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CHAPTER XXXII. The Stock-Market is Safe
There was a great stir at the police station, but Olive and her uncle
saw little of it. They were quickly taken to private rooms, where the
captain was attended by a police surgeon. He had been bruised and badly
treated, but his injuries were not serious.
Olive was put in charge of a matron, who wondered greatly what brought
her there. Very soon they were examined separately, and the tale of each
of them was almost identical with that of the other; only Olive was able
to tell more about the two gentlemen in the barouche, for she had been
at her uncle's side, and there was nothing to obstruct her vision.
When the examination was ended the police captain enjoined each of them
to say no word to any living soul about what they had testified to him.
This was a most important matter, and it was necessary that it be hedged
around with the greatest secrecy.
When Olive retired to her plain but comfortable cot she was tired and
weak from the reaction of her restrained emotions, but she did not
immediately go to sleep for thinking that she had killed a man. And yet
for this killing there was not in this girl's mind one atom of regret.
She was so grateful that she had been there, and had been enabled to do
it. She had seen her uncle almost at his last gasp, and she had saved
him from making that last gasp. Moreover, she had saved the life of the
man who had saved the most important life in the land. She knew the face
of the gentleman in the barouche who sat on the side nearest her; she
knew what her uncle had done, and she was proud of him; she knew what
she had done for him; and she regarded the black-haired man with the
hairy hands no more than she would have regarded a wild beast who had
suddenly sprung upon them. She thought of him, of course, with horror,
but her feelings of thankfulness for her uncle's safety were far too
strong. At last her grateful heart closed her eyes, and let her rest.
There were no letters found on the body of the black-haired man which
gave any clue to his name; but there were papers which showed that he
was from southern France; that he was an anarchist; that he was in this
country upon a mission; and that he had been for two weeks in
Washington, waiting for an opportunity to fulfil that mission. Which
opportunity had at last shown itself in front of him just as Captain
John Asher rushed up behind him.
This information was so important that extraordinary methods were
pursued. Communications were immediately made with the State Department,
and with the higher police authorities; and it was quickly determined
that, whatever else might be done, the strictest secrecy must be
enforced. The coroner's jury was carefully selected and earnestly
admonished; and, early the next morning, when the captain and Olive were
required to testify before it, they were made to understand how
absolutely necessary it was they should say nothing except to answer the
questions which were asked them. The coroner was eminently discreet in
regard to his questions; and the verdict was that Olive was acting in
her own defense as well as that of her uncle when she shot his
assailant.
Among the officials whose positions enabled them to know all these
astonishing occurrences it was unanimously agreed that, so far as
possible, everybody should be kept in ignorance of the crime which had
been attempted, and of the deliverance which had taken place.
Very early the next afternoon the air was filled with the cries of
newsboys, and each paper that these boys sold contained a full and
detailed account of a remarkable attempt by an unknown foreigner upon
the life of Captain John Asher, a visitor in Washington, and the heroic
conduct of his niece, Miss Olive Asher, who shot the murderous assailant
with his own pistol. There were columns and columns of this story, but
strange to say, in not one of the papers was there any allusion to the
two gentlemen in the barouche, or to the air-gun.
How this most important feature of the occurrence came to be omitted in
all the accounts of it can only be explained by those who thoroughly
understand the exigencies of the stock-market, and the probable effect
of certain classes of news upon approaching political situations, and
who have made themselves familiar with the methods by which the
pervasive power of the press is sometimes curtailed.
In the later afternoon editions there were portraits of Olive, and her
uncle. Olive was broad-shouldered, with black hair and a determined
frown, while the captain was a little man with a long beard. There were
no portraits of the anarchist. He passed away from the knowledge of man,
and no one knew even his name: his crime had blotted him out; his
ambition was blotted out; even the evil of his example was blotted out.
There was nothing left of him.
When they were released from detention the captain and Olive quickly
left the station--which they did without observation--and entered a
carriage which was waiting for them a short distance away. The fact that
another carriage with close-drawn curtains had stopped at the station
about ten minutes before, and that a thickly veiled lady (the matron)
and an elderly man with his collar turned up and his hat drawn down (one
of the police officers in plain clothes) had entered the carriage and
had been driven rapidly away had drawn off the reporters and the
curiosity mongers on the sidewalk and had contributed very much to the
undisturbed exit of Captain and Miss Asher.
