If the Shoe Fits—/Chapter 2
II
THE papers were filled with it the next morning. An enterprising young reporter had gotten wind of it before the doors of the cell had clicked behind the man arrested as Jasper Ruud, and he had fought hard for an exclusive morning story, the biggest “scoop” of the season. But before he had pried out details from between the stubborn jaws of the police captain half a dozen other servants of the great dailies had wired frantically to their various sheets to hold space for them. And when New York sat down to its breakfast it was with a damp paper spread out over bacon and eggs and coffee which were rapidly growing cold.
It was all there. Jasper Ruud, who had struck Lon Kelton, the gambler, with a billiard cue, crushing his skull and killing him almost instantly, had been arrested. His automobile, in which it was known that he had escaped from the city, had been found on the outskirts of Tarrytown, a useless thing with an exploded tire and a jammed axle. He, himself, seeing the impossibility of further attempt at escape, had dressed himself in old, tattered clothing, had smeared dirt and grime upon his face and hands, and had gone boldly to the police station, telling a story of Jasper Ruud beaten and robbed down in the freight yards. He had had upon him over a thousand dollars, and about another thousand in checks. He had claimed that his name was John Rand, and that Ruud had given him these things.
One paper, friendly to the great capitalist, was strong in its assertion that Jasper Ruud had lost his reason, that the thing which he had done before half a score of witnesses had driven him mad. All of the others saw in the whole thing but an extremely clever attempt of pretending to be insane, and contended that it was a thing to be looked for from the cleverest financier on the street. Naturally, no single paper, no single individual, for a moment placed the slightest credence in the statement which had been made to the police.
For when the real Jasper Ruud, fleeing terror-stricken from justice and from the memory of the thing that he had done; had looked into the face of the man who had lighted a match for his cigarette, it was as though he had looked into a mirror. He had seen himself, disguised as a tramp, to be sure, but himself as clearly as though he were standing in his own room looking upon his own reflection. Feature for feature it was himself that he had looked at. Impossible? He had told himself that it was, that he was surely going mad to imagine such an absurdity. And yet he had known that he was not mad, that he was seeing with eyes which must make no mistake, that from among the millions of men upon the earth there had come to him the one who was as much like him physically as one pea is like another. And he had seen his chance, and had taken it.
The man who said that his name was John Rand was rushed to New York in a big police car, handcuffed, with a heavy policeman upon each side. He had a temper, had John Rand, and it flared out often and bitterly. He cursed them roundly and unsparingly for a pack of fools, dolts, ninnies, blockheads, everything he could put his tongue to. He insisted that at least they look in the freight yards for the man whom he swore he had left there, and he flew into a towering rage when they shrugged their shoulders and laughed at him. And finally he grew silent, seeing that his angry explosions were taken in mere good nature and with a certain admiration of the way he was “playing his rôle.”
“When we get to the city,” he had ended significantly, “there will be men called in who know Jasper Ruud. And then, my dear brass-buttoned little heroes, you are going to know what it feels like to have all New York laughing at its country police!”
Captain Hudson, the chief of the local police, who could not deny himself the pleasure of escorting his prisoner in person, smiled and nodded approvingly. He knew that his capture was going to be the sensation of the day, that the newspapers from coast to coast and upon the other side of the Atlantic would grow garrulous with word of the taking of the multi-millionaire, and that his own name would appear in printed letters more times within the next forty-eight hours than it had ever done before. It is not every day that a man who is a power in Wall Street. flees so wildly from an angry justice, not every day that it falls to the lot of a rural officer to control for a little the destiny of a man who daily controlled tens of thousands of his fellow beings.
He had telephoned the news immediately to Mr. McAdams, the district attorney, and had had his first thrill from the tone of suppressed surprise of that gentleman, who was very much used to surprises. And while the automobile swept on, with John Rand at last silent and for the present resigned, Captain Hudson dreamed dreams of swift promotion.
They turned into upper Broadway at One Hundred and Twenty-eighth Street while the clocks were booming the first hour after midnight.
“It's an unpleasant duty, Mr. Ruud,” Hudson was saying, well-disposed towards the whole world, with all men and women in it, “but we are going to make it as easy for you as we can. We are going to take you straight to McAdams.”
“The district attorney?”
