The Brightener. Williamson Charles Norris

was not shrill, it was not loud. What might have ended in a shriek subsided to a choked breath, a gurgle. My heart's pounding seemed louder as I listened. My ears expected a following cry, but it did not come. Two or three doors gently opened, that was all. Again dead silence fell; and I felt in it that others listened, fearing to speak lest the sound had been no more than a moan in a dream. Presently the doors closed again, each listener afraid of disturbing a neighbour. And even I, who knew the secret behind the silence, prayed that the choked scream might have come when it did as a mere coincidence. Someone might really have had nightmare!

      As time passed, I almost persuaded myself that it was so, and that, at worst, there would be no crime to mark this night with crimson on the calendar. But the next quarter hour was the deadest time I'd ever known. I felt like one entombed alive, praying to be liberated from a vault. Then, at last – when those who'd waked slept again – came a faint knock at my door.

      I flew to slip back the bolt, and pulled Roger Fane into the room. One would not have believed a face so brown could bleach so white!

      For an instant we stared into each other's eyes. When I could speak, I stammered a question – I don't know what, and I don't think he understood. But the spell broke.

      "You heard?" he faltered.

      "The cry? Yes. It was – "

      "She's dead."

      "Dead! You killed her?"

      "My God, no! But if you think that, what will —others think?"

      "If you had killed her, you couldn't be blamed," I tried to encourage him. "Only – "

      "Didn't she make some threat to you? I hoped she had. She told me – "

      "Yes, there was something – I hardly remember what. It was like drunkenness. She said – I think – that if you wouldn't take her back, you'd be arrested – as her murderer."

      "That was it – her ultimatum. She must have been mad. I offered a big allowance, if she'd go away and not make a scandal. I'd have to give up Shelagh, of course, but I wanted to save my poor little love from gossip. That devil would have no compromise. It should be all or nothing. I must swear to acknowledge her as my wife on board this yacht – to-morrow morning – before Shelagh – before you all. If I wouldn't promise that, she'd kill herself at once, in a way to throw the guilt on me. She'd do it so that I couldn't clear myself or be cleared. I wouldn't promise, of course. I hoped, anyhow, that she was bluffing. But I didn't know her! When nothing would change me, she showed a tiny phial she had in her hand, and said she'd drink the stuff in it before I could touch her. It was prussic acid, she told me – and already she'd poured enough to kill ten men into a tumbler she'd stolen from my cabin on purpose. She'd mixed the poison with brandy from the storeroom. Even if I threw the tumbler through the porthole, mine would be missing. There's one to match each room, you see. A small detail, but important.

      "'Now will you promise?' she repeated. I couldn't – for I should not have kept my word. She looked at me a second. I saw in her eyes that she was going to do the thing, and I jumped at her – but I was too late. She nearly drained the phial. And she'd hardly flung it away before she was dead – with an awful, twisted face – and that cry. If I hadn't caught her, she'd have fallen with a crash. This is the end of things for me."

      "Oh, no – don't say that!" I begged.

      "What else is there to say? There she lies, dead in my cabin. There's prussic acid on the floor – and the phial broken. The room reeks of bitter almonds. No one but you will believe I didn't kill her – perhaps not even Shelagh. Just because the woman made my past life horrible – and I had a chance of happiness – the temptation would be irresistible."

      "Let me think. Do let me think!" I persisted. "Surely there's a way out of the trap."

      "I don't see one," said Roger. "Throwing a body overboard is the obvious thing. But it would be worse than – "

      "Wait!" I cut him short. "I've thought of another thing —not obvious. But it's hard to do – and hateful. The only help I could lend you is – a hint. The rest would depend on yourself. If you were strong enough – brave enough – it might give you Shelagh."

      "I'm strong enough for anything with the remotest hope of Shelagh, and – I trust – brave enough, too. Tell me your plan."

      I had to draw a long breath before I could answer. I needed air! "You're right." I said. "To give the body to the sea would make things worse. You couldn't be sure it would not be found, and the woman traced by the police. If they discovered who she was – that she'd been your wife – you would be suspected even if nothing were proved through those who saw a veiled woman come on board."

      "That's what I meant. Yet you must see that even with your testimony, my innocence can't be proved if the story of this night has to be told."

      "I do see. You might not be proved guilty, but you'd be under a cloud. Shelagh would still want to marry you. But she's very young, and easy to break as a butterfly. The Pollens – "

      "I wouldn't accept such a sacrifice even if they'd let her make it. Yet you speak of hope! – "

      "I do – a desperate hope. Can you open that coffin you brought on board to-day, take out – whatever is in it – and – and – "

      "My God!"

      "I warned you the plan was terrible. I hardly thought you would – "

      "I would – for Shelagh. But you don't understand. That coffin will be opened by the police at St. Heliers to-morrow, and – "

      "I do understand. It's you who do not. Everyone on board knows that the coffin was floating in the sea – that we came on it by accident. You could have had nothing to do with its being where it was. If you had, you wouldn't have taken it on board! The body found in that coffin to-morrow won't be associated with you. She– must have altered horribly since old days. And she has changed her name many times. The initials on her linen won't be L.L. There'll be a nine-days' wonder over the mystery. But you won't be concerned in it. As for what's in the coffin now, that can safely be given to the sea. Whatever it may be, and whenever or wherever it's found, it won't be connected with the name of Roger Fane. If there's the name of the maker on the coffin, it must come off. Oh, don't think I do not realize the full horror of the thing. I do! But between two evils one must choose the less, if it hurts no one. It seems to me it is so with this. Why should Shelagh's life and yours be spoiled by a cruel woman – a criminal – whose last act was to try to ruin the man she'd injured, sinned against for years? As for —the other– the unknown one – if the spirit can see, surely it would be glad to help in such a cause? What you would have to do, you'd do reverently. There must be tarpaulin on board, or canvas coverings that wouldn't be looked for, or missed. There must be a screw-driver – and things like that. The great danger is, if the coffin's in plain sight anywhere, and a man on watch – "

      "There's no danger of that kind. The coffin is in the bathroom adjoining my cabin."

      "Then – doesn't it seem that Fate bade you put it there?"

      For a moment Roger covered his face with his hands. I saw him shudder. But he flung back his head and looked me in the eyes. "I'll go on obeying Fate's orders," he said.

      Without another word between us, he left me. The door shut, and I sat staring at it, as if I could see beyond.

      I had spoken only the truth. There was no sin against living or dead in what I had urged Roger to do. Yet the bare thought of it was so grim that I felt like an up-to-date Lady Macbeth.

      I had forgotten to beg that he would come back and tell of his success or – failure. But I was sure he would come, sooner or later, whatever happened, and I sat quite still – waiting. I kept my eyes on the door, to see the handle turn, or gazed at my little travelling clock to watch the dragging moments. I longed for news. Yet I was glad when time went on without a sign. The quick coming back of Roger would have meant that he had failed – that all hope was ended.

      Twenty minutes; thirty; forty; fifty, passed, seeming endless. But when with the sixtieth minute came the faint tap I awaited, down sank my heart. Roger could not