"Yes and no," returned Warriner thoughtfully. "A white man certainly would be noticed. But there are always negroes coming and going about our Southern houses, and Zeb and Zack would have paid no attention to anyone of their own color. Moreover, there are plenty of bad n.i.g.g.e.rs capable of cutting your throat for a couple of dollars."

"But think of the risk involved in using such an instrument!" I exclaimed. "And somehow I can't quite believe it of John Thaneford, heartily as I dislike him. I can understand his committing this alleged crime with his own hand, but I don't see him hiring a black thug to act for him."

"Nor I," agreed Warriner. "It isn't in the picture."

"And so we come back to the verdict of the coroner's jury: Dead by the visitation of G.o.d. Only it's curious----"

"Yes?"

"----that John Thaneford should have had such definite foreknowledge that the visitation in question was impending. Remember the look-out on Sugar Loaf and the handkerchief marked with his initials."

"It's a blind alley right enough," a.s.sented Warriner. He picked up the spy gla.s.s with which he had been experimenting, and looked it over with minute attention. "Did you ever hear," he asked, "that in his younger days Fielding Thaneford was considered to be an expert in the science of optics? He made a number of improvements in lenses, and enjoyed a reputation quite a.n.a.logous to that of John Brashear, of Pittsburg. I dare say he constructed this very lens."

"But on the twenty-first of June, this year of grace, the old man was physically helpless. He couldn't have walked ten feet without a.s.sistance."

"I'm not trying to bring him into it," replied Warriner calmly. "I merely state another fact that should be borne in mind."

The noise of wheels on the gravelled driveway announced the arrival of a visitor, and presently I recognized John Thaneford's voice inquiring for Betty. It annoyed me that he should come to the house, but Betty had given him the appointment, and I had no shadow of an excuse for interfering. After fidgetting around for some ten minutes I begged Warriner to make himself at home, and left the house for the ostensible purpose of giving some directions to the workmen who were relaying a brick wall leading to the gla.s.s-houses. But I kept an eye on the front door, and when, a quarter of an hour later, John Thaneford finally made his appearance, I managed to meet him on the portico. One glance at his dark face satisfied me as to the nature of the answer he had received from Betty. That was all I wanted to know, and I would have pa.s.sed him with a bare word and nod. But he would not have it so.

"I have just one thing to say to you, Cousin Hugh," he began.

Cousin Hugh again! It was astonishing what concentrated insolence this rural bully contrived to put into this ostensibly friendly salutation.

But no matter; I did not intend to have any brawling on my own doorstep, and I determined to take no notice of covert provocation.

"And it's this," he continued. "The girl or the 'Hundred'--you can choose between them. But both you shan't have."

He waited for me to reply, but I only stood there and looked at him.

"Which is it to be?" he asked, his thick, black eyebrows narrowing to a V-point.

"I've nothing to say to you," I answered.

"Very good. Only remember that I played fair, and gave you your choice.

Good evening, Cousin Hugh, and d.a.m.n you for a white-livered Yank that I wouldn't feed to my hawgs." He raised his hand as though half inclined to strike me; then he changed his mind and dropped it.

"Please don't hesitate on my account," I observed. "I can take whatever you may be able to give." Whereupon he favored me with another scowl, and departed.

"That puts him out of the running," I reflected with no small satisfaction. But my complacency was short-lived. Chalmers Warriner stayed to dinner, and my worst fears were confirmed; Betty did call him by his Christian name, and the two were evidently on the very best of terms. I dare say I must have sulked a little, for after Warriner had driven back to Calverton Betty became appallingly distant and reserved.

I had to make my peace, and I did so with all humbleness. I fancied that there was a subdued glint of amus.e.m.e.nt in Betty's eye as I stumbled through some ba.n.a.l excuses about a splitting headache--I am nothing if not original. But she gave me absolution very generously, and we both agreed that Warriner was one of the best fellows on earth.

"It's mostly on account of the reputation of the 'Hundred' for hospitality," added Betty. "You know, we think a lot of that down here, and you are now the head of the family. Of course you understand; and so, good night, Cousin Hugh."

Cousin Hugh again! But with a difference; all the difference.

I had been sitting alone in the library after the retirement of the ladies. It struck eleven o'clock, late hours for country mice, and I rose to go to my room. Just then the telephone bell rang, and I found Warriner on the wire. "I have this moment learned," he began, "that a negro named Dave Campion was arrested late this evening, charged with the murder of Francis Graeme. You had better come to Calverton the first thing in the morning."

Chapter XI

_The Rider of the Black Horse_

Given the exigency, and through what tortuous and secret channels will not the human mind seek to communicate with its kind! Call it telepathy or what not, the phenomenon itself is a well established fact; one that we accept without attempting to explain it.

Not a syllable of Warriner's message had crossed my lips, and yet by breakfast time the bruit of it was in the very air; the negroes were collecting here and there in little whispering groups; I overheard Eunice Trevor telephoning to Calverton for a confirmation of the report; finally, Betty herself asked me what it all meant. I had just finished telling her the bare facts when Warriner's car came swiftly up the drive; he alighted and we went into the library.

"No use in your going over until three o'clock," he began. "At least that is the time set by the magistrate for the hearing, and it will take several hours to get the material witnesses together. I believe that summonses have been served on some of your people, including Marcus, the house-boy, and Zack and Zeb."

"Who is the man, and what were the circ.u.mstances of his arrest?" I asked.

"His name, as I told you last night, is Dave Campion."

"Oh, I know him," put in Betty. "He is a sort of peddler; at least he travels around with a miscellaneous lot of perfumes and hair ribbons for the women, and cheap safety razors for the men."

"Ostensibly so," nodded Warriner, "but his real business is bootlegging."

"You mean whiskey?"

"Yes, and worse. You have heard of 'c.o.ke'?"

"Cocaine powder?"

"Yes."

"'Happy dust' the darkies call it," added Betty. "Last month father forbade Campion to ever come on the place again."

Warriner looked interested. "I suppose Campion resented the exclusion,"

he remarked. But on this point Betty could say nothing; Mr. Graeme had merely told her that the negro peddler had been warned off the "Hundred"

property.

"He is a smart n.i.g.g.e.r," explained Warriner. "And so light in color that you would hardly suspect the dash of the tar brush, as the English say.

He was educated at Hampton-Sidney, and talks just like a white man--rather proud of it, too--but worthless in every way, and a menace to the community."

"Education then isn't any guarantee of morality among the negroes," I observed.

"Why should it be any more than with our own cla.s.s?" retorted Warriner.

"No, Campion is a bad n.i.g.g.e.r, and even Hampton-Sidney couldn't make him over."

"But about the arrest?" I urged.

"The fellow was drunk last night, and openly displayed a handsome matchbox; gold with a turquoise set in the spring k.n.o.b. Several persons recognized it as belonging to Mr. Francis Graeme; in fact, it bore his initials. The police were informed, and the arrest followed."

"No explanations were made, I suppose."