“Yes. You will spend the night at his home. You see, Mr. Ruud, we all realize that the whole thing is unfortunate, and that—oh, well, we don't look on you as a common criminal.”
“Thanks,” drily. “May I ask why the distinction?”
“Why, you certainly see it yourself. A man of your position...”
“That's so. I'd forgotten. Jasper Ruud has money, a lot of money, hasn't he? And influence, political influence?”
“When you begin to remember again,” chuckled Hudson, “that ought to be clear to you. Since there's not a boy on the street who doesn't know that you put McAdams in office!”
“Humph!” was Rand's sole answer. And nothing further was said until the car drew up before a two-storied, square, rich-looking residence set back a little from the street in its conventionally pretty grounds. Hudson sprang down lightly, his two policemen with him, and the three with John Rand in their midst hastened along the shrub-bordered walk to the wide front doors. Before Hudson's outstretched hand had found the bell the door was flung open and in the bright light rushing out stood a man in slippers and dressing-gown. His face looked worried and there was a certain air of nervousness in his manner.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Ruud, sorry,” he said quickly. “Come in.” He put out his hand and noticed the handcuffs. “Hudson,” he cried sharply, swinging about suddenly. “What the devil does this mean? Didn't Mr. Ruud give himself up? Take those confounded things off! But come in first, come in, all of you.”
They went into a wide hallway and McAdams slammed the door shut and locked it. And then in the splendidly appointed library, with shades low drawn, he turned again to Hudson.
“Who have you got with you? Jennings and Condon? Now, boys, you two can go into the room across the hall there. You'll find cigars and a little lunch. We'll let you know when we want you. Hudson, for God's sake, take those cursed things off!”
Hudson jerked out his key and unlocked the handcuffs. Rand opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by McAdams.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Ruud,” he said again. “But you're going to be comfortable for the night. Sit down. Here's your favorite chair.” He dragged the biggest, softest leather chair up to the table. “What a night you've had!” He drew decanter and glasses to the edge of the table and threw back the lid of a box of cigars. “Help yourself to some Scotch and a cigar and then we'll talk.”
For the first time since he had met the stranger in the freight yards the humor of the whole thing struck John Rand and he laughed.
“Do you know,” he said, as he poured his whiskey, “it's rather fun to be arrested, when everyone is so courteous about it! I had never imagined it would be like this to be arrested for murder. Your very good health, Mr. McAdams.”
The three men sat down and for a little there was silence while they lighted their cigars. And then McAdams, leaning forward, said quietly:
“It's too bad, the whole thing's too bad. You shouldn't have made a bolt that way. But now ... well, we'll see what's to be done.” He drummed, frowning, upon the table with his finger nails. And then, jerking his head up suddenly, “What's this that Hudson was trying to tell me over the telephone, about your being beaten and robbed by thugs?”
Rand smiled. He began to be a little sorry for the police captain. The fellows were so cocksure, and now when he had told his story to the district attorney—
“The whole thing is a wretched mistake, Mr. McAdams,” he said quietly. “I,” with a grin, “feel like a thief, accepting your hospitality under false pretences! You see, I had just swung down from an east-bound freight car. I ran across a man in the yards who showed me a crushed hand, and who told me that he had been beaten and robbed, and who said further that his name was Jasper Ruud. It was the first time that I had ever seen the gentleman, and in the poor light of the yards I scarcely saw him then. It happens that I am not Jasper Ruud at all, but a mere ordinary man and my name is John Rand.”
Captain Hudson's keen eyes twinkled through his cigar smoke. Rand's air was quietly matter-of-fact, as he was certain now of being believed. McAdams's look of worry deepened.
The district attorney got to his feet and walked up and down the room, frowning. Suddenly he whirled upon Hudson.
“Would you mind, my dear Captain,” he barked out, “going in and showing your men how to open bottles properly? I want to talk with Mr. Ruud. Oh, I'll be responsible to you for his safety.”
If the dreams which Captain Hudson had dreamed of promotion and a desirable berth in the city were to come true it was well to do a favor for the city's prosecuting attorney. With no slightest hesitation he went out, closing the door behind him. McAdams came quickly to where Rand sat.
“Look here, Jasper,” he said gently, but none the less emphatically. “Here's the very devil of a mess you've got yourself into with that fly-away temper of yours. And then running away on the top of it!” He groaned. “And getting hauled back this way. I've got to prosecute you or quit. And if I quit the next fellow will make it all the harder for you. I can keep you from going to the chair—I'll do it if they run me out of town for it!—but, man, it looks like a long term in spite of everything we can do.”
