Chapter XXIII: The Confession

It was a long time before either Miss Trask or Nash spoke again. The girl was sitting, wet-eyed and silent, in the chair, the book open upon her lap. Nash had walked to the window, and stood gazing out upon the road, which, under the magic of the moonlight, wound along the slope like a wide, silver ribbon.

The notes of a song came faintly through the still night air; in a neighboring cabin some of the men were making merry. The words were silly and meaningless, the tune of a dance-hall variety. Yet both the girl and Nash waited until the song was finished.

Then resolutely Nash turned.

“How long have you been here, Miss Trask?”

“In California? Only a few months. I--I came from New York immediately after my brother was buried. I had given him this book only at Christmas. Out of all his effects--I kept it. I was living at a little hotel near Central Park, and used to go over and pass away the hours reading. I suppose I dropped it--and that man who spoke to you must have picked it up.”

“What led you to take up--this work?” Nash asked.

“I--don’t know. Maybe it was because--because I had hopes of finding my brother’s murderer.”

“You knew him?”

She shook her head. “No. Oh, I hadn’t any set plan. I just imagined, somehow, that on this great engineering project I might come face to face with the man who----”

“And if you had?” Nash interrupted.

A quick, hard light flamed to her eyes, only to die away as suddenly as it had come. “I don’t know,” she faltered. “I am only a woman, and----”

“Did it ever occur to you, Miss Trask,” Nash ventured to ask, “that your brother might have been as much to blame as--the other man?”

“But--but he was my brother,” she replied.

“Of course.” Nash smiled faintly. “A year ago, Miss Trask, I worked on the New York Aqueduct.”

“You?” She raised her eyes quickly. “Then maybe you knew----”

“Your brother?” Nash nodded. “Yes, I knew him.”

“And you knew about--about his death? You have heard how a man shot him, and----”

“I did not know of his death,” Nash answered gravely. “That is, I was not positive.”

She was facing him now. “How strangely you talk, Mr. Nash!”

“Possibly it is because I am placed in a strange position,” Nash replied.

She started to speak, then stopped. The chugging of a motor interrupted, and instinctively both man and woman understood. Nash stepped swiftly to the window. The flashing lights of a big car were dancing down the road.

“It--it’s the officers!” the girl exclaimed. She had followed the engineer, and was peering over his shoulder.

“I’m afraid so,” Nash responded.

“They’ve come to-night--instead of in the morning. They must have suspected you would try to escape.”

Nash dropped the curtain and went back to the table.

“It’s too--too late for you to get away now,” she stammered, breathing hard. “What--what are you going to do?”

“That isn’t the question which troubles me,” Nash said quietly. “How are you to explain your presence here?”

“I won’t need to,” she retorted.

“Oh, but you will have to. You are employed by these people. Do you want them to suspect you of double-dealing? Remember, Miss Trask, it is the law you are fighting now.”

“I shall tell them the truth.”

“You must tell them that you came here--to arrest me. I am your prisoner. You must tell them that.”

“I won’t!” she exclaimed.

“You must do this, Miss Trask. You must protect yourself.”

“I will tell them it is all a mistake--that you are innocent,” she said. “I will tell them that you are not the man they want.”

“What good will it do?” Nash asked. “What good, Miss Trask? You have no proofs.”

“Oh, but I cannot tell them what you wish me to!” she protested, over and over again. “I cannot!”

“Listen to me, Miss Trask,” Nash answered, speaking swiftly now, for the pounding of the motor on the up grade was becoming more and more distinct. “It is the right way--the only way. It will protect your reputation. Think of what it all means. You have informed them of my supposedly crooked dealings, and now they discover you in my cabin--apparently aiding me to escape. Can’t you understand what a serious matter it will be?”

“But I refuse to tell them that I----”

The machine had stopped outside of the door. In another moment the detectives would be inside the cabin. There was but one method open to Nash; it was a brutal one, but to clear the girl’s name, he resolved to take it.

“Miss Trask,” he said, “you must not help me. You must do as I have said. A moment ago you told me that there was but one object which led you to accept this work. Well, you have succeeded. I am the man you wanted to find.”

She stared at him dully, unable to grasp his meaning. Footsteps came heavily across the board porch.

“I--I don’t understand!” she gasped. “I don’t----”

Nash clenched his hands. “Miss Trask--I am the man who shot your brother. Now you must do as I say.”

The color drained from her face and she sank back against the wall, as if Nash’s declaration had been a stinging lash. Her lips moved, but no sound issued from them. Then, reverberating in the silence, came a loud knock upon the door. It was not answered. A second one came, louder and more determined.

“Come in!” Nash said.

The door was thrown open, and two men stepped inside. They were both strangers to Nash.

While one of the men stood near the door, as if to prevent any escape, the other moved warily toward Nash.

“Are you Elliot Nash?” he demanded.

“I am,” the engineer responded.

“Then I’m sorry to say I’ve a warrant here for your arrest.” As he spoke he drew back his coat, and Nash found himself looking upon a detective’s badge.

Nash only smiled, and looked across at the girl, who all this time had been standing weakly against the wall.

“I’m afraid you’re too late, gentlemen,” he announced. “I have already surrendered to Miss Breen.”

Both men looked toward the girl. Then the spokesman laughed, and nodded, apparently acquainted with her.

“Well, congratulations, Miss Breen,” he said. “You have got your nerve, haven’t you? Wanted all the honors in this deal, eh? Leave it to a woman every time,” he added, in an undertone.

Nash flashed a curious glance at the girl. He wondered how she would accept the situation, and he had not long to wait. She drew herself erect, and a trace of color stole into her cheeks.

“You may take Mr. Nash to the city with you,” she said, her voice never more calm. “I--I will appear against him in the morning. Good night, gentlemen.”

She walked across the floor, drawing on her heavy riding gloves. Then she stepped out into the night.

Presently the sharp thudding of her pony’s hoofs sounded clearly upon the hard road. Minute by minute they died away, and when they had been swallowed by the night’s silence, Nash, for the first time in months, felt a great, crushing sense of loneliness.

The girl had gone--out of his life--forever. And, somehow, he had begun to have a deeper feeling than that of mere friendship toward her. He had even begun to dream those glorious, rose-colored dreams which come to all men, soon or late.

And what an end they had come to! His air castles were toppling about his shoulders.

To-morrow she would appear against him before the engineering board in Los Angeles. He would face her--not as a man wrongly accused of betraying his city, but as a self-confessed murderer of her brother--a creature to be despised and shunned.

She, whom once he thought would champion his cause, and fight for the opportunity to undo what she at first fancied was her duty, would now be only too glad to see him condemned.

And so this was to be the end of everything, he soliloquized bitterly. All his efforts and endeavors were to go for naught. He would be made an example of before the whole State of California.

“What a penalty!” he murmured to himself.

“We want to get that midnight train from San Fernando,” the detective said sharply.

“I am ready,” Nash responded quietly.