The night was still and muggy. It was the night of the day scheduled for the first Maplewood-Fairhaven game, but because of the fog the Maplewood team had been unable to reach the island. Long after most of the guests at the Maple Heights Hotel had retired, a solitary man paced up and down on the lawn in front of the building.
There was no moon, and the stars, which occasionally peeped through openings in the hazy clouds, gave forth a faint nebulous light by which objects near at hand could be seen only with indistinctness.
In the valley the village slept, with not a solitary light gleaming from a window.
The lonely man on the lawn was puffing at a cigar. At intervals he seemed to forget his cigar and finally it went out.
The last guest had left the hotel veranda and disappeared within when the man realized his cigar was extinguished and threw the stump away. In a moment he brought forth another weed, tore off the end with his teeth, and paused near a clump of shrubbery to strike a match.
The glow of the match, shaded in the hollow of his hands as he held it to the end of his cigar, distinctly revealed the features of Benton Hammerswell. The man’s face bore a haggard, careworn expression.
There was a rustle amid the shrubbery.
With a start Hammerswell dropped the blazing match and clapped his hand on his hip pocket. He had reached for his revolver, but it was not there.
“Forgot I’d lost it,” he muttered, falling back a step.
Forth from the shrubbery advanced the dark figure of a man.
“Who are you?” demanded Hammerswell.
“I guess you know me,” answered a voice. “I’ve been watching for you. Wasn’t sure it was you till I saw your face by the light of that match.”
Hammerswell was startled and astounded by the voice.
“Is it you, Luke Grimes?” he demanded.
“Hit it first guess,” was the retort.
“Well, what in blazes are you doing here? I supposed you were well on your way to San Francisco.”
“Think likely you did,” retorted Grimes. “You reckoned I wouldn’t darst come back here. That’s why you broke your promise ter me. That’s why you didn’t send me the money you promised me when I reached Montreal. I waited fer it two days, and then I decided to come back here and git it myself.”
“You insane idiot!” snarled Hammerswell, in a low tone. “You’re right in thinking I didn’t fancy you would be crazy enough to return here. If you’re seen and recognized you will be arrested instantly.”
“I guess that’s straight,” confessed Grimes coolly. “But if you didn’t want that to happen it was up to you to keep your promise. Don’t be feeling in your pockets. I’ve got a gun myself.”
“Don’t worry,” said Hammerswell, pulling out his handkerchief and mopping his face. “I’ve no pistol. It was stolen from my room to-day.”
“Mebbe that’s so,” chuckled Grimes; “and then agin’ mebbe it ain’t. You’re such a liar no man can believe you. I’ll watch ye, and don’t yer forgit that. If you start any shooting I’ll join in. I’m pretty desperate, Hammerswell, and you can’t snuff me out without getting your dose in return.”
“Oh, dry up!” growled the manager of the Maplewood team. “I’m not a lunatic, if you are. I’m not anxious to face a murder charge.”
“Jest what I thought,” nodded Grimes, again chuckling villainously. “That’s why I came back here. You know that I know something about you that might put you where you’d have to face a murder charge.”
“’Sh! Stop that fool talk! There’s a rustic seat over yonder. Come over and sit down.”
Side by side they walked toward the rustic seat, which stood near another cluster of shrubbery.
Barely had they seated themselves there when forth from the same cedars near the spot where they had met crept a form resembling a huge dog, but which was in truth a human being on hands and knees. Slowly and silently this figure moved across the open space, once or twice stopping and lying flat on his stomach as he fancied one of the men had turned in his direction. At last he reached the shelter of the shrubbery not far from the bench. There he remained crouching and listening.
“Why didn’t you keep your word and send the money?” Grimes was saying. “I had your promise.”
“But I didn’t have the money to send,” declared Hammerswell. “I told you once before that this baseball business has put me on the rocks. I am down to the bottom of my pile now. You were crazy enough to demand an exorbitant sum.”
“Only a thousand dollars.”
“Only a thousand!” snapped Benton.
“Yes; that was the price you promised Hop Sullivan to close his mouth.”
“But I didn’t pay it. I closed it in another way.”
“That’s right,” said Grimes, “and I saw you do it. I was there on High Bluff at midnight when you met Sullivan. I saw yer give him a package containing nothing but strips of brown paper. Then, while he was tearing it open, I saw yer shift your position so that he stood between you and the edge of the bluff. Jest as he ripped the package open and found it didn’t contain a dollar you jumped on him and pushed him over into the river. You knew he couldn’t swim. The river runs swift there, and the falls is close below. He went over, and of course he was drowned. Have they ever found his body?”
Twice Hammerswell had attempted to check his companion, and now he burst forth into a volley of low-spoken curses.
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