The Come Back Page 8

  CHAPTER VIII

  Blair Knows

  Gilbert Blair was a lovable sort of chap, one of those fine, gentlenatures that will put up with annoyance rather than annoy another.Although he would have preferred to live alone, yet it was greatly tohis pecuniary advantage to have Thorpe share his place, and, on thewhole, they got on fairly well. But, being of different habits andtemperaments, the details of their home life were not always harmonious.

  Blair was methodical, liked his drawing implements and sketches kept inorder, and the rooms tidy. Thorpe was not particular in these respects,and his belongings were always scattered about not only on his owntables or desk, but on Blair's. Moreover, he did not hesitate to use hischum's materials if his own were not immediately available.

  So it happened that when Shelby stopped in on his way home from theCranes' he found a mild war of words in progress.

  "You know, old dear," Thorpe was saying, "you'd be quite welcome to usemy drawing paper, and I call it rough of you to kick because I took acouple of sheets of yours."

  "Couple of sheets!" exclaimed Blair, "you took six or eight, and I hadonly about enough to complete this series of sketches. You know how Ihate to use paper that doesn't match----"

  "At it again?" said Shelby, coming in. "You two never have an out andout row, but you're always bickering. Thorpe, you ought to mend yourways--it is a confounded nuisance to have other people using yourthings."

  "Oh, Blair's an old granny. It does him good to get stirred up once in awhile. That paper of his----"

  "I know," said Shelby, quietly, "it's a special paper that he bought forhis prize drawings--it's not only expensive, but he wants the sheetsuniform. You knew this, Thorpe, and yet you grab it and use it for yourtrial sketches."

  "Now, now, Kit," and Blair smiled good-naturedly, "you needn't take upmy quarrel. I'm jumping on Thorpe myself."

  "You jumping! You'd lie down and let him walk over you!"

  "Not much, he wouldn't!" Thorpe growled; "he's been ballyragging me forhalf an hour! Not only about the paper, but he----"

  "Let up, Thorpe," Blair spoke angrily, "at least let's keep ourskeletons in our closet!"

  "Oh, is there a real row on?" Shelby inquired.

  "No, no," Blair declared, but Thorpe jumped up, and, going into hisbedroom, closed the door behind him.

  "Drop it," commanded Blair, quietly, and Shelby changed the subject.

  "Mr. Crane says you had an old letter from Joshua," he began, "let's seeit, will you?"

  "Sure, if I can find it," and Blair began rummaging in his desk."Confound it, Kit, if Thorpe hasn't been poking in here among myletters!"

  "I wouldn't stand for it, Gilbert. What would he do that for?"

  "Hush," with a glance toward Thorpe's closed door, "never mind now. But,anyway, I can't find that letter. What do you want it for?"

  "Mr. Crane thinks the one I received from Joshua looks so different thatI wanted to compare them."

  "Let me see yours. I can tell at once. Joshua wrote a small crampedhand----"

  "This one was rather large and of loosely formed letters, but, ofcourse, some one may have written it for him."

  "Yes, Joshua hated to write----"

  "Well, never mind, don't hunt for it any more. Pretty queer thing aboutthat tobacco pouch of Peter's, don't you think?"

  Blair looked up quickly. "No, I don't. I know, or at least I think Iknow, the explanation of that."

  "You do! Well, out with it!"

  "No, not now," and Blair gave a significant glance toward Thorpe'sdoor. "But I've had my suspicions roused, and I'm going to verify them,and then I'm going to expose somebody. I can't stand any more of thissort of thing. I tell you, Kit, I know!"

  Shelby looked at him in amazement.

  "Well, if you won't talk now, we'll whoop it up some other time. See youto-night at the dinner?"

  "Yes; get along now, and we'll meet there later."

  Blair looked anxious and preoccupied. As he went toward the door withShelby he said suddenly, "I say, Kit, will you drop Carlotta Harper?"

  "Drop her!"

  "Yes; stop calling on her or paying her any attention."

  "I will not! Just why----"

  "All right." Blair's voice was cold and sharp. "Good night."

  "Good night, Gil. You're queer to-night. See you later."

  * * * * *

  While dressing for the dinner Kit Shelby thought long and earnestly ofBlair's strange words and his peculiar mental attitude. He thought Blairwas like a man who had reached the end of his rope. A sort ofexasperation had showed in his face and manner, and Shelby wondered whatit meant.

