CHAPTER XXX

THE PENITENT

At Hester's startling avowal, Betty shrank away in involuntary aversion.

"Oh!" she cried, and her truthful eyes judged the girl sternly.

The culprit faced her in pleading appeal. She had played her last card recklessly, impulsively, risking everything. She never understood afterward what had impelled her to this dangerous unnecessary confession. Was it fear or calculation? She knew that if Betty betrayed her it was all up with little Hester, and she had no reason to believe that Miss Thompson would condone or tolerate an act of flagrant wickedness. Yet she had told her.

"A thief!" shivered Betty.

"Yes, a thief," flung out the other, in half defiance. "You don't think I'm good enough to touch, do ye? Maybe I'm not, but--say, do you want to know what made me steal--the first time? Do you want to know?" The words tumbled out in a fierce tumult, and Betty, fascinated, watched this strange girl as her dark eyes blazed and her nostrils quivered.

"Tell me," said Betty gently, "sit here--tell me everything." And, leading the way to the davenport, she placed Hester beside her. "Now!"

"I was only a kid--about twelve," panted the penitent. "We lived on Orchard street."

"New York?"

"Yes. In a rotten tenement and--my sister Rosalie--she was seventeen--she took care of us, me and my little brother."

"Wait!" interposed Betty. "Is this true? You mustn't try to work on my feelings. You must tell me the truth. You know you haven't--Hester--at other times."

The Storm girl sat biting her red lips and twisting her fingers nervously. "I've been crooked," she said, speaking low, "but, lady, I hope God will strike me dead if----"

"Hush! Don't say that."

"I do say it. I mean it. I want you to believe me. Nobody's ever believed me or--been kind to me--except you and----" she was sobbing now, "if you're going back on me--I don't care--for anything." She sprang up suddenly with a fierce gesture, and pointed to the door. "Go on! Call in Grimes! Give me up!"

"I don't want to give you up," soothed Betty; "but--I must do what is right. Sit down! Tell me the rest. What about Rosalie?"

At the mention of her sister, Hester's face softened.

"Say, she was the finest girl, the prettiest girl, you ever saw. That's why I liked you, because you--honest you did--you made me think of Rosalie."

"Yes?"

"But she wasn't strong. She worked thirteen hours a day at a sewing machine, a damned heavy thing that'd break your back and--she never went to the country and--she never had a pretty dress."

"What a wicked shame!"

"Every cent she made she spent on us. Then she got sick and--she coughed a lot and--she couldn't work the machine. There she'd lie on the bed, in a little back room, with her face all flushed and I'd hear her say, 'Please, God, take care of Hester and Jamie, and let me see the green fields--just once.' Say, lady, what would you have done, if you'd been me?"

"I--I don't know," murmured Betty, wiping her eyes.

"S'pose ye didn't have a dollar in the world?" pursued Hester eagerly, "and the agent came for the rent, a red-faced devil with a big diamond pin, and s'pose he tried to kiss ye and ye knew that pin might save Rosalie, say, would ye have pinched the pin?"

"You mustn't ask a--question like that," replied the other, trying vainly to keep back her tears.

"Yer cryin'! Then--then ye don't despise me?"

"I'm sorry for you, so sorry, but--Hester, you must make amends for what you've done, you must give back the purse."

"I will."

"Where is it?"

"You'll stand by me? You won't let them take me?"

"I'll do the best I can for you. Where is it?"

"You won't tell Grimes that you were in the railway carriage?"

"I must tell him, if he asks me. I can't remain in a false position."

Hester's eyes filled with tears. "Then that settles me. He'll get the truth out of you; he'll twist you around his fingers. My God! They'll send me away for ten years!"

"Be quiet. Let me think."

Distressed and perplexed, Miss Thompson walked back and forth trying to decide what she should do. And Hester in wide-eyed supplication watched her, knowing well that her fate was trembling in the balance. If she could only think of something--something that would influence this fine, high-toned girl, whose soul could not be reached by any base appeal, she realized that.

At this moment there sounded beyond the conservatory the sharp call of a whistle, low and sinister.

"What's that?" started Betty.

Hester listened in tense alarm. "It's Grimes. He's got a man outside. Say," she quivered, "what are ye goin' to do with me?"

"What can I do?"

"Hide me somewhere until Grimes has gone. Will ye?" she begged.

As Miss Thompson studied the wretched girl she felt like an avenging angel who, without quite understanding how, had been changing into a benevolent fairy. Here, cowering before her, was a fugitive from justice who should, no doubt, be given up, but somehow, Betty could not do it.

