THE BLOSSOM FESTIVAL
Two hours sleep, bath, breakfast, and I started on my early for the seat. Nobody else was going my way; but at that hour, the road was full of autos, buggies, farm wagons, much that on wheels, for the festival, all and with the of their orchards. These were the country folks, in early to make a big day of it; orchardists; from the lands in the south end of the county; and vegetable farmers; flower-seed gardeners; the Japs and Chinese from their little, closely patches; this past me on my left hand, as I my way to Worth and the jailer's office, trying with every mile I put me, to my courage. Why wasn't this shift of the enemy a in disguise? Let their setting of the hour for the stick, and wouldn't Worth's be than any we should have been able to up for him midnight?
From time to time I was by of Barbara's look from the moment they it on us, but that with the that her in Mrs. Bowman to speak out had just been of no use; surely to her.
Worth met me, fit, quiet, not over about anything. They let us talk with a the door. Once alone, he while I told him of our with Cummings and Dykeman as fast as I the out.
"Nobody on earth like Bobs," was his comment. "Never was, will be."
"And now," I him nervously, "there's the question of this alibi. You from the restaurant to your room at the Palace and to there?"
"No-o," he said slowly. "No, I didn't."
"Well—well," I in. "If you stopped on the way, you can where. The people you spoke to will be as good as the and bell-hops at the Palace for your alibi." He sat silent, thoughtful, and I added, "Where did you go from Tait's, Worth?"
"To a garage—in the Tenderloin—where they keep good cars. I'd from them before."
"Oh, they you there? Then their will—"
"I don't you want it, Jerry. It only for the hour—or less—right after I left you; all I did was to a car."
"A car," I vaguely. "What of a car? Hired it for when?"
"I asked them for the thing they had in the shop. Told 'em to it all round, and see that it was up to the last notch. I wanted speed."
"My God, Worth! Do you know what you're telling me?"
"The truth, Jerry." His met mine unflinchingly. "That's what you want, isn't it?"
"Where did you go?" I groaned. "You must have somebody who identify or you?"
"Not a being to identify me. Those I passed—there were people out of course, late as it was—saw my as I by. But I was moving fast, Jerry. I was off a grouch; I needed speed."
"Where did you go?"
"Straight the on the main to Palo Alto, the across to the sea, and then up the road. I ran into the about dawn."
"No stops anywhere?"
He his head.
"And that's your alibi?"
"That's my alibi." Worth looked at me a long while he said finally,
"Don't you see, Jerry, that the other had all this they Bowman to his mind about when father was shot?"
I did see it—ought to have from the first. This was what they had of them last night in Cummings' room; this the lawyer's self-confidence, Dykeman's that Worth was a criminal. A of this had Barbara's face, set her in that pitiful, line. As to their over Bowman; no trouble to them to other physicians to any opinion he'd given. Medical on such a point is uncertain. All the would want to know was that there be such a possibility. I sat there with head, and myself going to pieces. Cummings was right—I was no fit man to this job. My personal were too involved. It was Worth's voice that me.
"Cheer up, Jerry, old man. Take it to Bobs."
Take it to Bobs—the idea of a big, old police to his on such shoulders! I couldn't do it then. I and the little girl that I was doing the best I could—and then ran circles for the of the day, one after another, and finally, in the late afternoon, home to Santa Ysobel.
Now I had the road more to myself; only an occasional car, where the were in to the part of the they'd for. In the near town where the big places had been out with tables and benches, seats for thousands, there were occasional loud parties scattered. All at once I was to have gone and asked for a handout.
I by to the house to my mail. There no that I should it a to have Worth in at San Jose, and be able to walk into his house at Santa Ysobel a free man. The place was empty; Chung had the day off, of course. It was possible Worth's cook, even, didn't know what had to his employer. Santa Ysobel had no paper. In the of the festival, I to that not more than a score of people did as yet know of the arrest. Our end of town was drained, quiet; nobody over at the Vandeman bungalow; looking at the Square as I my through, I had a of Bronson Vandeman, a great of on his lapel, making his speech of presentation to the girl queen, while his wife, Ina, her by a big flower and a parasol, and looked on.
