<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2>
<h3>THE MAGGOT AT THE CORE</h3>
<p>Hervey’s look of surprise quickly changed to one
of displeasure. To him his sister’s attitude merely
suggested incredulity, nothing more.</p>
<p>“Well?” he said at last, as her laugh died out
suddenly.</p>
<p>Prudence turned upon him with a strange fierceness.</p>
<p>“Go on. You must tell me more than that to
convince me. George Iredale––smuggler, murderer!
You must be mad!”</p>
<p>Hervey kept himself well in hand. He was playing
for a great stake. He would lose nothing through
any ill-advised bluster.</p>
<p>“I was never more sane in my life,” he answered
coldly. “I am ready to prove my words.”</p>
<p>“Prove them.”</p>
<p>Prudence’s face and the tone of her voice were icy.
Her mouth was set firmly, the declined corners testifying
to the hard setting of her jaws. She looked straight
into her brother’s face with an intentness which made
him lower his eyes. He had no conception of the fires
which he had stirred within her. One unconquerable
desire swayed her. This man must tell her all he
knew. Then she would refute every word, tell him
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_258' name='page_258'></SPAN>258</span>
what manner of man he was, and have him driven
from the farm. She hated him at that moment as
she might hate a rattlesnake. She was filled with a
longing to strike him, her own brother, to the earth.</p>
<p>Hervey spoke in measured, even tones.</p>
<p>“You know the ranch and its surroundings well.
You have been there. You have heard the so-called
owl cries which greet the visitor upon entering the
valley. Those are not owl cries at all, but the work
of human sentries always on the watch, ready to give
immediate alarm at the approach of danger. The
secret of the ranch lies in the graveyard.” Prudence
started. “That is where I made my first discovery,
a discovery of which I should not have understood
the significance but for your experiences when picnicking
in that region two or three days before. At
the time I speak of I had come upon the cemetery for
the first time. I had Neche with me. I paused at
the broken fence which surrounded it, and surveyed
the overgrown graves. While I did so, Neche
mouched about among them with canine inquisitiveness.
Suddenly he became agitated, and showed
signs of having hit upon a hot scent. I watched him
curiously. He ran up a path and then paused at one
of the stone-marked graves. Here he began to tear
wildly at the edge of it. I followed him up and saw
that he had dug a hole below the stone. I dragged
him away, and found that beneath the stone the grave
was hollow. Then I moved hastily away, and, taking
the dog to the ruined dead-house, put him on the
scent again. He dashed in, whining excitedly as he
went. It was while I stood watching for his return
that I discovered the most significant point. Directly
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_259' name='page_259'></SPAN>259</span>
under my feet, somewhere under the ground, I heard
a sound of hammering. Then I knew that the graveyard
was no longer the resting-place of the dead, but
the abode of the living. Instantly I remembered all
the details of your ghost story, and determined to
witness for myself the scenes you had observed. Settle
it for once and all in your mind. I was troubled with
no superstitious fears upon the matter. I guessed the
truth.” Hervey broke off, but resumed quickly.
“That evening I returned to the graveyard surreptitiously,
and took up a position in the black shelter of
the surrounding woods. I saw all you saw. But the
robed figures were not the ghosts which you thought
them to be; they were Chinese, carrying their boxes
and bundles of personal luggage, and, I have no doubt,
a cargo of opium. Then I understood that the graveyard
was honeycombed with cellars, and that this
place formed the central depôt of Iredale’s traffic and
his distributing station. I can understand how these
‘yellow-devils’ are distributed by means of loaded
hayracks and such things. The point I have not
fathomed is the means by which the ‘goods’ are
brought into the country. I suggest the only means
I can think of as being almost without risk, and that
is the lake.”</p>
<p>Hervey paused to watch the effect of his story.