"Hester," she said. "I'm doing wrong, but I can't help believing there is good in you and--I can't send you to prison. You can stay in my little room--there!" She pointed to the mezzanine door.

"Oh, lady, ye'll do that for me?" Hester seized Betty's two hands and pressed them to her lips.

"Wait! It's understood that you give back the money--the stolen money."

"Sure! I'll tell ye where it is and you can give it back yourself."

"I'll give it to the bishop. He's on his way here now."

"The bishop? He don't know I'm here?"

"He knows nothing. I'll tell him that--I'll say that the person who took the money is sorry and--I'll save you somehow."

"You give me your promise--your promise true?"

"I give you my promise--true," repeated Betty firmly. "Where is it--the money?"

Now, briefly and humbly, Hester told the truth about the bishop's purse, acknowledging her own wrongdoing, and tracing the treasure from her capture of it on the train up to the moment of its hiding under the rose bush.

"I see," said Betty. "You dropped the purse in my golf bag when they came to search you on the train?"

"Yes," confessed the other.

"And--and--oh, it's all clear! It was to get the money out of my golf bag that you came here. Was it?" she demanded.

"Yes."

"And now this five thousand pounds is there in the conservatory--hidden in a flower pot?"

"Yes. You'll find it there. I wouldn't touch it. I hate it. But, lady," she pleaded, "don't take the money out until Grimes has gone. He's watching everywhere, and--he's liable to see you and--that would queer me. Promise ye won't take the money until Grimes has gone?"

This seemed reasonable. "Very well, I won't take the money until Grimes has gone," agreed Miss Thompson. "Now come! I'll show you the way."

Betty started for the winding stair, but Hester caught her arm with an eager movement.

"See here!" she said and her eyes were warm with gratitude. "You've been good to me and--I know something that'll make a lot of difference to Mr. Baxter. A cablegram came for him this morning."

"A cablegram?"

"Yes. And if he don't get it before twelve o'clock, it's all up with him."

"Before twelve o'clock? How do you know that?"

"I stood at that door while Anton was on the phone talking to a man named Henderson."

"Mr. Baxter's enemy!"

"That's what. Anton's a crook in Henderson's pay. He got this cablegram and held it back. If you don't believe me"--swiftly she drew the paper from her dress--"there!"

"Heavens! When did this come?"

Hester studied the yellow form. "Must have left New York at ten o'clock last night. See? Must have got here before anybody was up--except Anton."

"The scoundrel!" Betty hurried to her desk and rapidly deciphered the message. "This is terrible! There isn't a moment to lose. If something isn't done before twelve o'clock, Mr. Baxter will be ruined. I must think. Come to my room."

A moment later the two women disappeared into Betty's chamber, and, scarcely had the door closed softly after them, when Grimes entered. He had a round, red face, a stubbly, reddish mustache, and small, peering eyes. He wore a checked suit and was smoking a large black cigar. Altogether he looked the typical American detective familiar in farce; but Grimes was not a farcical person; on the contrary, he was one of the most formidable men connected with Scotland Yard, a silent man, and it was considered bad business for the criminal who had Grimes on his track.

The detective glanced carelessly about the big room, moved here and there, picked up the red-covered code book that Betty had left on her desk and was frowning at its mysteries when Betty herself appeared on the landing above the winding stair.

"I beg your pardon," she said with challenging directness. "May I ask what you are doing there?"

"I was going to ask you the same question," answered Grimes quietly. "What are you doing--there?"

"I'm attending to my duties as Mr. Baxter's secretary," she said coming down the stair and trying not to seem ruffled.

"I see. That's an interesting little door." He pointed to the mezzanine chamber.

"Yes. Are you an architect?"

"No. I'm an officer from Scotland Yard--Mr. Grimes. Just looking around a little while I wait for Mr. Baxter. Don't let me disturb you."

He strolled off toward the conservatory, but turned at one of the French windows. "Oh! May I ask your name?"

Betty glanced up from the code book which she was consulting in nervous haste.

"I told you I am Mr. Baxter's secretary."

"Yes, but--your name?"

The girl drew herself up to her full height and, looking the man straight in the eyes, said simply, "Miss Thompson. Really, Mr. Grimes, you must excuse me now."

The detective gave her a keen glance that seemed to take in every detail of her face and person. "Certainly," he said, then, bowing politely, "I'll see you later, Miss Thompson."