“You don't understand,” expostulated Rand warmly. “I tell you I am not Ruud at all. Why won't you believe me? Send out for somebody who knows the man, and they'll tell you—”
“That's all right to talk that kind of stuff before those fellows,” cut in McAdams sharply. “But drop it with me. You're not trying to play insane, are you?”
“Damn it!” Rand, too, was on his feet, his anger flaring out again. “I tell you that I'm not the man you want. Why don't you get someone to come who knows me?”
“Don't I know you as well as any man in the world, Jasper?”
Rand blinked at him, speechless for a second.
“You know me? You've seen Ruud and—”
McAdams laughed shortly. “Since we belong to the same club, since we went to college together, since you are the best friend I've got or ever had or ever expect to have, I guess I do know you!”
Rand sank back into his chair weakly. “You'll begin to make me think that I don't know who I am,” he muttered. And then, upon his feet again, “Look at me, McAdams. Look closely. Maybe I look a lot like Jasper Ruud, but I can't be exactly like him. My nose, isn't it different? Or my eyes? Or my hair? Or something?”
McAdams stared at him, wonderingly, shaking his head.
“I tell you. it's all right before the others. Do what you please. But to me, Jasper—don't you trust me?”
“I tell you,” sternly, “that I am no more Jasper Ruud than you are. I'm John Rand, and I'm just in from South America. There is some likeness, I suppose. But you'll make a fool of yourself if you think of trying me in court as Jasper Ruud. There'll be dozens of men—”
“Have you seen your lawyers? Is it some scheme of theirs? Oh, well,” his voice showing a little hurt, “it's up to you. Only let me tell you something. New York is tired of having men play insane and get away with it, dead tired. It's a rich man's dodge ... and juries are as a general thing only too happy when they get the chance to hand it to their rich brother. Why,” his voice dropping very low again, “don't you make it self-defence? You've got a chance there.”
Rand had felt anger at the mistake and had felt amusement at it. Now he began to feel the first vague stirrings of alarm.
“The whole thing is incredible, Mr. McAdams,” he said finally. “That one man should look so much like another that a man who claims to be the best friend of one of them fails to see the difference. But there are these likenesses now and then in a thousand years, I suppose. And there must be someone—Has Jasper Ruud any very near relatives? People who see him daily?”
“Still stick to it, do you?” demanded McAdams stiffly. “Very well. Yes,” with mild sarcasm, “there is Mr. Jasper Ruud's sister, Audrey. She lives with him, and—”
“Telephone for her. There is the car outside. Send for her. She will tell you that you need to go to an eye specialist.”
“It is after one o'clock—”
“An impolite hour to disturb a lady's slumbers. But I'm getting tired of this. Will you send for her?”
McAdams strode across the room, jerked a telephone from its stand, and without turning to the directory called for a number.
“Miss Audrey,” when at last he had gotten her, “I am sorry to have to disturb you at this time of night. This is Mr. McAdams. Your brother is here and—Yes, he wishes it. I'll send a car for you. It will be there in ten minutes. Thank you. Oh, he's all right. And will you bring a suit of his clothes, shoes, hat, everything? Mine won't fit him. Good-bye.”
The clothes came, brought by a hurrying servant, before the sister of Jasper Ruud had had time to dress and follow. Rand, with a glance at himself in a mirror in McAdams' bedroom where the district attorney had gone with him, assured himself that at least he was entitled to something from Jasper Ruud for the night's adventure, and having washed the grime from his face and hands, began to dress. Meanwhile McAdams walked up and down, puffing furiously at his cigar, breaking out now and then into sharp protests at the ridiculous attempt of a man so well known as Jasper Ruud to even pretend to be somebody else.
The suit was the suit of a wealthy man, rather fond of dress. It was a luxury to put such garments on. Rand attired himself with a certain pleasure at being dressed like a gentleman again, fastened his tie with care, admired the fit of vest and coat and trousers ... and then remembered his worn-out shoes. He sat down, kicked off his old ones, and began to draw on the new patent-leathers.
“Say, McAdams,” he called, a suggestion of a laugh in his voice. “I want you to tell me something. You say you know Ruud well. Is he particular about his dress, or careless?”
