MACDOUGAL IS GIVEN A LIFE SENTENCE FOR THE MURDER OF THE DAUGHTER OF LORD ASHLEIGH.
Chapter III
THE HIDDEN HANDS
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1.
Sanford Quest and Lenora stood side by side upon the steps of the Courthouse, waiting for the automobile which had become momentarily entangled in a string of vehicles. A little crowd of people were elbowing their way out on to the sidewalk. The faces of most of them were still shadowed by the three hours of tense drama from which they had just emerged. Quest, who had lit a cigar, watched them curiously.
“No need to go into Court,” he remarked. “I could have told you, from the look of these people, that Macdougal had escaped the death sentence. They have paid their money—or rather their time, and they have been cheated of the one supreme thrill.”
“Imprisonment for life seems terrible enough,” Lenora whispered, shuddering.
“Can’t see the sense of keeping such a man alive myself,” Quest declared, with purposeful brutality. “It was a cruel murder, fiendishly committed.”
Lenora shivered. Quest laid his fingers for a moment upon her wrist. His voice, though still firm, became almost kind.
“Never be afraid, Lenora,” he said, “to admit the truth. Come, we have finished with Macdougal now. Imprisonment for life will keep him from crossing your path again.”
Lenora sighed. She was almost ashamed of her feeling of immense relief.
“I am very sorry for him,” she murmured. “I wish there were something one could do.”
“There is nothing,” Quest replied shortly, “and if there were, you would not be allowed to undertake it. You didn’t happen to notice the way he looked at you once or twice, did you?”
Once more the terror shone out of Lenora’s eyes.
“You are right,” she faltered. “I had forgotten.”
They were on the point of crossing the pavement towards the automobile when Quest felt a touch upon his shoulder. He turned and found Lord Ashleigh standing by his side. Quest glanced towards Lenora.
“Run and get in the car,” he whispered. “I will be there in a moment.”
She dropped her veil and hastened across the pavement. The Englishman’s face grew sterner as he watched her.
“Macdougal’s accomplice,” he muttered. “We used to trust that girl, too.”
“She had nothing whatever to do with the actual crime, believe me,” Quest assured him. “Besides, you must remember that it was really through her that the man was brought to justice.”
“I harbour no ill-feelings towards the girl,” Lord Ashleigh replied. “Nevertheless, the sight of her for a moment was disconcerting. … I would not have stopped you just now, Mr. Quest, but my brother is very anxious to renew his acquaintance with you. I think you met years ago.”
Sanford Quest held out his hand to the man who had been standing a little in the background. Lord Ashleigh turned towards him.
“This is Mr. Quest, Edgar. You may remember my brother—Professor Ashleigh—as a man of science, Quest? He has just returned from South America.”
The two shook hands, curiously diverse in type, in expression, in all the appurtenances of manhood. Quest was dark, with no sign of greyness in his closely-trimmed black hair. His face was an epitome of forcefulness, his lips hard, his eyes brilliant. He was dressed with the utmost care. His manner was self-possessed almost to a fault. The Professor, on the other hand, though his shoulders were broad, lost much of his height and presence through a very pronounced stoop. His face was pale, his mouth sensitive, his smile almost womanly in its sweetness. His clothes, and a general air of abstraction, seemed rather to indicate the clerical profession. His forehead, however, disclosed as he lifted his hat, was the forehead of a scholar.
“I am very proud to make your acquaintance again, Professor,” Quest said. “Glad to know, too, that you hadn’t quite forgotten me.”
“My dear sir,” the Professor declared, as he released the other’s hand with seeming reluctance, “I have thought about you many times. Your doings have always been of interest to me. Though I have been lost to the world of civilisation for so long, I have correspondents here in New York to keep me in touch with all that is interesting. You have made a great name for yourself, Mr. Quest. You are one of those who have made science your handmaiden in a wonderful profession.”
“You are very kind, Professor,” Quest observed, flicking the ash from his cigar.
“Not at all,” the other insisted. “Not at all. I have the greatest admiration for your methods.”
“I am sorry,” Quest remarked, “that our first meeting here should be under such distressing circumstances.”
The Professor nodded gravely. He glanced towards his brother, who was talking to an acquaintance a few feet away.
“It has been a most melancholy occasion,” he admitted, his voice shaking with emotion. “Still, I felt it my duty to support my brother through the trial. Apart from that, you know, Mr. Quest, a scene such as we have just witnessed has a peculiar—I might almost say fascination for me,” the Professor continued, with a little glint in his eyes. “You, as a man of science, can realise, I am sure, that the criminal side of human nature is always of interest to an anthropologist.”
“That must be so, of course,” Quest agreed, glancing towards the automobile in which Lenora was seated. “If you’ll excuse me, Professor, I think I must be getting along. We shall meet again, I trust.”
“One moment,” the Professor begged eagerly. “Tell me, Mr. Quest—I want your honest opinion. What do you think of my ape?”
“Of your what?” Quest enquired dubiously.
“Of my anthropoid ape which I have just sent to the museum. You know my claim? But perhaps you would prefer to postpone your final decision until after you have examined the skeleton itself.”
A light broke in upon the criminologist.
“Of course!” he exclaimed. “For the moment, Professor, I couldn’t follow you. You are talking about the skeleton of the ape which you brought home from South America, and which you have presented to the museum here?”
“Naturally,”
