OVER THE TELEPHONE
Viola's first movement was of concealment - to toss over the scattered letters on her desk a lace shawl she had been wearing earlier in the evening.Then satisfied that should the unknown knocker prove to be some one whom she might admit - her Aunt Mary or one of the maids - satisfied that no one would, at first glance, see the letters which might mean nothing or much, Viola asked in a voice that slightly trembled:
"Who is it?"
"I did not mean to disturb you," came the answer, and with a sense of relief Viola recognized the voice of Colonel Ashley."But I have jus returned from New York, and, seeing a light under your door, I thought I would-report, as it were.""Oh, thank you-thank you!" the girl exclaimed, relief evident in her voice.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" the colonel went on, as he stood outside the closed door."Has anything happened since I went away?""No - no," said Viola, rather hesitatingly."There is nothing new to tell you.I was sitting up - reading."Her glance went to the desk where the letters were scattered.
"Oh," answered the colonel."Well, don't sit up too late.It is getting on toward morning.""Have you anything to tell me, Colonel Ashley?" asked Viola."Did you discover anything?"There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment, and then came the answer, given slowly:
"No, nothing to report.I will have a talk with you in the morning."And then the footsteps of the detective were heard, lessening in their sound, as he made his way to his room.
Viola, perplexed, puzzled, and bewildered, went back to her desk.She took up the letters again.The torn one with its strange reference: "As members of the same - "What could it be? Was it some secret society to which her father and Gerry Poland belonged, the violation of the secrets of which carried a death penalty?
No, it could not be anything as sensational as that.Clearly the captain was in love with her - he had frankly confessed as much, and Viola knew it anyhow.She was not at all sure whether he loved her for her position or because she was good to look upon and desirable in every way.
As for her own heart, she was sure of that.In spite of the fact that she had tried to pique him that fatal day, merely to "stir him up," as she phrased it, Viola was deeply and earnestly in love with Harry Bartlett, and she was sure enough of his feeling toward her to find in it a glow of delight.
Then there was in the letter the hint of a threat."Let me hear from you by the twenty-third, or - ""Oh, what does it mean? What does it mean?" and Viola bent her weary head down on the letters and her tears stained them.Puzzled as she was over the contents of the letters - torn and otherwise - which she had found hidden in the drawer of the private safe, Viola Carwell was not yet ready to share her secret with her Aunt Mary or Colonel Ashley.These two were her nearest and most natural confidants under the circumstances.
"I would like to tell Harry, but I can't," she reasoned, when she had awakened after a night of not very refreshing slumber."Of course Captain Poland could explain - if he would.But I'll keep this a secret a little longer.But, oh! I wonder what it means?"And so, when she greeted Colonel Ashley at the breakfast table she smiled and tried to appear her usual self.
"I did not hear you come in," said Miss Carwell, as she poured the coffee.
"No, I did not want to disturb any one," answered the colonel."I saw a light under Miss Viola's door, and reported myself to her," he went on."But I don't imagine you slept much more than I did, for your eyes are not as bright as usual," and he smiled at the girl.
"Aren't they?" countered Viola."Well, I did read later than I should.But tell me, Colonel Ashley, are you ****** any progress at all?"He did not answer for a moment.He seemed very much occupied in buttering a piece of roll - trying to get the little dab of yellow in the exact center of the white portion.Then, when it was arranged to his satisfaction, he said:
"I am ****** progress, that is all I can say now.""And does that progress carry with it any hope that Harry Bartlett will be proved innocent?" asked Viola eagerly.
"That I can not say - now.I hope it will, though." "Thank you for that!" exclaimed Viola earnestly.
Miss Carwell said nothing.She had her own opinion, and was going to hold to it, detectives or no detectives.
"Will you send Shag to me?" the colonel requested a maid, as he arose from the table."Tell him we are going fishing.""Isn't there anything you can do - I mean toward - toward the - case?" faltered Viola."Not that I mean - of course I don't want to seem - ""I understand, my dear," said the colonel gently."And I am not going fishing merely to shirk a responsibility.But I have to think some of these puzzles out quietly, and fishing is the quietest pastime I know.""Oh, yes, I know," Viola hastened to add."I shouldn't have said anything.I wish I could get quiet myself.I'm almost tempted to take your recipe.""Why don't you?" urged the colonel."Come along with me.I can soon teach you the rudiments, though to become a finished angler, so that you would be not ashamed to meet Mr.Walton, takes years.But I think it would rest you to come.Shall I tell Shag to fit you out with one of my rods?"Viola hesitated a moment.This might give her an opportunity for talking with the colonel in secret and confidence.But she put it aside.
"No, thank you," she answered."I'll go another time.I must stop at the office and leave some bills that have come here to the house.Mr.Blossom attends to the payment.""Let me leave them for you," offered the colonel."I have to go into town for some bait, and I can easily stop at the office for you.""If you will be so good," returned Viola, and she got the bundle of bills- some relating to Mr.Carwell's funeral and others that had been mailed to the house instead of to the office.
