"Apaches." Craig gave it its Gallicised pronunciation, "Apash.""Really, Dr.Kennedy," she said, "there is nothing I can associate with them--well, yes, les vaches, I believe.You had better count that question out.I've wasted a good many seconds.""Very well, let us try again," he replied with a forced unconcern, though the answer seemed to interest him, for "les vaches" meant "the cows," otherwise known as the police.
No lawyer could have revelled in an opportunity for putting leading questions more ruthlessly than did Kennedy.He snapped out his words sharply and unexpectedly.
"Chandelier." "Light."
"Electric light," he emphasised."Broadway," she answered, endeavouring to force a new association of ideas to replace one which she strove to conceal.
"Safe." "Vaults." Out of the corner of my eye I could see that the indicator showed a tremendously increased heart action.As for the reaction time, I noted that it was growing longer and more significant.Remorselessly he pressed his words home.
Mentally I cursed him.
"Rubber." "Tire."
"Steel." "Pittsburg," she cried at random.
"Strong-box," No answer.
"Lock." Again no answer.He hurried his words.I was leaning forward, tense with excitement and sympathy.
"Key." Silence and a fluttering of the blood pressure indicator.
"Will."
As the last word was uttered her air of frightened defiance was swept away.With a cry of anguish, she swayed to her feet."No, no, doctor, you must not, you must not," she cried with outstretched arms."Why do you pick out those words of all others? Can it be--" If I had not caught her I believe she would have fainted.
The indicator showed a heart alternately throbbing with feverish excitement and almost stopping with fear.What would Kennedy do next, I wondered, determined to shut him off as soon as Ipossibly could.From the moment I had seen her I had been under her spell.Mine should have been Fletcher's place, I knew, though I cannot but say that I felt a certain grim pleasure in supporting even momentarily such a woman in her time of need.
"Can it be that you have guessed what no one in the world, no, not even dear old Jack, dreams Oh, I shall go mad, mad, mad!"Kennedy was on his feet in an instant, advancing toward her.The look in his eyes was answer enough for her.She knew that he knew, and she paled and shuddered, shrinking away from him.
"Miss Bond," he said in a voice that forced attention--it was low and vibrating with feeling "Miss Bond, have you ever told a lie to shield a friend?""Yes," she said, her eyes meeting his.
"So can I," came back the same tense voice, "when I know the truth about that friend."Then for the first time tears came in a storm.Her breath was quick and feverish."No one will ever believe, no one will understand.They will say that I killed him, that I murdered him."Through it all I stood almost speechless, puzzled.What did it all mean?
"No," said Kennedy, "no, for they will never know of it.""Never know?"
"Never--if in the end justice is done.Have you the will? Or did you destroy it?"It was a bold stroke.
"Yes.No.Here it is.How could I destroy it, even though it was burning out my very soul?"She literally tore the paper from the bosom of her dress and cast it from her in horror and terror.
Kennedy picked it up, opened it, and glanced hurriedly through it."Miss Bond," he said, "Jack shall never know a word of this.
I shall tell him that the will has been found unexpectedly in John Fletcher's desk among some other papers.Walter, swear on your honour as a gentleman that this will was found in old Fletcher's desk.""Dr.Kennedy, how can I ever thank you?" she exclaimed, sinking wearily down into a chair and pressing her hands to her throbbing forehead.
"By telling me just how you came by this will, so that when you and Fletcher are married I may be as good a friend, without suspicion, to you as I am to him.I think a full confession would do you good, Miss Bond.Would you prefer to have Dr.Jameson not hear it?""No, he may stay."
"This much I know, Miss Bond.Last summer in Paris with the Greenes you must have chanced to hear, of Pillard, the Apache, one of the most noted cracksmen the world has ever produced.You sought him out.He taught you how to paint your fingers with a rubber composition, how to use an electric drill, how to use the old-fashioned jimmy.You went down to Fletcherwood by the back road about a quarter after eleven the night of the robbery in the Greenes' little electric runabout.You entered the library by an unlocked window, you coupled your drill to the electric light connections of the chandelier.You had to work quickly, for the power would go off at midnight, yet you could not do the job later, when they were sleeping more soundly, for the very same reason."It was uncanny as Kennedy rushed along in his reconstruction of the scene, almost unbelievable.The girl watched him, fascinated.