Prudence gave no sign. She no longer looked at her
companion, but away across the harvested fields in the
direction of Iredale’s ranch. As he waited for her
comment her lips moved.</p>
<p>“Go on,” was all she said; and the man proceeded.</p>
<p>“It was an unconscious expression which, in the
first flush of discovery I made use of which ultimately
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_260' name='page_260'></SPAN>260</span>
gave me a clue to the rest. As realization of Iredale’s
doings came to me I thought of the notorious ‘Traffic
in Yellow.’ That night I pondered long over the
whole thing. I had learned to like Iredale better
than any man I have ever known. He had always
seemed such an honest, straightforward man. And
all of you folks were so fond of him. It was a painful
awakening; but there was worse to come, for, as I lay
awake thinking, there flashed through my brain the
recollection of what you had told me of Grey’s death
and his reference to the notice in the paper. Instantly
the interpretation of that line came to me. It related
to the yellow traffic. And I shuddered as I reviewed
the possibilities which my discovery opened up. I
couldn’t rest. A feverish desire to know the worst
assailed me. I questioned you as you may remember,
and, with every reply you gave me, my fears received
confirmation. In the end I could no longer keep
silence, and my anger drove me to a course which I
have since almost regretted, for it has destroyed the
last vestige of the regard I entertained for the man
you have all so liked and respected. I went over to
the ranch and challenged George Iredale–––”</p>
<p>“On the night of the storm. The night he visited
me. Go on.” Prudence’s face was ghastly in its
pallor. She gave no other sign of emotion.</p>
<p>“Yes, on the night of the storm. I taxed him with
smuggling. He admitted it. I taxed him with the
authorship of that notice–––”</p>
<p>“Well?” The girl leant forward in her eagerness.</p>
<p>“He did not contradict it. His attitude was a tacit
admission. That is my evidence.”</p>
<p>Hervey ceased speaking, and a long pause followed.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_261' name='page_261'></SPAN>261</span>
The man waited. He did not wish to hurry her. He
was not blind to the fact that she regarded Iredale
with something more than mere friendly feeling, and,
with fiendish cunning, he had played upon the knowledge
by his allusions to his own regard for the man
and the trust which they all placed in him. This
woman’s love for Iredale he knew would help him;
for, gradually, as the damning evidence he had
produced filtered through her armour of loyal affection,
her hatred for the man would be doubled and trebled.
In this Hervey displayed a knowledge of human
nature which one would scarcely have credited him
with.</p>
<p>At last Prudence turned. The pallor of her face
was unchanged. Only the look in her eyes had
altered. The horror which had shone there had
become a world of piteous appeal. All her soul
shone forth in those sweet, brown eyes. Surely it
must have needed a heart of stone to resist her. Her
body was leaning forward, her two brown hands were
held out towards him.</p>
<p>“I don’t believe it! I can’t believe it! George is
no––murderer.”</p>
<p>Hervey’s great eyes lowered before that heartful
look. His face was a study in hopelessness. From
his expression of deep sorrow Iredale might have been
his own brother who was accused of murder.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid there is no hope of what you say, Prue.
Leslie was conscious; he knew what he was saying.
<i>Iredale had every reason for shooting him</i>. The
circumstantial evidence is damning. The most
sceptical jury would be convinced.”</p>
<p>“O God! O God! And he has asked me to be
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_262' name='page_262'></SPAN>262</span>
his wife.” Prudence covered her face with her hands,
and her body heaved with great, passionate sobs.</p>
<p>Hervey started at the words. His face lit up with
a wicked joy. This was better than he had expected.
George should pay dearly for his refusal to buy his
silence.</p>
<p>“You say he dared to propose to you with that foul
crime upon his soul? He is a worse villain than I
had believed. By heavens, he shall swing for his
crime! I had hoped that my news had come in time
to save you this cruel wrong. The scum! The foul,
black-hearted scum!”</p>
<p>Hervey’s rage was melodramatic. But the girl,
even in the depths of her misery and distraught
feelings, was impressed. Her heart cried out for
her lover, and proclaimed his innocence in terms
which would not be silenced. His image rose before
her mind’s eye, and she looked upon that kindly,
strong face, the vigorous bearing of that manly figure,
and the story she had just listened to became dwarfed
as her faith in him rose superior to the evidence of her
senses. It could not be. Her quivering lips struggled
to frame the words she longed to utter, but no sound
came. Hervey’s words, his attitude, his appearance of
deep, honest sorrow for his sister paralyzed her faculties
and hope died down in her heart.</p>
<p>The man moved forward to her side, and touched
her gently on the shoulders.</p>
<p>“Come, Prue, we had best go back to the house. I
can do no work to-day. You, too, need quiet for
reflection. The heartless villain!” And he harped
upon the information his sister had provided him
with.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_263' name='page_263'></SPAN>263</span></div>
<p>Prudence allowed herself to be led. She did not
care whither she went or what happened. She was
incapable of reasoning. She was stunned by the cruel
blow that had fallen. Later she would recover herself,
for all such blows are but passing; in waking moments
mind and reason cannot long remain inert and sanity
obtain. For the present she was a mere automaton.</p>
<p>Hervey grew uncomfortable at the girl’s prolonged
silence. He cared nothing for her feelings; he cared
nothing for the heart he had broken. He cared only
for the money he had not yet secured. He realized
only too well that, whatever protest his sister might
offer, he had convinced her of Iredale’s guilt; it was
only a question of time before she admitted it openly.