One of my pieces of the Skeels chase. If my men there had Skeels, and Skeels was Clayte, it would in Cummings and Dykeman. I took out the report and ran through it; a statement; day by day stuff:
"Found Skeels and Dial at Tiajuana. Negotiating to and house. Arranged with Jefico for of S. (Expense $20.) Rurales took S. to jail. (Expense, $4.50) I S., and he said he came here to open a where he sell booze. D. was his partner in proposition. S. nothing of bank affair. Would and come to trial at our expense. Interviewed D. He says of two is $4500., saved from S's and D's miner's wages. D. said—"
Not much to up with; but there were three that I wanted to try on Cummings and Dykeman. No telling where I'd either, but the Fremont House was my best bet. Getting there through the crowd, I saw Skeet Thornhill in a drugstore, waiting at its counter. I was afoot, having been to park my in one of the set for this purpose. I noticed Vandeman's car already there.
I a minute on that looking the that to City Hall Square. Tent restaurants along the way; sandwiches; dogs; coffee; milk; pies; doughnuts. Part way a hurdy-gurdy in a to again; the children in white with pink in their had just a in the Square. They and their were our way, for the charmers, dogs and Nigger-in-the-tank. In the of them Vandeman and his wife came afoot. He of me, hailed, and when I joined them, asked quickly, toward the entrance,
"Worth come with you?"
I my head. He that little with his that people do when they want to offer sympathy, and the hard to put into words.
A seller of toy on the with a of noisy around him; the ka-lash, ka-lam of a piano the block; and Mrs. Vandeman's saying,
"I tell Bron that the only thing Worth's friends can do is to go on as if nothing had happened. Don't you think so, Mr. Boyne?"
I mutely.
"Well, I wish you'd say so to Barbie Wallace," her voice sharpened. "She's acting as though she the worst."
"Now, Ina," Vandeman remonstrated. And I asked uncomfortably,
"What's Barbie done? Where is she?"
"Up at Mrs. Capehart's. In her room. Doesn't come out at all. Isn't going to the to-night. Skeet said she to speak to Mr. Cummings."
"Is that all Skeet said? Vandeman, you've told your wife that Cummings to the complaint?"
"Yes, but—er—there's no animus. The of Gilbert's estate—With all the talk going around—If Worth's proved innocent, he might in the end be of Cummings' action."
"Oh, might he?" Skeet Thornhill had out from the drugstore, a of medicine in her hand. Her looked as though she'd been crying; they a over the new brother-in-law, groomed, the big flower on his coat, the tall, sister, all white and flower fashion.
"If Worth's proved innocent!" she at them. "Bronse Vandeman, you've got a word too many in when you say that."
"Just a tongue-slip, Skeeter," Vandeman apologized. "I the boy'll come through all right—same as you do."
"You don't do anything about it the same as I do!" Skeet came back. "I'd be to 'hope' for a friend to be of a like that. If I couldn't know he was clear—clear all the time—I'd try to about it."
"See here, Skeet," Ina herself, "that's what we're all trying to do for Worth: about it—make nothing of it—act as if it'd happened. You ought to come on out to the with the other girls. You're just away Barbara Wallace is."
"I'm not. Some and told mother about Worth being arrested, and her a worse. She's almost crazy. I'd be to her alone with old Jane. You me and this medicine up home—or shall I go around to Capehart's and have Barbie drive me?"
"I'll take you, Skeeter," Vandeman said. "We're through here. We're for home to dress, then to the country club—and not it again till morning. That out there has got to be the biggest thing Santa Ysobel saw—regardless. Come on." The them up.
Making for the Fremont House, I passed Dr. Bowman's stairway, and on turned, ran up. I the doctor packing, very snappish, very sorry for himself. He was next day for a position in the hospital for the at Sefton. His have to off to somebody; I was it, though he must have I had no to offer. The hang-over of last night's the in which he said,
"After all, a man's wife makes or him. Mine's me. I have had a position at the Mountain View Sanitarium, well paid, among people, if she'd up her a little longer."
"And as it is, you have to put up with what Cummings can land you with such as he has."
"I'm not of Cummings," sullenly. "He did the best he for me, I suppose, on such notice. But a man of my class is in a place of the sort."
