Henry Carleton looked a little surprised, perhaps also a little annoyed. “To see me,” he said, “you’re sure, Burton, that it wasn’t Miss Rose he asked for?”
The butler’s manner was one verging on gentle reproof. Within his domain he did not allow himself the luxury of making mistakes. “Quite sure, sir,” he answered. His tone, though respectful, did not admit of further questioning upon the point. Henry Carleton sighed, and appeared to rouse himself. “Why, of course,” he said, “tell him I’ll be down at once; or no,” he added, “please, Burton, tell him to come up here instead.”
The butler, inclining his head, withdrew. Then, a moment or two later, the sound of ascending footsteps, and Vaughan entered the room. At once something in his appearance struck Henry Carleton as far out of the ordinary. “Why, my dear boy,” he cried, “you look worried to death. What’s gone wrong? No more bad news from the book?”
Vaughan silently shook his head. He was indeed looking miserably, and when he took a chair, he sat bolt upright on its edge, leaning forward nervously when he spoke. “No,” he said, “it’s worse than that, Mr. Carleton; a whole lot worse. It’s something that’s been troubling me for a long time now, until finally I’ve made up my mind that the only thing for me to do is to come straight to you with it, and tell you the whole story. And that’s why I’m here.”
At once Carleton shoved books and papers aside, as if the better to prepare himself for proper attention to Vaughan’s words. He looked at his visitor with an air of friendly concern. “Anything that I can do—” he murmured. “You know, of course, that you may count on me. Anything in my power—”
Vaughan nodded abruptly. “Thank you,” he said hastily and a little grimly, “it’s not a favor that I’ve come for. I’m going to do you a bad turn, I’m afraid. Going to do everybody a bad turn, as far as that goes. But it can’t be helped. I’ve got to go ahead, and that’s all there is to it.”
Henry Carleton eyed him narrowly, but without speaking, and Vaughan, looking up, as if eager to have his task over, with sudden resolve, began. “It’s about Satterlee,” he said, “you remember how things happened out here that night, of course. I guess we all do. Jack went up-stairs to bed, you remember, and you and Cummings went off to play billiards. I was on the piazza with Rose, and stayed there until you came down to tell her that it was getting late. Then, after she went up-stairs, you told me that you were going for a short walk, and I said I believed I’d go to my room. Well, I didn’t. I don’t know why. I started to go in, and then—the night was so fine; I had so much that was pleasant to think about—somehow I couldn’t stand the idea of going into the house, and instead I took a stroll around the grounds.”
He stopped for a moment. Henry Carleton, gazing intently at him, gave no sign from his expression that he was experiencing any emotion beyond that of the keenest interest and attention. Only his eyes, in the shadow, had lost their customary benevolent expression, narrowing until their look was keen, alert; the look of a man put quickly on his guard. And as Vaughan still kept silence, it chanced that Carleton was the first again to speak. “Well,” he queried impatiently, “and what then?”
Vaughan drew a quick breath. “This,” he cried hastily, almost recklessly, “this. I walked down toward Satterlee’s cottage, and I saw what happened there. Satterlee didn’t fall from any rock. He was murdered. And I saw it all.”
Henry Carleton did not start. There was no cry of surprise, no single word, even. Only, as Vaughan had finished, on a sudden his eyes dilated strangely; his lips parted a trifle; for a moment, without breathing, without animation, it seemed as if the man’s whole being hung poised motionless, suspended. So great the surprise, so great the shock, that one, not knowing, might almost have believed himself to be looking upon the man who had done the deed. “Murdered?” he at last repeated dully, “You saw it? Murdered?”—there was a moment’s silence, and then, all at once seeming to recover himself, he leaned forward in his chair. “By whom?” he cried sharply, with just a note of menace in his tone, “By whom?”