The Eye of Dread

“He’ll have to bend his will for once. He must be made to see it, and we must get our hands on it. I think he will. He’d cut off his right hand before he’d see this bank go under.”

“It’s his son’s murder that’s eating into his heart. He’s been losing ground ever since.”

The clerks gradually disappeared, quietly slipping out into the sunshine one by one as their books were balanced, and now the two men stood alone. It was a time used by them for taking account of the bank’s affairs generally, and they felt the stability of that institution to be quite personal to them.

“I’ve seen that young man before,” said Mr. Copeland. “Now, who is he? Harry King–Harry King,–the Kings moved away from here–twelve years ago–wasn’t it? Their son would not be as old as this man.”

“Boys grow up fast. You never can tell.”

“The Kings were a short, thickset lot.”

“He may not be one of them. He said nothing about ever having been here before. I never talk with any one here at the window. It’s quite against my rules for the clerks, and has to be so for myself, of course. I leave that sort of thing to you and the Elder.”

“I say–I’ve seen him before–the way he walks–the way he carries his head–there’s a resemblance somewhere.”

The two men also departed, after looking to the safe, and the last duties devolving on them, seeing that all was locked and double-locked. It was a solemn duty, always attended to solemnly.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE ARREST

Sam Carter loitered down the street after leaving the bank, and when Harry King approached, he turned with his ready smile and accosted him.

“Pleasant day. I see you’re a stranger here, and I thought I might get an item from you. Carter’s my name, and I’m doing the reporting for the Mercury. Be glad to make your acquaintance. Show you round a little.”

Harry was nonplussed for a moment. Such things did not use to occur in this old-fashioned place as running about the streets picking up items from people and asking personal questions for the paper to exploit the replies. He looked twice at Sam Carter before responding.

“Thank you, I–I’ve been here before. I know the place pretty well.”

“Very pretty place, don’t you think so? Mean to stop for some time?”

“I hardly know as yet.” Harry King mused a little, then resolved to break his loneliness by accepting the casual acquaintance, and to avoid personalities about himself by asking questions about the town and those he used to know, but whom he preferred not to see. It was an opportunity. “Yes, it is a pretty place. Have you been here long?”

“I’ve been here–let’s see. About three years–maybe a little less. You must have been away from Leauvite longer than that, I judge. I’ve never left the place since I came and I never saw you before. No wonder I thought you a stranger.”

“I may call myself one–yes. A good many changes since you came?”

“Oh, yes. See the new courthouse? It’s a beauty,–all solid stone,–cost fifty thousand dollars. The Mercury had a great deal to do with bringing it about,–working up enthusiasm and the like,–but there is a great deal of depression just now, and taxes running up. People think government is taking a good deal out of them for such public buildings, but, Lord help us! the government is needing money just now as much as the people. It’s hard to be public spirited when taxes are being raised. You have people here?”

“Not now–no. Who’s mayor here now?”

“Harding–Harding of the iron works. He makes a good one, too. There’s the new courthouse. The jail is underneath at the back. See the barred windows? No breaking out of there. Three prisoners did break out of the old one during the year this building was under construction,–each in a different way, too,–shows how badly they needed a new one. Quite an ornament to the square, don’t you think so?”

“The jail?”

“No, no,–The building as a whole. Better go over it while you’re here.”

“I may–do so–yes.”

“Staying some time, I believe you said.”

“Did I? I may have said so.”

“Staying at the hotel, I believe?”

“Yes, and here we are.” Harry King stood an instant–undecided. Certain things he wished to know, but had not the courage to ask–not on the street–but maybe seated on the veranda he could ask this outsider, in a casual way. “Drop in with me and have a smoke.”

“I will, thank you. I often run in,–in the way of business,–but I haven’t tried it as a stopping place. Meals pretty good?”

“Very good.” They took seats at the end of the piazza where Harry King led the way. The sun was now low, but the air was still warm enough for comfort, and no one was there but themselves, for it lacked an hour to the return of the omnibus and the arrival of the usual loafers who congregated at that time.

“You’ve made a good many acquaintances since you came, no doubt?”

“Well–a good many–yes.”

“Know the Craigmiles?”

“The Craigmiles? There’s no one there to know–now–but the Elder. Oh, his wife, of course, but she stays at home so close no one ever sees her. They’re away now, if you want to see them.”

“And she never goes out–you say?”

“Never since I’ve been in the town. You see, there was a tragedy in the family. Just before I came it happened, and I remember the town was all stirred up about it. Their son was murdered.”

Harry King gave a quick start, then gathered himself up in strong control and tilted his chair back against the wall.

“Their son murdered?” he asked. “Tell me about it. All you know.”

“That’s just it–nobody knows anything. They know he was murdered, because he disappeared completely. The young man was called Peter Junior, after his father, of course–and he was the one that was murdered. They found every evidence of it. It was there on the bluff, above the wildest part of the river, where the current is so strong no man could live a minute in it. He would be dashed to death in the flood, even if he were not killed in the fall from the brink, and that young man was pushed over right there.”

“How did they know he was pushed over?”

“They knew he was. They found his hat there, and it was bloody, as if he had been struck first, and a club there, also bloody,–and it is believed he was killed first and then pushed over, for there is the place yet, after three years, where the earth gave way with the weight of something shoved over the edge. Well, would you believe it–that old man has kept the knowledge of it from his wife all this time. She thinks her son quarreled with his father and went off, and that he will surely return some day.”

“And no one in the village ever told her?”

“All the town have helped the old Elder to keep it from her. You’d think such a thing impossible, wouldn’t you? But it’s the truth. The old man bribed the Mercury to keep it out, and, by jiminy, it was done! Here, in a town of this size where every one knows all about every one else’s affairs–it was done! It seems people took an especial interest in keeping it from her, yet every one was talking about it, and so I heard all there was to hear. Hallo! What are you doing here?”

This last remark was addressed to Nels Nelson, who appeared just below them and stood peering up at them through the veranda railing.

“I yust vaiting for Meestair Stiles. He tol’ me vait for heem here.”

“Mr. Stiles? Who’s he?”

“Dere he coomin’.”

As he spoke G. B. Stiles came through the hotel door and walked gravely up to them. Something in his manner, and in the expectant, watchful eye of the Swede, caused them both to rise. At the same moment, Kellar, the sheriff, came up the front steps and approached them, and placing his hand on Harry King’s shoulder, drew from his pocket a pair of handcuffs.

“Young man, it is my duty to arrest you. Here is my badge–this is quite straight–for the murder of Peter Craigmile, Jr.”