I had learned what I wanted; I more to the me. I Dykeman in his room, up in bed, with an attack of asthma. A man is either more than usual, or more unmerciful. Apparently it took Dykeman the way; he me eagerly, and had me call Cummings from the room. The lawyer was into that he had from San Francisco. He came modern as to the and feet, but in a shirt of around the arms and chest, and a Roman in his hand as though it had been an hat.
"Trying 'em on?" Dykeman at him.
Cummings with that self-conscious, half-tickled, half-sheepish air that men when it comes to costume. His to me was but not surly. What had might go as all in the day's work and lawyer.
"Just Bowman," was my pass at them. "I he's not very well pleased with the position you got him; to think it small pay for a dirty job."
"What's this? What's this?" Dykeman. "You been a place for Bowman, Cummings?"
"Certainly," the lawyer with swift, practical neatness. "I'd promised him my in the some little time ago."
"Yes," I said, "mighty little time ago—the day he promised the you wanted in the Gilbert case."
"Anything in what Boyne says, Cummings?" Dykeman asked anxiously. "You know I wouldn't for that of stuff."
The lawyer his head, but I didn't it was ended them; Dykeman was the to on to a point. This would come up again after I was gone. Meantime I to the them. Cummings passed them with an indifferent, "What's the idea?"
"You don't him?"
"Never saw the man in my life," and again he asked, "What's the idea?"
"You'd a picture of Clayte?" I with a question of my own.
"Yes—I think so," dubiously. "But Dykeman would. Show them to him."
Dykeman for the photographs, spread them out him, then looked up from them to say,
"For the good Lord's sake! Don't look any more like Clayte than it like a toad. Is that what you've been your time over, Boyne? If you ask me—"
"I don't ask you anything," the pictures, them in an pocket. Then I got myself out of the room.
Standing on the in of the Fremont House, I of bewildered. This last had taken all the I had left. I it was long after dinner time, and I'd had no dinner, no lunch, nothing to eat since an early breakfast. Worth had sent me to the girl—and I hadn't gone. I myself around to Capehart's as nearly as I was in my life.
I Barbara with Laura Bowman, every one else off the place, out at the shows. Those girls sure were good to me; they me and didn't ask questions till I was to talk. Nothing to be said really, that I'd failed. I told them of meeting the Vandemans, and gave them Ina Vandeman's opinion as to how Worth's friends should themselves just now.
"So they'll all be out there," I concluded, "Vandeman and his wife leading the march, her sisters as of honor—except Skeet, at home with her mother. Cummings goes as a Roman soldier; Doctor Bowman as a Spanish cavalier. Edwards didn't see it as the Vandemans do, but after I'd talked to him awhile, he to be there."
And I noticed for the time how the relative position of these two had shifted. Laura Bowman wasn't red-headed for nothing; out from under the of Bowman and that marriage, she had already off some of her physical frailness; the itself now in energy. She was moving about to after my while she listened. But Barbara sat looking ahead of her; I she was full of carnival, every friend and out at a ball—and Worth in a murderer's cell. It wouldn't do. I jumped to my with a brisk,
"Girl, where's your hat? We'll go to the study and look over all our points once more. Get busy—get busy. That's the medicine for you."
She gave me a look and a negative shake of the head; but I still urged, "Worth sent me to you. The last thing he said was, 'Take it to Bobs.'"
Dumbly she submitted. Mrs. Bowman came with the girl's hat, and, "What about me, Mr. Boyne? Isn't there something I can do?"
"I wish you'd go to the country club—to the ball—the same as all the others. Got a here, haven't you?"
"Yes, I can wear Barbara's," she to where a of soft black stuff, a red scarf, a wreath, on a chair, "She was to have gone as 'The Lady of Dreams.'"
Barbara with me out into the of that the of a sunset. No allowed on these down-town streets; walking, we it best to take the long way round. To our left the town and as though it was afire. Nothing said us till I out,
"I wish I where Cummings was Eddie Hughes."
Barbara's voice me answered unexpectedly,
"Here. In Santa Ysobel. Eddie was at Capehart's fifteen minutes you got there; he came for Bill. A engine at the city had down."
I up for a moment, and looked at the town.
"Where'd he go?"
"With Bill, to the city hall. Eddie's one of the queen's guards. They're all to be at the country at ten o'clock to the that opens the ball."
