The crooked cross

by Charles J. Dutton

A cold flurry of wind came sweeping across the lake, and I saw the girl shiver. It was getting late in the afternoon. As I pulled out my watch to see the time, the chief said the girl had better dress, and that we would take her back to the village. As she seemed a little startled at this remark, he told her she was the only person who could tell us if anything had been taken from Warren's library. This seemed to relieve her a good deal, for there was little doubt in my mind that she thought the chief was going to arrest her. Saying she would be ready in a few moments, she rose to her feet and went slowly to the cottage.

When she was out of hearing the chief turned to me:

“Mr. Pelt, I guess there is no doubt that girl is telling the truth.”

I assured him it was my own idea. I added that as Warren had not been killed until several hours after she had left his grounds it would be absurd to even think she knew anything about the murder. With a little grunt of approval, the chief studied the water for a while and we then turned to go to the car.

We had to wait a few moments and when the secretary rejoined us she was followed by the other girls of the camp. She had changed into a light summer dress and as I saw her coming across the tall grass, I thought again what a beautiful girl she was. The girls crowded around the car as she took her seat behind me, but they said little. I could tell by their serious faces that she had told them of the death of Mr. Warren and that they were not overpleased at the chief taking her away. They all kissed her in turn, after the manner girls have in saying good-by, and as we went around the bend in the road our last sight was of their waving hands.

It was a silent ride to town—no one doing any talking. For my part, it took all my skill to keep the car on the road. It was with an inward sigh of relief that I felt the firm concrete under the wheels when we struck the main highway. Just as we were coming into town the chief turned to tell the girl that he would drop her off at her aunt's. And as we pulled up in front of the white cottage he warned her not to talk to any one and told her to be at his office by seven.

I dropped the chief at the police station. As he climbed from the car, he stood a moment on the sidewalk to say that he wanted me to go with him that evening to Warren's. He was going to take the secretary and have her tell him if anything had been disturbed. So saying I would meet him at the summer house around seven-thirty, I drove away.

As I parked the car in front of Carter's garage Trouble gave one quick leap over the side and went on a run up the steps to the veranda—barking at the top of his lungs. I saw him jump at the figure of a man who half rose from a chair, give one sudden, joyful bark, then run to the grass, only to leap back to the veranda. Wondering what had excited him, I got out of the car and started for the house. And as I went up the veranda steps, who should rise out of a chair and come over to greet me but Bartley.

That I was surprised to see him was putting it mildly. If I thought of him I pictured his sitting in the hot courtroom in New York awaiting his chance to testify. But here he was, very cool in his summer suit, and with a little smile of welcome playing around his fine lips. I rushed to his side and poured out my surprise.

He laughed, saying that he had managed to get away this morning. And then, as we both seated ourselves my eyes went wandering around for Carter. Seeing my glance, Bartley told me that Carter had been called down to the city two hours before by an urgent telegram from his chief. The two men, much to their mutual surprise, had met at the station and Carter had begged that Bartley stay at his house until he returned. He expected to be back in two days.