  He went over every word of the conversation they had had, includingBlair's demand that Shelby desist from future acquaintance with CarlyHarper! That was some demand, Shelby decided. And one to which he hadno intention of acceding.

  His ruminations resulted in his calling again at Blair's on the way tothe dinner.

  He found Blair nearly ready, and Thorpe, too, waiting to start.

  Shelby scrutinized the faces of both men, and concluded they were stillat odds. He went into Blair's bedroom, where that correct young man wascarefully tying his immaculate evening tie.

  "There, you made me spoil it," Blair exclaimed, as Shelby's suddenentrance caused a nervous gesture and a resultant wrinkle of the stripof lawn.

  "Fiddle-de-dee! Don't be a fuss! Only men, you know. That's goodenough."

  But Blair selected another tie, and, while he manipulated it, Shelbyfussed around the room. He could say no word in confidence to Blair, forThorpe was impatiently tailing them to hurry, and shortly the threestarted off, gay of manner on the surface, whatever they might bethinking about.

  They carefully avoided all mention of the Cranes, and also avoided thecoming prize competition as a subject of discussion.

  This, itself, proved the rift in the lute was still recognized in thesouls of Blair and Thorpe at least. The two had enough artistictemperament to feel the inevitable jealousy of each other's designs, andif Blair suspected Thorpe of appropriating his ideas, whetherconsciously or unintentionally, it would have the effect of making himunusually quiet, even morose, rather than to result in so much as aspoken hint of his thoughts.

  Moreover, habit is strong, and the three walked off to keep theirengagement with much the same gay laughter and chatter as usual.

  Shelby, especially, was purposely talkative and jocular, for he wantedto get the other two in complete good humor before the feast began.

  In a general way he succeeded, and though Blair was a bit quiet, Thorperegained his ordinary temper, and the men met and mingled with theirfellows, their attitude properly in the key of the occasion.

  It was a merry little dinner, and at last the talk drifted to Mr.Crane's book about Peter. Everybody present had known and loved PeterBoots, and various were the opinions regarding Benjamin Crane'sextraordinary work.

  "All rubbish," declared one man. "Strange, how sensible men can fall forthat stuff! Makes me sick!"

  "Oh, come now," another urged, "there must be something in it. BenjaminCrane never made up all that."

  "No, he didn't make it up, but he was fooled, gulled, taken in."

  "By the medium?" asked some one.

  "Partly," answered somebody else. "But I think there's been underhandwork going on."

  "Such as what?"

  "Oh, some of Peter's people or friends helping the medium along. I'veread that book with the greatest care, studied it, and I get a lotbetween the lines. And I think----"

  "Don't say it," put in Blair, quietly. "Unless you know something,Knight, better keep still."

  "But why, Blair? We're all friends of Peter here, why not discuss thething freely and frankly?"

  "Better let it alone," insisted Blair, and then the talk drifted to thecoming competition, which was even more dangerous.

  "Of course nobody has a look-in but Blair and Thorpe," declared thetalkative Knight. "They're sure to get the pr
ize, separately ortogether."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Heard you were working on a big scheme on which you had joined forces."

  "Nothing of the sort," declared Blair, shortly, and Thorpe added, "Andif we were, we wouldn't say so."

  Then the more peaceable minded of the group introduced other subjects,and art and spiritism were left out of it.

  * * * * *

  On the way home, as several were walking together, Shelby turned off athis home street and refused all invitations to go on with the others.

  "Can't do it," he said. "I've got a piece of work to finish, and I'vegot to go home. See you all to-morrow night. By-by."

  "I'm going along with you," Knight said to Blair. "I want to see yoursketches, you said I might."

  "All right," Gilbert returned, and, Thorpe with them, they went on tothe studio.

  Knight acted as a peacemaker, though not knowing it. He was a jolly,good-natured man, and he guyed the work of both his friends until theyjoined forces to contradict him.

  Late they sat, smoking and talking over general matters. Also theydiscussed the Crane book, and agreed that, whether true or not, it was agreat document and wonderfully popular.

  "People are crazy over it, who always hooted at that sort of thing,"Knight asserted. "It's partly the charm of Mr. Crane's manner, for thebook is delightfully written, and somehow it does carry conviction."