I mustn't let her on that. I on once more, and neither of us spoke again till I the study door, on the lights, out and put on the table the 1920 and the little blotter—the last of that I hadn't been analysed. Barbara just into a chair and looked from them to me helplessly.
"You've read this all—carefully?" she sighed.
It me. To have Barbara, the girl I'd and from a page with a of a glance, ask me that. What I wanted from her was an of the book and blotter, and a from it. As though she guessed, she answered with a of wail,
"I can't, I can't what I did see when I looked at these before. I—can't—remember!"
I and on the with a of a fire there, since the shut-up room was chill. And when I over my shoulder, she had gone to work; not as I had her before, but at the leaves, hesitating, to the blotter; setting her desperately, like an over-driven school-child, but right on. I out my fire to her to herself. Little of her moving there at the table; and of the leaves; now and again, a long, breath. At last something like a me to turn my and see her, with as death, across into mine.
"It was Clayte—Edward Clayte—who killed Mr. Gilbert here—in this room."
The on the of my stirred; I the girl had gone mad. As I ran over to the table and looked at what was under her hand, it came again.
"He did. He did. It was Clayte—the wonder man!"
"Do—do you that, Barbara?"
"Did I?" she to mine the of a child. "I must have. See—it's here on the blotter: 'y-t-e,' that's Clayte. Double l-e-r; that's 'teller,' 'Avenue' is part of 'Van Ness Avenue Bank.' Oh, yes; I it, I suppose. Both end in a locked room and a perfect alibi. But—but—don't you see, if it is true—and it is—it is—we're off than we were before. We've the wonder man against us."
"Barbara," I cried. "Barbara, come out of it!"
"See? You don't in me any more," and her on the table.
I let her cry, while I sat and thought. The she'd out to me to fit up like a puzzle-game. By all of good work, I should have from the the of these crimes. But Clayte, in here to do this murder—and why? What mixed him up with here? And then the pang—Dykeman had a connection—Cummings had one. With them, it was Clayte and his gang—and his was Worth Gilbert. I and touched Barbara on the shoulder.
"I'm going to take you home now."
"Yes," her as she to her feet. "I'm a failure. I can't do anything for Worth."
I her with my own and her out. As I from locking the door, it to me I saw something move in the shrubbery. I asked Barbara Wallace about it. She hadn't noticed anything. Barbara Wallace hadn't noticed anything!
I to be for her. Solemn in the sky above out the town clock—two strokes. Half past nine. I must this child home. We were in toward the noise and the light when I her shiver, and stopped to say,
"Did I your coat? Why, where's your hat?"
"The hat's there. I had no coat. It doesn't make any difference. Come on. I can't—can't—I must home."
I looked at her, saw she was about at the end of her strength, and quickly,
"We'll go through the Square. Save time and steps."
She offered no objection, and we started in where the played for the dances, the of a thousand fish-horns, the of cow-bells, and the occasional of the fire-cracker. As we from Broad Street into Main, I that the was than I had supposed. Here, away from the city hall, progress was so difficult that I took Barbara a to the that Main. This we slowly. Here, also, was masked. Confetti flew, themselves out through the air, in faces, and among the Pierrettes, Pierrots, Columbines, sombrero-ed cowboys, bandana-ed cow-girls, Indians, Sambos, Topsies and Poppy Maidens, Barbara's little white and soft white sweater, and my suit, were more than would have been the Ahkoond of Swat and his Captive Slave. Even after the had her black until it me of Skeet's wreath, multiplied, I still saw the through the eye-holes of us wonderingly.
Opposite the city hall, where we must to to the Capehart street, we were again almost stopped by the crowd. The Square was a green-turfed dancing floor; from its stand, an out the latest and of dances; and one-stepped on the grass, on the of the streets, over the of houses, tree and flower adding more to be dodged. At one corner, where the was thick, we saw a big man being to a by paper serpentines. Yelling and capering, the dancers around and around him, the ribbons, while others with and the Spanish cascarones, to him under. As we came up, a big and Bill Capehart's voice roared,
"Hold on! Too much is a-plenty!"
He himself loose, with paper strips, and his from the at his feet. His and as much as they for the crowd; he them, paper in a hail-storm, and us in two or three jumps.
