The Luminous Face

The smile that accompanied the words took away any hint of tyranny, and the pleading in Manning Pollard’s eyes was hard to resist.

But Phyllis hesitated. She didn’t know him so very well, and, too, she had a feminine notion that to say yes at once would make her seem too willing. Moreover, she wanted to think it over, alone, by herself.

She had always thought she loved Phil Barry – but somehow, in a moment this insistent wooer had pushed Phil to the background.

“Not now,” she said, softly, as she gave him her hand, “I will think about what you’ve said – but I can’t promise now.”

“No, dear, I understand,” and as Pollard’s strong fingers closed over her own, Phyllis was almost certain what her eventual answer to him would be. He was so gentle in his strength, so tender in his manliness – and he seemed a real refuge for her in her uncertainties.

“But, here’s another thing,” he went on; “I hate to tell you, but the question of your having been in Gleason’s room is bound to be raised – and I want to say that I saw you – that afternoon at about six o’clock. I tell you, so you won’t try any prevarication on me.”

The last was said with a good-natured smile, that gave a feeling of camaraderie which delighted Phyllis’ heart. She didn’t want to give herself irrevocably to Pollard – yet – but she was glad to have him for a friend – and his frank, pleasant friendliness cheered her very soul.

“Where in the world did you see me?” she asked.

“At the crowded corner of Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street. I had just left Phil Barry – we came down from the Club together – and I saw you, in a cab – with a strange man. Who was he, Phyllis?”

The assured manner of his query was not lost on the girl, but she did not resent it.

“Must I tell you?” she smiled.

“No – no, dear. But I wish you wanted to be frank with me – to confide in me.”

“Oh, I will – I do – but – I can’t.”

“Then you needn’t – and, don’t look so distressed, my poor little girl. Tell me only what you want to – just let me help in any way that you want me to. And, Phyllis – I hate to make this proposition, but I must. If anything happens – if anything is said that frightens you, or troubles you deeply – will you – if you feel it would help you in any way – will you say that you are engaged to me?”

“When I’m not!”

“You may consider that you are or not, as you wish; but I have an idea that occasion might arise, when it would help you to announce the engagement – to assert that you have some one to look after you. If you want to break it later – that is, of course, your privilege.”

“Oh,” said Phyllis, looking at him, admiringly, “how good you are! Nobody else would have thought of that!”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I want you – I want you to say yes to me for keeps, some day. But in the meantime, if it ever should serve your purpose, claim me as your fiance.”

CHAPTER XIV – Hester’s Statement

Pollard and Lane, sitting talking in the Club Lounge, were joined by Dean Monroe.

“It’s a queer thing,” Monroe said, “that nobody gets any forrader in the Gleason matter. What are police for? What are detectives for? And most of all, what are we chaps for, if we can’t solve a mystery right in our own set?”

“I don’t know that it matters, being in our own set,” Pollard began, but Monroe interrupted:

“Yes, it does. We know all the principals – ”

“Hold on,” Lane said; “what do you mean, principals? There’s the principal character, the victim, himself, but further than that we know no ‘principal.’”

“We don’t! Well, I should say we know most of the suspects.”

“Suspects don’t amount to much,” Pollard observed, “unless you can hang more evidence on them than has been attached to anybody so far.”

“Evidence!” Monroe exclaimed; “what further evidence do you want than that letter of Phil Barry’s?”

“Oho,” said Lane; “you’re out for Barry, are you? But, Pol, here threatened to kill Gleason. That’s far more incriminating evidence to my mind than Barry’s letter. For the letter may have been forged, but Pollard said his words himself.”

“Oh, I know, but Manning was home in his rooms all the time, and nobody knows where Phil was. Why don’t they find out?”

“Why don’t they find out anything?” Lane smiled. “Because they don’t go to work with any intelligence.”

“You could solve the mystery, I suppose?” Monroe flung at him.

“I’d be afraid to try,” and Lane looked serious.

“Meaning?” Pollard asked.

“That investigation of a determined sort might lead to awful conclusions.”

“Don’t say it!” Pollard cried. “I can’t help knowing what you mean, but don’t breathe it, Lane. You know how a word – a hint – may start suspicion. And there’s not a word of truth in it!”

“Who? Miss Lindsay?” Monroe asked, bluntly.

“Hush up, Dean,” Pollard growled.

“I won’t. And it’s silly to evade an issue. If there’s nothing in it, drag it out into the light and prove there isn’t.”

“No,” Lane said, thoughtfully, “it isn’t wise to drag out anything concerning the Lindsays – any of them. Not even Mrs Lindsay. They’re an emotional lot, and if they get excited, they say all sorts of things. If they must be questioned, it would better be by somebody with their interests at heart, and the thing should be done quietly and with few listeners.”

“Well, you go and do it, Lane,” Monroe suggested. “I feel sure unless you do, the police will get ahead of you, and they’ll put Miss Lindsay through the third degree – ”

“Oh, nonsense. The police are hot on Barry’s trail. That chap’ll be arrested very soon, I believe. Why, that letter is damning. How do you explain it, except at its face value?”

“But what is its face value?” asked Pollard. “The letter doesn’t threaten violent measures at all – ”

“It implies something of the sort. And Barry has no alibi.”

“Of course not,” Pollard said; “an innocent man doesn’t have. I mean, an innocent man is very likely not to know where he was at any given time. It’s your criminal who has his alibi at his tongue’s end.”

“I’m going over to the Lindsay house now,” Lane said, rising. “Want to go along, Pol?”

“No, not this time. If you’re going to quiz Miss Lindsay I’d rather not be there. And you said yourself you’d rather be alone.”

“Right. But I’m going to ask Mrs Lindsay a few questions, too. After all, she and Miss Phyllis are the only heirs.”

“Meaning one of them is doubtless the criminal!” Dean Monroe spoke scornfully.

“Oh, I don’t say that,” Lane returned, “but there’s lots to see about.”

Others than Lane were of this mind, for when the lawyer reached the Lindsay home, he found Belknap and Prescott both there, and the Lindsay ladies, as a result of their visitors’ questions, both in a highly excited state.