom,” he said. “So then I came in here—found my cousin, Paul, dead—and this cotton under the bed.”
Miriam stared at her companions in dumbfounded silence for a moment. “My attack of nausea—” she faltered.
“Was the result of the chloroform,” declared Doctor Roberts. His voice deepened. “We also detected its odor about Paul Abbott.”
“Good God!” Miriam drew back. “Was Mr. Abbott anesthetized?”
Roberts’ gaze never left her face in the lengthened pause. ”

“ With a swift glance about her she mastered her hesitation—her inclination to run away. She had come there with a purpose, and until that was accomplished—her fingers clenched about her stick; it required all her self-control not to strike the tall man at her elbow. He dwarfed her in size, but the smoldering resentment in her eyes flamed up as he bent toward her.
“Do sit down,” repeated Trenholm with gentle insistence. “Take your old chair, Roberts,” and he dropped into one next the physician as Alan and Betty followed his example. ”

“ SHERIFF TRENHOLM ASKS QUESTIONS A distinct and unmistakable snore from the bed caused Miriam to approach her patient. Mrs. Nash, her head unevenly balanced between two pillows, was at last asleep. To place her in a more comfortable position would undoubtedly awaken her, and Miriam backed away on tiptoe from the bedside. She had spent three weary hours at Mrs. Nash’s beck and call; she had run every conceivable errand the sick woman’s fancy had dictated, had prepared her for bed, and finally induced her, on threat of departure, to swallow the medicine prescribed by Doctor Roberts. ”

“ Betty rose and dropped him a curtsy, and Miriam, watching her with a critic’s eye, saw no tremor in hands or lips and no evasive glance. “You make me out a very clever woman,” Betty said. “I thank you.”
Trenholm bowed. “There is only one flaw in your reasoning,” he said. “You did not marry Paul Abbott.”
Betty stared at him, astounded. “Are you mad!” she gasped. “Why, Miss Ward witnessed the marriage!”
“I beg pardon, but I was not in the room,” interrupted Miriam. “Doctor Nash sent me to get a lamp and I returned just as he completed the marriage ceremony.” ”

“ Alan had gained her side and laid a compelling hand on her arm. “Paul is not there.”
Betty regarded him in utter silence, then faced about and looked at the small group in the bedroom.
“Paul is dead—dead!” she spoke with great difficulty, one hand plucking always at the collar of her fur coat. “You shall not keep me from him. You—” for a second her blazing eyes scanned Sheriff Trenholm—“you dare not.”
“Hush, Betty!” Roberts took the overwrought girl’s hand in his. “You shall see Paul later, dear, that I promise you. Sit down and calm yourself.” ”

“ But Roberts had ceased smiling when he went down the staircase and out of the house. Mrs. Nash’s condition puzzled him. He had been her family physician ever since her father, Owen Carter, the senior Congressman from his state, had taken up his residence in Washington. A woman spoiled, self-willed, she had held undisputed sway in her father’s household, while her frail mother had been content with the role of invalid. Mrs. Nash had allowed her eccentricities to grow upon her and Washington society had enjoyed many a quiet laugh at her expense. ”

“ A number of other upright pieces of iron indicated the line it had once taken.
“It’s a suicide’s grave,” explained Trenholm. “There is an old superstition among the negroes that such a grave cannot be dug straight or on line with the others. Shall we walk on, Miss Ward?” and turning, he whistled to his mare, standing some distance down the path.
They were both rather silent, Miriam, her momentary lapse into her old, gay self, having dropped back into a depression deeper than before, while Trenholm watched her with an absorption of which he was totally unaware. ”

“ With a slight shiver, Martha faced about, thankful for the companionable warmth of the carefully shaded light in the bedroom. It was no night for any one to be out, and for the matter of that, it was time that a hard-working woman was allowed to go to bed. Martha’s lips quivered as her grievance increased in importance the more she dwelt upon it. Was she never to be considered? Well, she would go. What was Mrs. Nash to her? The master was dead—
“Paul!”
The name, pronounced with startling distinctness by Mrs. Nash, caused Martha to clutch the window curtains in sudden fright. ”

“ Thompson moved uneasily from one foot to the other; Betty’s distress disturbed him. “I’m very sorry,” he mumbled. “Indeed I am—but it’s not possible. Perhaps,” his face brightened as the idea occurred to him, “perhaps you can see Mr. Trenholm and get his permission. Here he comes now,“ as a figure appeared at the far end of the corridor and came toward them. “Oh, pshaw! it’s a woman.”
Somers, Mrs. Nash’s maid, greeted Betty in a subdued voice. “Please, Miss Betty,” she said. “Where will I find your aunt? The young woman who let me in declined to come upstairs.” ”

“ Miriam paused in indecision; she had been trained to serve humanity—to care for the sick and to look after the infirm. Was it obligatory upon her to minister to Betty now that she was ill? No, a thousand times, no! From somewhere came the chimes of a clock—one in the morning—Doctor Roberts was powerless to secure other aid in a sick room at that hour and twenty miles from Washington. Miriam walked quietly to her room, where she had her hypodermic syringe, secured it and went direct to Betty. Alexander Nash would find her if she was needed by his wife. ”

“ Alan ceased speaking with such abruptness that he drew an inquiring glance from Miriam, of which he was totally unaware. Doctor Roberts gave her no time for thought, however. Coming hastily forward, he reached her side in time to help her on with her coat.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said. “But there were certain matters.... Bless my soul, Alan, more reporters!” as the gong over the front door sounded with startling suddenness. “Betty, my dear,” turning to address the silent girl by the fireplace, “you had better disappear if you don’t wish to be interviewed.” ”

