One of My Sons

  XIX

  I MAKE MY FIRST MOVE

  To attempt to fathom such a nature as this leads to little but mentalconfusion. Before I had spent a half-hour in trying to untangle theknotty problem offered by Leighton Gillespie's opposingcharacteristics, I decided to follow the example of my friendUnderhill, and keep to facts.

  These in themselves were startling enough to occupy my mind andconvince me absolutely of Leighton's guilt. But this was notconvincing Miss Meredith. Probabilities, possibilities even, whichmight satisfy me, would count for but little with her. With her nicesense of justice, she would demand a positive and unbroken chain ofevidence before she would allow herself to acknowledge the guilt ofthe man whose innocence I presumed to challenge, and this clear andunbroken chain I did not have. How, then, could I strengthen theevidence just obtained? Not by showing motive. There seemed to be nomotive. To be sure, Leighton was in debt,--so were they all,--and hewas known to have quarrelled bitterly with his father more than once.But these were not new facts, nor were they sufficiently condemnatoryto settle, even in her mind, the torturing question embodied in thatone word already alluded to: which?

  Something of an absolutely criminating character must be found againstthis man; some proof so direct and unanswerable that even herscrupulous conscience would be satisfied; something like positiveevidence, say, that he had visited Mother Merry for the purpose ofobtaining in secret the poison he dared not buy openly, or that theglass of sherry he poured out for his father had held poison as wellas wine.

  As all attempts to establish this latter fact had proved abortive; asthe police had not only failed to prove that such a mixture had beenmade, but to settle the exact medium by means of which Mr. Gillespiereceived the poison, I turned my attention to the easier task anddecided to concentrate my energies upon establishing the fact that thebottle carried from Mother Merry's by the would-be sailor containedprussic acid, and that this would-be sailor was positively the man wesupposed him to be,--Leighton Gillespie.

  With these facts indubitably established, even Miss Meredith must feelthat the man who could be guilty of obtaining a deadly drug throughsuch under-handed agency, and at such a risk to his reputation, musthave had a purpose in so doing which could only be explained by thetragedy which took place in his home so soon afterwards.

  This point reached in my meditations, I next asked myself how thenecessary inquiries could be started without risk to their success. Icould not go openly to Mother Merry, or, rather, it would beundesirable for me to do so. If, as I sometimes suspected, I wasmyself under surveillance, I could make no such move withoutattracting the attention of the detectives to a matter which I hopedto keep a sacred secret between Hope and myself. Remember that I wasnot working to bring the guilty to justice, but to free a pure heartfrom a soul-torturing doubt.

  But if I could not go there myself, whom was I to send? What man of myacquaintance was judicious enough to be entrusted with such a message?Yox? I did not like the man. I looked upon him as a very shadyindividual and shrank with strong distaste from further contact withhim. Underhill? I laughed at the suggestion. Who, then? Not a singlename rose in my mind till, by an association of ideas not entirelyillogical, I remembered the habits of certain members of the SalvationArmy, and how easy it would be for one of them to enter such a vilehaunt as Mother Merry's and interview the depraved beings to be foundthere without attracting the notice of the police or rousing the leastsuspicion as to their intentions. But could I reach such a man, and,if I could, would I find him willing to undertake such an errandwithout understanding its full purport and just what use was to bemade of the knowledge thus obtained? This seemed very doubtful, and Iwas seriously deliberating over my next move, when my mind flewstraight from the topic engaging it to that memorable moment in myexperience when, amid the alarm and hurry following the suspicionsexpressed by the physician called in at Mr. Gillespie's death, theglass fell from Hewson's hand and broke into a hundred pieces on thedining-room hearth. The tinkle made by the shattered glass, the gaspwhich escaped the old man's lips, all came back to me, and with itthe startling conviction--strange that it had not struck mebefore!--that this old and tried servant of a disrupted household knewwho had tampered with that glass, and by this sudden breaking of thesame had sought to shield him. Now, if I should find out that this manregarded Leighton with an especial fondness--But such thoughts werefor further contemplation. With a resolution born, perhaps, of thelateness of the hour, I forced my mind back into its former channeland resolutely asked myself how a connection was to be establishedbetween Mother Merry and myself. The small confidence I have alwayshad in third parties, especially when a matter of delicate inquiry wasto be pushed, made it imperative for me to see her myself. Yethow--Ah! an idea. What if I took the bull by the horns and openlyrequested the assistance of the police in my adventure? That woulddisarm suspicion and render me independent of special surveillance.

  The idea was a happy one, and, relieved by the prospect it offered, Iresigned myself to sleep.

  Next day I went boldly to police headquarters and asked for assistancein making some inquiries in a dangerous quarter of the town. I saidthat the case then before me necessitated some evidence which couldonly be gathered from a certain old woman whose name and place ofliving I had yet to learn by judicious questioning in that quarter ofthe city where she had been last seen. Would they give me a man tomake my projected tour safe? They would. Could I have him now? Icould.

  Satisfied with the result of my first move, and more than satisfiedwith the unintelligent appearance of the man they picked out to escortme, I made for Mother Merry's, but not in a direct course or with anyappearance of knowing where I was going. I tried severallodging-houses and chatted across several bars, and, noting theindifference with which my thick-headed companion followed me, Ireally began to cherish hopes of coming through my task without anyunpleasant consequences to myself. Sometimes he tried to help me; butas I had given no names and confined myself to a somewhat vaguedescription of the person I wanted, this help was naturally futile,and I found myself approaching my goal without any seeming advancehaving been made. Should I proceed at once to the docks or should Iplay the fox's game a little longer? As I weighed these alternativesmy eyes fell on a Salvation Army sign, and the idea I had scouted theday before returned to me with renewed force.

  Pointing to the windows across which it was displayed, I said thathere were people who might possibly tell me where to find the woman Isought, and, leaving the officer outside,--he seemed quite content tostay in the fresh air,--I went in and respectfully approached thesweet-faced woman I saw before me.

  "I am come for assistance," I began. "I am in search of a woman--"Here the words died in my throat. Opposite me and quite near enoughfor me to catch what they were saying, I saw two men. One was aSalvation Army Captain and the other was Leighton Gillespie.