But some feeling of doubt prompted him to secure
his wage without delay. Thus his greed rushed him
on to a false trail.</p>
<p>Halfway to the house he broke the silence.</p>
<p>“Well, Prue, you cannot refute my evidence.
Iredale is the man you have all been seeking. I
have served you well. You yourself have escaped a
course which would have brought you lifelong regret.
Think of it! What would it have meant to you had
you married the man? Terrible! Terrible!”</p>
<p>The girl looked up. There was a wild, hunted look
in her eyes. Her brother’s words had in some way
driven her at bay. He had struck a chord which had
set her every nerve on edge, and in doing so had
upset all his best-laid schemes. A flood of passionate
protest surged to her lips and flowed forth in a seething
torrent. She remembered what his story had
been told for; she had forgotten for the moment, so
well had he acted his part, and had thought only that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_264' name='page_264'></SPAN>264</span>
what he had said was the outcome of his regard for
her. Now she turned upon him like a tigress.</p>
<p>“Judas!” she cried, a flush of rage sweeping up
into her face as the words hissed from between her
teeth. “You have come to sell this man. Your
thoughts have nothing to do with the meting out of
human justice. You want a price for your filthy
work. I loathe you! What curse is on our family
that you should have been born into it? You shall
have your money; do you hear? You shall have it,
and with it goes my curse. But not yet. My conditions
are not fulfilled. I do not believe you; your
story has not convinced me; I can see no reason in
it. Ha, ha!” and she laughed hysterically. “You
cannot make me believe it because I will not. You
shall have your money, I will not go back on my
word; but you must fulfil the conditions. You must
convince me of the reason in your story. You will
earn your pay as you have never earned anything
in your life. Shall I tell you how you will earn it?
You will prove your story before judge and jury.
When you have convinced them you will have convinced
me. Then I will pay you. My God, what
taint has brought such blood into the veins of our
flesh? If Iredale is the murderer he shall pay the
extreme penalty, and you––whether you like it or
not––shall be instrumental in that punishment. You
shall be his accuser; you shall see him to the scaffold.
And after it is over, after you have received the sum
of your blood-money, I will tell the world of your
doings. That you––my brother––demanded a price
for your work. They––the world––shall know you;
shall loathe you as I loathe you. You shall be an
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_265' name='page_265'></SPAN>265</span>
outcast wherever you go, stamped with the brand of
Judas––the most despised of all men. Better for you
if you stood in George Iredale’s place on the scaffold
than face the world so branded. Oh, you wretched
man, you have destroyed my life––my all! Go, and
bring the police. Go to those whose duty it is to
listen to such stories as yours. Now I will drive you
to it; you shall go, whether you like it or not. Refuse,
and I will lay the information and force you to
become a witness. You thought you were dealing
with a soft, silly woman; you thought to cajole
the price out of me, and then, having obtained what
you desired, to leave me to do the work. Fool!
You will face George Iredale, the accuser and the
accused. You shall earn your money. I know the
ways of such men as you. Do you know what you
are doing? Do you know the name that such work
as yours goes by? It is blackmail!”</p>
<p>The girl paused for breath. Then she went on
with a bitterness that was almost worse than the
contempt in all she had said before.</p>
<p>“But rest content. Every penny you have asked
for shall be yours when Iredale’s crimes are expiated.
Nor shall I give to the world the story of my brother’s
perfidy until such time as you have gone out of our
world for ever. Go, go from me now; I will not walk
beside you.”</p>
<p>Hervey’s face was a study in villainous expression
as he listened to his sister’s hysterical denunciation.
He knew the reason of her tirade. He knew that she
loved Iredale. He had convinced her of this lover’s
crimes; he knew this. And now, woman-like, she
turned upon him––for his hand, his words had
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_266' name='page_266'></SPAN>266</span>
destroyed her happiness. But her words smote hard.
The lowest natures care not what others think of
them, but those others’ spoken thoughts have a
different effect. So it was with Hervey. It mattered
nothing to him what the girl thought of him––what
the world thought of him. But words––abuse––had
still power to move him.</p>
<p>She struck the right note when she said the money
down was what he wanted. Now he saw that he had
over-reached himself, and he cursed himself for having
trusted to a woman’s promise. There was but one
thing left for him to do. He controlled himself well
when he replied.</p>
<p>“Very well, sister,” he said. “In spite of what you
say, you are going back on your word. You should
have thought to fling dirt before you entered into a
compact with me. However, I care nothing for all
your threats. As you have said, I want money.