“Particular?” McAdams grunted. “I'd say, my dear Jasper, that for a business man you are about the nearest thing to a dude I ever saw.”
“And,” went on Rand, gleefully, a shoe dangling from his hand, “you'd say that he wears clothes—and shoes—that fit him?”
“What do you mean?”
“Explain this!” Rand drew on one shoe, laced it, and stuck his foot out, shaking it back and forth. The shoe flapped upon his foot as though he had balanced it upon his toe, and dropped off. It was clearly a size too big.
“What's happened to my feet?” he chuckled, into McAdams's puzzled face. “If I'm Ruud, why don't my shoes fit me?”
The prominence that had come to McAdams in the legal world had come because he had made himself a great lawyer. And the quick light in his eyes now, as he went down on both knees in front of Rand, seizing the foot with the shoe which did not fit, showed that his lawyer's soul had seen a bit of evidence. He got to his feet again in a moment, his brows dragged down in a puzzled frown, his lips pursed.
“A man's feet don't shrink overnight so that his shoes fall off,” he said thoughtfully. “And Jasper Ruud's shoes fitted him yesterday, because I saw him walk into the club with them on!” He shook his head. “Jasper, will you give me your word of honor that you haven't seen your lawyers?”
“I give you my word of honor,” chuckled Rand, “that I haven't seen anybody's lawyers!”
“Then this is your own idea.” Again he pursed his lips, again he shook his head. “I never heard of such a thing. Do you hope to prove that you are not yourself just because your shoes don't fit you?”
“How does it happen, though?” challenged Rand. “You say that Ruud always wears his clothes like a dude—is it natural that he should have shoes a mile too big?”
“That particular pair doesn't fit,” retorted McAdams significantly. “But the others—”
“Bring 'em all on! Get every shoe in the house. And when you see that they are all too large, what then?” triumphantly.
“Then,” snapped McAdams tersely, “it will be up to me to find where you hid the old ones, and who got the new ones for you!”
The bell at the front door jangled. Rand put on the ill-fitting shoes and followed McAdams into the library. And in a moment Audrey Ruud came in.
John Rand started. And for a fresh, vital reason he thanked his stars again that he was not Jasper Ruud. For then he would have been this girl's brother.
No, she was not the kind of a girl a man would want to have for a sister. A slip of a girl who had not yet scampered through her teens, all pink and white freshness; all delicate, dainty girlishness, bringing with her a feeling that it was May-time in the world. John Rand, pausing suddenly, saw the vision of her in gay-colored cloak and scarf which hid the hastiness of her dressing and the confusion of her quick!y piled hair. And then he saw the flash of her white arms, and felt them warm and soft about his neck.
“Dear old Coots!” she cried softly, laying her cheek against his, her hand in his hair. “Poor, dear old Coots! And now—”
“Look here!” John Rand, after a moment in which he forgot himself, forgot all things, drew her arms away and held her back from him. “You're making a mistake. I'm—”
McAdams laughed.
“Do you mind saying, Miss Audrey,” he asked, still laughing, “who this gentleman is?”
“Why, it's Jasper, of course!” She turned wide, wondering eyes upon the two men. “Just old Cootsie!”
“Look at me,” commanded Rand, growing angry again.. “I'm not Jasper Ruud at all. I'm John Rand. Can't you see?”
She drew her hands away from him and looked at him steadily. And then she looked at McAdams, and again at Rand, frowning a little.
“What is it?” she asked, turning to Rand finally. “Why do you say that?”
“But it's the truth,” he blurted “I may look like your brother but—”
“You see,” interrupted McAdams, “Jasper has decided to try.to prove that he isn't himself, that he is somebody else! And in court—”
The girl laughed, the flash of her dimples temptingly near John Rand.
“It isn't going to court!” she cried gaily, taking in her two hands the lapels of Rand's coat—Ruud's coat—and turning Rand about, making him face her: “The doctors just telephoned to me, just before I left the house. That great specialist performed an operation and Lon Kelton didn't die at all! And he isn't going to die! So, you poor dear old Coots, you don't have to pretend to be somebody else any more! Lon Kelton will take ten thousand dollars and forget the whole thing. And all you have to do,” slipping her arm into his, with a quick little squeeze, “is just come right home with me!”