Part 21 (1/2)
”You consider them scandalous?”
”Most scandalous,” she emphatically returned, with a vivacity and seeming candour such as he had seldom seen equalled even on the witness-stand.
His admiration was quite evident. It did not prevent him, however, from asking quite abruptly:
”In what shape and by what means did this communication reach you?”
”I found it lying on the walk between the gates.”
”The same by which Judge Ostrander leaves the house?”
”Yes,” came in faint reply.
”I see that you share my fears. If one such sc.r.a.p can be thrown over the fence, why shouldn't another be? Men who indulge themselves in writing anonymous accusations seldom limit themselves to one effusion. I will stake my word that the judge has found more than one on his lawn.”
She could not have responded if she would; her mouth was dry, her tongue half paralysed. What was coming? The glint in the lawyer's eye forewarned her that something scarcely in consonance with her hopes and wishes might be expected.
”The judge has seen and read these barefaced insinuations against his son and has not turned this whole town topsy-turvy! What are we to think of that? A lion does not stop to meditate; HE SPRINGS. And Archibald Ostrander has the nature of a lion. There is nothing of the fox or even of the tiger in HIM. Mrs. Scoville, this is a very serious matter. I do not wonder that you are a trifle overwhelmed by the results of your ill-considered investigations.”
”Does the town know? Has the thing become a scandal--a byword? Miss Weeks gave no proof of ever having heard one word of this dreadful not-to-be-foreseen business.”
”That is good news. You relieve me. Perhaps it is not a general topic as yet.” Then shortly and with lawyer-like directness, ”Show me the letter which has disturbed all your plans.”
”I haven't it here.”
”You didn't bring it?”
”No, Mr. Black. Why should I? I had no premonition that I should ever be induced to show it to any one, least of all to you.”
”Look over these. Do they look at all familiar?”
She glanced down at the crumpled sheets and half-sheets he had spread out before her. They were similar in appearance to the one she had picked up on the judge's grounds but the language was more forcible, as witness these:
When a man is trusted to defend another on trial for his life, he's supposed to know his business. How came John Scoville to hang, without a thought being given to the man who hated A. Etheridge like poison? I could name a certain chap who more than once in the old days boasted that he'd like to kill the fellow. And it wasn't Scoville or any one of his low-down stamp either.
A high and mighty name shouldn't s.h.i.+eld a man who sent a poor, unfriended wretch to his death in order to save his own bacon.
”Horrible!” murmured Deborah, drawing back in terror of her own emotion.
”It's the work of some implacable enemy taking advantage of the situation I have created. Mr. Black, this man must be found and made to see that no one will believe, not even Scoville's widow--”
”There! you needn't go any further with that,” admonished the lawyer. ”I will manage him. But first we must make sure to rightly locate this enemy of the Ostranders. You do detect some resemblance between this writing and the specimen you have at home?”
”They are very much alike.”
”You believe one person wrote them?”
”I do.”
”Have you any idea who this person is?”