Nothing else matters to me. So I will go to Winnipeg
and see this thing through.”</p>
<p>“You certainly will have to do so. Andy shall
drive you into town to-night, and I could find it in
my heart to wish that I might never see your face
again.”</p>
<p>“Very well.” Hervey laughed harshly. “As you
wish. I accept your commands. See you as readily
fulfil your part of the contract when the time comes.
You do not hoodwink me again with impunity.”</p>
<p>And so brother and sister parted. The girl walked
on to the house, her feet dragging wearily over the
dusty trail. Hervey paused irresolutely. His burning
eyes, filled with a look of bitter hatred, gazed after
the slight figure of his sister, whose life he had so
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_267' name='page_267'></SPAN>267</span>
wantonly helped to wreck. Then he laughed cruelly
and turned abruptly back on his tracks and returned
once more to the harvesters.</p>
<p>Prudence gained the house and went straight to
her room. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to
straighten out the chaos of her thoughts. She heard
the cheery voices of her mother and Alice talking in
the kitchen. She heard the clatter of plates and
dishes, and she knew that these two were washing up.
But beyond that she noticed nothing; she did not
even see the plump figure of Sarah Gurridge approaching
the house from the direction of Leonville.</p>
<p>Once in her own little room she flung herself into
an arm-chair and sat staring straight in front of her.
Her paramount feeling was one of awful horror. The
mystery was solved, and George Iredale was the
murderer. The metal alarm clock ticked away upon
the wooden top of her bureau, and the sound pervaded
the room with its steady throb. Her feelings,
her thoughts, seemed to pulsate in concert with its
rhythm. The words which expressed her dominant
emotions hammered themselves into her brain with
the steady precision of the ticking––</p>
<p>“George Iredale, the murderer of Leslie Grey!”</p>
<p>The moments passed, but time brought the girl
no relief. All thought of the man who had told her
of this thing had passed from her. Only the fact
remained. Slowly, as she sat with nerves tingling
and whirling brain, a flush of blood mounted to her
head, her brain became hot, and she seemed to be
looking out on a red world. The ticking of the clock
grew fainter and more distant. The room seemed to
diminish in size, while the objects about her drew
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_268' name='page_268'></SPAN>268</span>
nearer and nearer. A sense of compression was
hers, although she seemed to be gazing out over
some great distance with everything around her in
due perspective.</p>
<p>Mechanically she rose and opened the window;
then she returned to her chair with something of the
action of an automaton.</p>
<p>And as she sat the blood seemed to recede from
her brain and an icy dew broke out upon her forehead.
She was numbed with a sort of paralysis now,
and the measured beat of the clock no longer pounded
out the words of her thought. Only her heart beat
painfully, and she was conscious of a horrible void.
Something was wrong with her, but she was incapable
of realizing what it was.</p>
<p>She moved, the chair creaked under her, and again
thought flowed through her brain. It came with a
rush; the deadly numbness had gone as quickly as
it had come, and once more her faculties worked
feverishly. Now she realized pain, horror, despair,
hopelessness in a sudden, overwhelming flood. She
shrank back deeper into the chair as though to avoid
physical blows which were being rained upon her by
some unseen hand.</p>
<p>Presently she started up with a faint cry. She
walked across the room and back again. She paused
at the bureau, muttering––</p>
<p>“It can’t be! It can’t be!” she said to herself, in
an agony of terror. “George is too good, too honest.
Ah!”</p>
<p>Her love cried out for the man, but reason checked
her while her heart tried to rush her into extravagant
hopefulness. Iredale had admitted the smuggling.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_269' name='page_269'></SPAN>269</span>
She had seen with her own eyes the doings at the
graveyard. And therein lay the key to everything.
Leslie had said so with his dying breath. But as this
thought came to her it was chased away by her love
in a fresh burst of fervour. She could not believe it.