  "Thought you didn't believe in it!"

  "Me? Oh, I don't," and Knight winked; "I mean it carries conviction tothose who like that sort of thing. No, I don't believe a word of it istruth."

  "Yet you have confidence in Mr. Crane's sincerity?"

  "Oh, yes; he's merely fooled by a medium and----"

  "Go on."

  "And somebody who's telling her things."

  "Who'd do that?"

  "I don't know, but it's too palpable. Look at that tobacco pouch affair.You know somebody must have given her that. Who did?"

  "Hush up," said Blair, determinedly. "If you want to discuss that, do itsomewhere else."

  "You're all on edge to-night, Blairsy. What's the matter?"

  "Nothing, and I'm not."

  "Oh, yes, you are," Knight went on. "But, of course, it's nervousnessabout the competition. What'll either of you boys do if the other getsthe prize?"

  "Congratulate him," said Thorpe, but there was not much ring ofearnestness in his tone.

  Blair looked at him moodily, and Knight rose to go.

  "You chaps are out of sorts, and I'll not see you again till the prizebusiness is settled. Then I hope you'll be your own sweet sunny selvesonce more. Good night."

  He went off, and the other two began a desultory conversation. Itlagged, however, and soon they separated for the night.

  * * * * *

  Nobody in the Leonardo Studio apartments was an early riser. For thatreason it was nearly eleven o'clock when Thorpe, his face very white,telephoned downstairs and asked the doorman to come up at once.

  When Hastings appeared he found Thorpe sitting on the edge of a chairin the studio in a state of agitation.

  "Blair----" Thorpe said, speaking with difficulty. "Mr. Blair,--youknow,--he's--he's very ill----"

  "Ill, sir? Where is he?"

  "In bed--in his room--go in, Hastings."

  The man went in, and it needed only a glance to tell him that Blair'sillness, whatever it had been, was fatal.

  "He's dead," Hastings said, in an awe-stricken voice. "He's surelydead."

  "Well, do something," Thorpe said; "what's the thing to do? Get adoctor?"

  "A doctor couldn't help him, but yes, we ought to send for one. Who,sir?"

  "I don't know. I've never had a doctor. This unnerves me, Hastings. Iwish you'd do what's necessary."

  "Ain't you a friend of his, sir? Can't you show a little heart?"

  Hastings had never liked Thorpe, but had always been an admirer ofGilbert Blair. There was no special reason for this, unless that Blairwas of a kindlier nature, and rarely found fault with Hastings, whileThorpe was sometimes irascible and even unreasonable.

  Moreover, if Thorpe was nervously upset, Hastings was, too, and neitherman knew exactly what to do.

  "Well, you must get a doctor," Thorpe went on, a little peevishly."You're responsible in cases of emergency----"

  "Me responsible, sir? What do you mean, Mr. Thorpe?"

  "Nothing to make you look like that. But you're in a position ofresponsibility, and it's up to you to do something. Now, do it."

  "Yes, sir." The tone of authority brought Hastings to his senses. He wasresponsible in a case like this, and he went to the telephone. He calledthe superintendent, who did not live in the building, and asked him tocome at once, and to bring a doctor. Then, his work done, he left theroom, and Thorpe was alone with his dead comrade.

  But McClellan Thorpe made no move. He sat still on the edge of thechair, his face turned away from Blair's bedroom and toward the outerdoor.

  At last Somers, the superintendent, arrived, and with him was DoctorFrost.

  They went straight to Blair's bedroom, scarcely speaking to Thorpe.

  "Hastings tells me he's dead," Somers merely said, as he passed Thorpe'schair.

  With practiced experience, the doctor examined the body.

  "The man has been dead about eight or nine hours," he said, "it'simpossible to fix the time of his death exactly,--but I place it atabout three o'clock this morning. Though it may have taken place an hoursooner or later."

  "What caused it?" Somers, asked, "a stroke?"

  "Can't tell without an autopsy. There is positively no indication of anyreason for it."

  "A natural death, of course?" Thorpe asked, jerkily.

  The doctor gave him a quick glance. "Looks so," he returned. "Maybe astroke,--though he's young for that. Maybe acute indigestion, is hetroubled that way?"