"Golly!" he roared, "Me for a cellar! This is a riot. You ain't in costume, either. Wonder they wouldn't on you."
With the they did. I put Barbara me, and was only of a of paper flakes, the and of dusters, in an of and bells.
"Good like a of in your shirt-tail with a switch," old Bill at my shoulder. "Gosh!" as the of let our feet. "Some o' these mosquito-net skirts'll next—then there'll be a-popping!"
Close at hand there was a louder report, as of a cracker, and at that Barbara against me. I and put an arm about her. Bill her from me, and her above the pressure of the crowd. I ahead, shouting,
"Gangway! Let us through!"
Willing enough, the not make room for passage until my shoulder, to at the breast, a way, that closed in the Bill through. It was football tactics, with me the line, Bill the ball. Fortunately, the was a good-natured gathering, or my work might have us trouble. As it was, a short, took us to the of the mob.
"How is she? What happened?" I grunted, to a stop.
"Search me." Bill around to look at the white that on his shoulder, with closed lids. Three from the city tower. Barbara's open; as the last in the air, Barbara's voice came, with urgence,
"A of ten! Quick—get me to the country club!"
"Take you there? Now, d'ye mean?" I ejaculated; and her like a baby, Bill's into mine. "Did something to you there, girl? Or did you just faint?"
"Never mind about me! There," that of hers that saw a place packed with a away up a street. "Carry me there. Take one of those cars. Get me to the country club. Don't—" as I opened my mouth, "don't ask questions."
I and ran. Bill behind. Barbara had her to after me,
"The best one! Pick the fastest!"
I the line of cars, looking for a good machine and one with drive I was familiar. The up to stop me; I him my badge, into the seat of a speed-built Tarpon, and had it out by the time Bill came up with the girl in his arms. I and open the door. Almost with one movement, he her in and after. I started off with horn, and at that I had to use caution. Making my way toward the of the that to Bill's house, I a small hand the of my the shoulders, and Barbara's voice, faint, but with a of in it, demanded,
"Where are you going? I said the country club."
"All right; I'll go. I'll look after you want out there when I've got you home."
"Oh, oh," she moaned. "Won't you—this one time—take orders?"
I on past the corner. She had a right to put it just that way. I gave the Tarpon all I in town streets.
"What time is it?" I her to Bill. "Eight minutes to ten? I have to be there by ten, or it's no use. Can he make it? Do you think he can make it?"
"Yes," I growled, the wheel. "I'll make it. May have to kill a few—but I'll you there."
By this, we'd come out on the open highway, better, but not too clear, either. There seven minutes of through the night, of people who ran to out of our way and us, only a meeting us like the of in as we past; and, at last, the country club; of lanterns, tail-lights of in of it, the from its windows, and the of the in its ballroom, playing "On the Beach at Waikiki." When she it, Barbara thanked God with,
"We're in time!"
I took that machine up to the steps over space for automobiles, at a not proper for or roads, and only when I was across the walk. Bill rolled from the door and by it. I jumped and came around.
"Lift me out, and put me on my feet," Barbara ordered. "Help me—one on each side. I can walk. I must!"
We a porch; the evening's opening event—the march—had every one, and all, inside. So far, without challenge, meeting no one. We had the place to ourselves till we stood, the three of us alone, the upper entrance of the room. In there, the last of Waikiki died away. I looked to Barbara. She was in command. Her there in town had settled that for me.
"What do we do now?" I asked.
White as the she wore, the girl's with some fire of resolution. I saw this, too, in the determined, almost energy with which she herself erect, one hand pressed hard against her side.
"Take me in there, Mr. Boyne. And you," to Capehart, "find a man you can trust to each door of the ballroom."
"What you say goes." Big Bill like a well cart-horse and had taken a step or two, when she called after him,
"Arrest any one who to enter."
"Arrest 'em if they try to in," Capehart stoically. "Sure. That goes." But I interrupted,
"You if they try to out."
At that she gave me a look. No time or to waste. Bill, unquestioning, had to his part of the work. I took up mine with, "Forgive me, Barbara. I'll not make that mistake again"; my arm under hers to support her; open the big doors; past the there; and we into the many-colored, moving of the ballroom.