There must be some awful, some horrible mistake.</p>
<p>Slowly her mind steadied itself; the long years of
calmness which she had spent amidst the profound
peace of the prairie helped her. She gripped herself
lest the dreadful thought of what she had heard
should drive her to madness. She went over what
she had been told with a keen examination. She
listened to her own arguments for and against the
man she loved. She went back to the time when
Leslie had told her of his “coup.” She remembered
everything so well. She paused as she recollected
her dead lover’s anger at George’s coming to the
party. And, for a moment, her heart almost stood
still. She asked herself, had she misinterpreted his
meaning? Had there been something underlying
his expressed displeasure at George’s coming which
related to what he knew of his, George Iredale’s,
doings at the ranch? Every word he had said came
back to her. She remembered that he had finished
up his protest with a broken sentence.</p>
<p>“––And besides–––”</p>
<p>There was a significance in those words now which
she could not help dwelling upon. Then she put the
thought from her as her faith in her lover re-asserted
itself. But the effort was a feeble one; her love was
being overwhelmed by the damning evidence.</p>
<p>She moved restlessly from the bureau to the
window. The curtained aperture looked out upon
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_270' name='page_270'></SPAN>270</span>
the far-reaching cornfields, which were now only a
mass of brown stubble. In the distance, beyond the
dyke, she could see the white steam of the traction-engine
and the figures of many men working. The
carts and racks were moving in the picture, but for
all else the view was one of peaceful, unbroken
calm.</p>
<p>Her mind passed on to the time when the party
had broken up. She remembered how in searching
for Iredale she had found the two men quarrelling, or
something in that nature. Again Leslie had been on
the verge of telling her something, but the moment
had gone by and he had kept silence. She tried to
deny the significance of these things, but reason
checked her, and her heart sank to zero. And she
no longer tried to defend her lover.</p>
<p>Then came the recollection of that picnic. The
screech-owls; the boats laden with their human freight
moving suspiciously over the waters of the great lake.
She thought of the graveyard and the ghostly procession.
And all the time her look was hardening
and the protests of her heart slowly died out. If she
had doubted Hervey’s words, all these things of which
she now thought were facts evident to her own senses.
The hard light in her eyes changed to the bright
flash of anger. This man had come to her with his
love, she reminded herself, and she had yielded to
him all that she had power to bestow. The brown
eyes grew darker until their glowing depths partially
resembled those of her brother.</p>
<p>As the anger in her heart rose her pain increased,
and she recoiled in horror at the thought that this
man had dared to offer her his love while his hands
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_271' name='page_271'></SPAN>271</span>
were stained with black crime. At best he was a
law-breaker; at the worst he was–––</p>
<p>She paced her room with agitated steps. The
blood rose to her head again, and she felt dizzy and
dazed. What could she do? What must she do?
She longed for some one to whom she could tell all
that was in her heart, but she could not speak of it––she
dared not. She felt that she must be going mad.
Through all her agony of mind she knew that she
loved this man who was––a murderer.</p>
<p>She told herself that she hated him, and she knew
that she lied to deceive herself. No, no, he was not
guilty. He had not been proved guilty, and no man
is guilty until he is proved so. Thoughts crowded
thick and fast on her sorely-taxed brain, and again
and again her hands went up to her head with the
action of one who is mentally distracted. But in
spite of the conflict that raged within her the angry
light in her eyes grew, and a look which was out of
all keeping with the sweet face was slowly settling
itself upon her features. Again she cried in her heart,
“What shall I do?”</p>
<p>Suddenly a light broke through her darkness and
revealed to her a definite course. This man must
not be judged, at least by her, without a hearing.
Why should she not go to him? Why not challenge
him with the story? If he were the murderer, perhaps
he would strike her to the earth, and add her to
the list of his victims. She laughed bitterly. It
would be good to die by his hand, she thought.
Under any circumstances life was not worth living.
The thought fascinated her. Yes, she would do it.
Then her spirit of justice rose and rebelled. No.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_272' name='page_272'></SPAN>272</span>
He would then go unpunished. Leslie’s death would
remain unavenged. The murderer would have
triumphed.</p>
<p>She thought long; she moved wildly about the
room. And as the hours passed a demon seemed to
come to her and take hold of her. It was the demon
which looked out of her brother’s eyes, and which
now looked out of hers. He whispered to her, and her
willing ears listened to all he said. Her heart, torn by
conflicting passions, drank in the cruel promptings.</p>
<p>“Why not kill him? Why not kill him?” suggested
the demon. “If he is guilty, kill him, and your life
will not have been lived in vain. If he be a murderer
it were but justice. You will have fulfilled your
promise of vengeance. After that you could turn
your hand against yourself.”</p>
<p>And her heart echoed the question, “Why not?”</p>
<p>For nearly an hour she continued to pace her room.
Yes, yes! Hers was the right, she told herself. If
he were the murderer she did not care to live. They
should die together; they should journey beyond
together. She thought over all the details, and all
the time the demon looked out of her eyes and
jogged her with fresh arguments when her heart failed.
She knew where her brother kept his pistols. She
would wait until he had set out for Winnipeg. Then,
on the morrow, she would ride over to Lonely Ranch.</p>
<p>She nursed her anger; she encouraged it at every
turn. And she longed for the morrow. But outwardly
she grew calm. Only her eyes betrayed her.
And they were not the eyes of perfect sanity. They
glowed with a lurid fire, the fire which shone in the
fierce, dark eyes of her brother.</p>
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