  "With indigestion? Yes," Thorpe said; "he has it most of the time. Butnot acute,--merely a little discomfort when he overeats,--which he oftendoes."

  "Does he take anything for it?"

  "I don't know,--yes, I've seen him take remedies now and then. I've notpaid it much attention."

  "Queer case," the doctor mused. "If it had been that, he would havecried out, I think. Did you hear no disturbance?"

  "Not a bit," said Thorpe. "Are you sure it's not a stroke?"

  "He's too young for a stroke. Where are his people?"

  "'Way out West. And he hasn't many. An invalid mother, and a youngsister,-- I think that's all."

  "Well,--who should be notified? Those relatives? Where are they? Willyou take charge?"

  "Oh, I can't!" Thorpe spoke shrinkingly. "I'm-- I'm no relation,--youknow,--merely a fellow lodger in his apartment. I'd--rather get out,any way."

  "You and he chums?"

  "Yes; both architects. Of course, I know all about Mr. Blair's work andthat,--but I know nothing of his private affairs. Can't you get somebodyto--to settle up his estate?"

  "If he has an estate to settle. But somebody ought to look after things.Who are his friends?"

  "Mr. Crane is one,--Benjamin Crane. And Christopher Shelby,--he's anintimate chum."

  "Crane, the man who wrote the book about his son's spirit?"

  "Yes, that one. Shall I telephone him?"

  "Yes; you'd better do so. And I think it necessary to have an autopsy.This death is mysterious, to say the least. It's unusual, too, in someof its aspects."

  "Do what you like," said Thorpe, "but--but I'd rather not be present. Ithink I'll go down to the Cranes' and tell them,--while you--you go onwith your work."

  "All right," said Doctor Frost, "I'd just as lief have you out of theway. Leave me the telephone call that will reach you."

  * * * * *

  As Thorpe went off, he realized that he'd had no breakfast. He feltlittle like eating, but dropped into a restaurant for a cup of coffee.

  He found hims
elf totally unable to drink it, and leaving it untasted hewent on to the Crane house.

  He told the story to Benjamin Crane, who was shocked indeed.

  "But I'm not greatly surprised," Mr. Crane said; "I've been thinking forsome time that Blair didn't look well. A sort of pallor, you know, andhe was thin. I don't think the Labrador trip agreed with him at all. AndPeter's death affected him deeply. No; Blair hasn't been well formonths."

  "What are you doing here at this time in the morning, McClellan?" askeda laughing voice, as Julie Crane came into the room.

  But her laughter was hushed as she was told the news.

  "Oh, Mac, what an awful ordeal for you," she exclaimed, her sorrow atBlair's death apparently lost sight of in sympathy for Thorpe.

  "It was, Julie," he returned, earnestly; "I'm--I'm positively foolishabout such things,--death, I mean. I,--I almost went all to pieces."

  "Of course you did! Had you had your breakfast?"

  "No; I tried to take some coffee, but I couldn't."

  "You will now," said the girl, decidedly. "You come with me, to thedining room, and I'll make you some coffee myself, on the electricpercolator, and some toast, too, and if you don't enjoy them, I'll bemad at you."

  He followed her in a sort of daze, turning back to say:

  "Are you going up to the studio, Mr. Crane?"

  "Yes, at once. You go along with Julie, and let her look after you. And,Julie, you must tell your mother. It will be a shock,--she loves allPeter's friends."

  The two went to the dining-room, where Julie, housewifely girl that shewas, brewed golden coffee and made toast with no aid from the servants.

  Mrs. Crane joined them, and Julie told her mother the sad news.

  "Poor Gilbert," she said, wiping her tears away. "Peter loved him. Haveyou told Kit Shelby?"

  "Not yet," Thorpe said; "I'm so broken up myself----"

  "Of course you are," Julie said; "I suppose father will send him word.Don't think about that, Mac, father will attend to everything."

  "I know it," said Thorpe, "and I'm so relieved. Don't think me aweakling, but death always unnerves me,--I can't help it,--and when Ifound Gilbert,--like that----"

  "There, there," Julie soothed him, "you did all you could. Now let memake you one little piece more of brown toast----"

  But Thorpe declined. To please the girl he had managed to eat one tinycrisp bit, but another he could not accept. Nor could he take more thana small part of the cup of coffee she gave him.

  "I'm a fool," he said, "but--I'm all in!"