“ THE BLACK CREST Martha Corbin laid down the brass fire tongs and turned to look at the wood-basket by the hearth. The logs were both long and heavy. Before attempting to lift one her attention was caught by the sound of a familiar lagging footstep going in the direction of the back hall.
“You, Charlie,” she called, shrilly. “Come ’ere and fix this fire.”
A snarl was his only response, and a second later a door banged shut behind her amiable spouse. Martha’s thin lips compressed into a hard line. Stooping over she tugged and pulled at the topmost log and finally lifted it up. ”

“ Toward morning she had slept fitfully from pure exhaustion. Only a relentless purpose spurred her to get up, regardless of the early hour, a purpose frustrated by—
Betty drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. She stopped and gazed about for a familiar landmark. She knew the countryside fairly well, and it did not take her long to locate the road which led to Upper Marlboro. She found it drier walking on its crest and trudged slowly along, keeping a wary eye out for automobiles which would make necessary a hasty run for the side of the road. ”

“ To attend whom? Roberts? No, that was the name of the physician. Ah, she had it—Paul Abbott. The chord of memory was touched at last and the events of the night crowded upon her. The man in the bed—
Stiffly Miriam scrambled to her feet and made a few halting steps to the bedside. It took all her will-power to pull aside the bed curtains and glance down. Paul Abbott lay partly turned upon his side, his fine profile outlined against the white pillowcase, and his right hand just showing outside the eiderdown quilt. ”

“ The nurse’s pallor was intensified, but her eyes did not falter in their direct gaze.
“I was asleep when Mr. Abbott died,” she admitted, her hands clenching themselves in the pockets of her uniform.
Doctor Roberts’ stare grew prolonged. “And this was your first case in Washington?” he asked, with marked emphasis.
“Yes.” Miriam Ward moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.
“Hardly a successful début,” commented Roberts. His glance strayed beyond the nurse to a man standing in the shadow of a window curtain. “Give Miss Ward a chair, Alan.” ”

“ Betty ceased laughing with startling abruptness and stared at him.
“What are you talking about, Corbin?” she demanded.
His right eye opened and closed in a most expressive wink. “I want to speak to ye, Miss Betty, confidential like.”
“Well?” she drew back and looked at him in dawning comprehension. “Are you drunk?”
“No; I never touch liquor.” He slipped his hand inside his tightly buttoned coat and drew out a woman’s silk scarf and held it just beyond her reach.
“Where did you get that?” she cried.
“Where ye dropped it the morning of Mr. Paul’s murder.” As he spoke he shook out the scarf. ”

“ Betty laughed not quite steadily. “You are to be congratulated.” She spoke with a mockery and malice so neatly balanced that for a swift second he failed to reply.
“I recovered,” he stated, more forcefully. “Others didn’t.” His glance held hers. “Paul is dead, but Alan Mason still lives in his fool’s paradise.”
With one spring she gained her feet and faced him, trembling with rage and excitement.
“After all, Guy Trenholm, the role of sheriff becomes you,” she said, and the scorn in her voice stung him. “Water seeks its own level.” ”

“ THE HUMAN EYE Pablo, Trenholm’s Filipino servant, brought the after-dinner coffee into the library and withdrew with the swiftness and silence which characterized his movements.
“Excellent coffee,” commented Roberts. He relaxed lazily against the cushioned sides of the big leather chair in which he was sitting and stretched his tired muscles. “It’s strong and black. Better have some, Alan.” ”

“ When Doctor Roberts closed his notebook and turned back to her, the thermometer was once again held firmly between her lips. He took it out, looked at it twice, and then at Mrs. Nash’s scarlet countenance.
“Miss Ward,” he called, and his voice was grave. “Don’t order a taxi—I think that you had better remain and prepare a bedroom for Mrs. Nash,” and then, in an undertone, as Miriam gained his side, “it will never do to take Mrs. Nash out in this weather—her temperature reads 103°.” ”

“ The chauffeur had taken it upon himself to usher the lawyer into the house in the absence of Martha Corbin, the newcomer having rung the front door bell at the moment Pierre was alone in the kitchen.
Daniel Corcoran had known Alan Mason since his boyhood, Doctor Roberts was his family physician, and Guy Trenholm he had met numerous times when visiting Paul Abbott, Senior. The lawyer’s usual cheery smile was absent as he shook hands with them.
“This is a shocking affair!” he said. “Shocking! Paul was a fine young man, with a brilliant career ahead of him. ”

“ Doctor Roberts and Alan Mason had eaten with relish Martha’s buckwheat cakes and country sausage, but Alexander Nash scarcely tasted a mouthful of the appetizing breakfast, contenting himself with several cups of black coffee.
“Must you return to Washington, Roberts?” he asked, pushing aside his plate.
“Yes; I must be at Garfield by noon for an important operation.” Roberts paused to light a cigar handed to him by Alan. “There is every reason to believe that Mrs. Nash will continue to improve.” ”

“ Martha, with a sidelong glance which Miriam was beginning to associate with the housekeeper’s personality, had overheard Alan tell her husband that he would return in time to “sit up with Mr. Paul.”
“Ain’t it awful, Ma’am—Miss, to think of that poor gentleman lying in t’other room dead,” she went on, with a shiver. “And him so sot on getting well. Poor Mr. Paul!” And she wiped away a few tears with the hem of her clean apron. “He won’t rest easy in his grave.” ”