These two proceeded leisurely to the railroad-station, where they took a
train which would carry them to the little town of Glenford. Their
affairs at the hotel could be arranged by telegram. There were calls at
that hotel during the rest of the day from people who knew Olive or her
uncle; calls from people who wanted to know them; calls from people who
would be contented even to look at them; calls from autograph hunters
who would be content simply to send up their cards; quiet calls from
people connected with the Government; and calls from eager persons who
could not have told anybody what they wanted. To none of these could the
head clerk give any satisfaction. He had not seen his guests since the
day before, and he knew naught about them.
When Miss Maria Port heard that that horrid girl, Olive Asher, had shot
an anarchist, she stiffened herself to her greatest length, and let her
head fall on the back of her chair. She was scarcely able to call to the
small girl who endured her service to bring her some water. "Now all is
over," she groaned, "for I can never marry a man whose niece's hands are
dripping with blood. She will live with him, of course, for he is just
the old fool to allow that, and anyway there is no other place for her
to go except the almshouse--that is, if they'll take her in." And at the
terrified girl, who tremblingly asked if she wanted any more water, she
threw her scissors.
The captain and his niece arrived early in the day at Glenford station.
The captain engaged a little one-horse vehicle which had frequently
brought people to the toll-gate, and informed the driver that there was
no baggage. The man, gazing at Olive, but scarcely daring to raise his
eyes to her face, proceeded with solemn tread toward his vehicle as if
he had been leading the line in a funeral.
As they drove through the town they were obliged to pass the house of
Miss Maria Port. The door was shut, and the shutters were closed. She
had had a terrible night, and had slept but little, but hearing the
sound of wheels upon the street, she had bounced out of bed and had
peered through the blinds. When she saw who it was she cursed them both.
"That was the only thing," she snapped, "that could have kept me from
gettin' him! So far as I know, that was the only thing!"
When old Jane received the travelers at the toll-gate she warmly
welcomed the captain, but she trembled before Olive. If the girl noticed
the demeanor of the old woman, she pretended not to do so, and, speaking
to her pleasantly, she passed within.
"Will they hang her?" she said to the captain later.
"What do you mean?" he shouted. "Have you gone crazy?"
"The people in the town said they would," replied old Jane, beginning to
cry a little.
The captain looked at her steadily. "Did any particular person in the
town say that?"
"Yes, sir," she answered; "Miss Maria Port was the first to say it, so
I've been told."
"She is the one who ought to be hanged!" said the captain, speaking very
warmly. "As for Miss Olive, she ought to have a monument set up for her.
I'd do it myself if I had the money."
Old Jane answered not, but in her heart she said: "But she killed a man!
It is truly dreadful!"
By nightfall of that day the two hotels of Glenford were crowded, the
visitors being generally connected with newspapers. On the next day
there was a great deal of travel on the turnpike, and old Jane was kept
very busy, the captain having resigned the entire business of
toll-taking to her. Everybody stopped, asked questions, and requested to
see the captain; and many drove through and came back again, hoping to
have better luck next time. But their luck was always bad; old Jane
would say nothing; and the captain and Olive were not to be seen. The
gate to the little front garden was locked, and there was no passing
through the tollhouse. To keep people from getting over the fence a
bulldog, which the captain kept at the barn, was turned loose in the
yard.
There were men with cameras who got into the field opposite the
toll-gate, and who took views from up and down the road, but their work
could not be prevented, and Olive and her uncle kept strictly indoors.
It was on the afternoon of the second day of siege that the captain,
from an upper window, discovered a camera on three legs standing outside
of his grounds at a short distance from the house. A man was taking
sight at something at the back of the house. Softly the captain slipped
down into the back yard, and looking up he saw Olive sitting at a
window, reading.
With five steps the captain went into the house and then reappeared at
the back door with a musket in his hand. The man had stepped to his pack
at a little distance to get a plate. The captain raised his musket to
his shoulder; Olive sprang to her feet at the sound of the report; old
Jane in the tollhouse screamed; and the camera flew into splinters.
After this there were no further attempts to take pictures of the
inmates of the house at the toll-gate.
After two days of siege the newspaper reporters and the photographers
left Glenford. They could not afford to waste any more time. But they
carried away with them a great many stories about the captain and his
erratic niece, mostly gleaned from a very respectable elderly lady of
the town by the name of Port.
Read next: Chapter 33. Dick Lancaster Does Not Write
Read previous: Chapter 31. As Good As A Man
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