The Luminous Face

“What do you care – since you are innocent?”

“I care very much! Why, my dear girl, do you suppose I could carry that burden all my life? Always go about, knowing that many people – or even a few people suspected me of Robert Gleason’s murder? No; when I think about it, I’m ready to move heaven and earth, if that were possible, to find the true criminal!”

Phyllis shuddered and her face went white.

“Couldn’t you forget in time?” she said, bravely struggling to speak steadily.

“Never! Why, Phyllis, that letter is enough to condemn me – only I didn’t write it.”

“Didn’t you, really, Phil?”

The girl leaned forward, and looked into his eyes so earnestly that Barry recoiled in amazement. Did she suspect him? Phyllis!

“Don’t!” he cried out, “don’t look as if you thought me guilty! You, of all people!”

“Oh, I don’t,” she said, quickly, “but I thought you might have written the letter, meaning something else. The fact of your writing it doesn’t make you the criminal.”

“But I didn’t. Listen, Phyllis – I love you – oh, sweetheart, how I love you! but I’ve resolved not to ask you for love, until I can offer you an unstained name – ”

“Your name isn’t stained! I won’t have you say such things!”

Her sweet smile was encouraging, but Barry shook his head:

“No, dear, you mustn’t even be kind to me. I can’t stand it! You know my name is affected until the mystery of that letter is explained. It’s the most inexplicable thing! Why, look at it! We fellows all discussed murder, and discussed Gleason and that very day he was killed and that letter was found in his desk! It was a piece of diabolical cleverness on somebody’s part!”

“But, Phil, just as an argument. How could anybody write that letter but you?”

“I don’t see, myself. But somebody did do it. I’ve thought it over and over. I’ve looked at this letter through a lens, but there’s no trace of erased writing, nor any possibility of my signature having been pasted into another sheet, or anything like that.”

“I’ve seen wonderful inlay work, where one piece of paper is joined to another actually invisibly.”

“So have I, and I thought of that. But it wasn’t done in this case. That sheet of paper – Club paper, is absolutely intact, it is typed just as I type things-a little carelessly – and the signature is like mine. I would say it is mine, only – I didn’t write it!”

“Maybe somebody hypnotized you.”

“No; I’ve never been hypnotized – nor has any one ever attempted such a thing with me. It’s diabolical, as I said. But I’ll find out if it takes my life time! Now, you see, dear, why I don’t want you to urge me to stop investigation on the part of anybody. Besides, Mrs Lindsay isn’t the only one eager to solve the mystery. The detectives, the police, are as anxious as she is.”

“I don’t think so. I think they’re getting tired of having no results. I think, if Millicent gave up the search, they soon would do so.”

“But why? Why, Phyllis, are you desirous of having it given up?”

“Oh, I don’t know! I’m tired of it, that’s all. And now, you’re dragging me into it – ”

“Phyllis, as you said to me – if you’re innocent, your name can’t be harmed.”

“Well – suppose I’m not innocent – would you stop then?”

Barry stared at her. He thought at first her speech was merely an outburst of the perversity which now and then showed in her volatile nature. But her face was drawn and white and her eyes dark with a sort of terror he had never before seen her show.

However, he saw no choice but to treat her speech lightly.

“Oh, yes, of course! But until you tell me you’re the villain of the piece, I shan’t be able to believe it.”

“I didn’t like Mr Gleason.”

“Who did? Check up, now. If we’re to suspect all who didn’t like the man, there’s Pollard, Davenport, you, me – ”

“And Mr Pollard’s mythical Westerner. Oh, Phil, I wish he could be found!”

“Who? Pollard?”

“No; the man he thinks came from the West – an old acquaintance of Mr Gleason’s.”

“Yes, he’s a fine suspect, but a bit intangible. Perhaps he wrote the note I signed!”

“Don’t jest, Philip. I’m – I’m so miserable.”

Phyllis bowed her face in her hands and cried softly.

“Don’t – don’t, Phyllis, darling. For heaven’s sake, keep out of the muddle.”

“But you dragged me into it! You came here checking up on my movements. Why did you do that?”

“I told you why. Because Ivy Hayes said you were there.”

“Oh, yes – so she did. I forgot that. Well – maybe I was – maybe I was – ”

“Phyllis, hush. You’re talking wildly. And here’s another thing. Where was Louis that afternoon?”

“Phil Barry, you stop! Are you going to accuse the whole family? Why don’t you ask where Millicent was?”

“I ask about Louis because I’ve been told he was there.”

“And I was there! And Ivy Hayes was there! And the man from the West was there! Quite a party!”

Phyllis laughed shrilly – not at all like her usual gentle laugh, and Barry watched her in alarm, lest she grow hysterical.

“I won’t,” she said, divining his fear. “I’m not hysterical, but I’m distracted. Oh, Phil, do help me!”

“Of course I will, little girl,” Barry held out his arms. “Come to me, Phyllis, let’s forget all the horrible things of life and just love each other – and belong.”

“No,” she drew away from him. “Not yet. If your name must be cleared – so must mine.”

“But your name isn’t even mentioned.”

“Yes, it is,” Phyllis said, speaking in a dull, slow way, “yes, it is – and the worst of it is, my name can’t be cleared.”

“Hush,” Barry cautioned, “somebody’s coming in.”