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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/31949-8.txt b/31949-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b7ef8c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/31949-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8584 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bartlett Mystery, by Louis Tracy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Bartlett Mystery + +Author: Louis Tracy + +Release Date: April 11, 2010 [EBook #31949] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BARTLETT MYSTERY *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + THE + BARTLETT MYSTERY + + BY + + LOUIS TRACY + + Author of + + "The Wings of the Morning," "Number Seventeen," + etc., etc. + + NEW YORK + + EDWARD J. CLODE + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY + + EDWARD J. CLODE + + All rights reserved + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + +_By_ LOUIS TRACY + + + THE WINGS OF THE MORNING + THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS + THE WHEEL O' FORTUNE + A SON OF THE IMMORTALS + CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR + THE MESSAGE + THE STOWAWAY + THE PILLAR OF LIGHT + THE SILENT BARRIER + THE "MIND THE PAINT" GIRL + ONE WONDERFUL NIGHT + THE TERMS OF SURRENDER + FLOWER OF THE GORSE + THE RED YEAR + THE GREAT MOGUL + MIRABEL'S ISLAND + THE DAY OF WRATH + HIS UNKNOWN WIFE + THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER + THE REVELLERS + DIANA OF THE MOORLAND + NUMBER SEVENTEEN + THE BARTLETT MYSTERY + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. A GATHERING AT A CLUB 1 + II. A DARING CRIME 12 + III. WINIFRED BARTLETT HEARS SOMETHING 24 + IV. FURTHER SURPRISES 39 + V. PERSECUTORS 54 + VI. BROTHER RALPH 67 + VII. STILL MERE MYSTERY 81 + VIII. THE DREAM FACE 92 + IX. THE FLIGHT 102 + X. CARSHAW TAKES UP THE CHASE 115 + XI. THE TWO CARS 128 + XII. THE PURSUIT 140 + XIII. THE NEW LINK 150 + XIV. A SUBTLE ATTACK 162 + XV. THE VISITOR 173 + XVI. WINIFRED DRIFTS 181 + XVII. ALL ROADS LEAD TO EAST ORANGE 191 + XVIII. THE CRASH 201 + XIX. CLANCY EXPLAINS 214 + XX. IN THE TOILS 225 + XXI. MOTHER AND SON 235 + XXII. THE HUNT 245 + XXIII. "HE WHO FIGHTS AND RUNS + AWAY--" 257 + XXIV. IN FULL CRY 269 + XXV. FLANK ATTACKS 280 + XXVI. THE BITER BIT 293 + XXVII. THE SETTLEMENT 304 + + + + +THE BARTLETT MYSTERY + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A GATHERING AT A CLUB + + +That story of love and crime which figures in the records of the New +York Detective Bureau as "The Yacht Mystery" has little to do with +yachts and is no longer a mystery. It is concerned far more intimately +with the troubles and trials of pretty Winifred Bartlett than with +the vagaries of the restless sea; the alert, well-groomed figure of +Winifred's true lover, Rex Carshaw, fills its pages to the almost total +exclusion of the portly millionaire who owned the _Sans Souci_. Yet, +such is the singular dominance exercised by the trivial things of life +over the truly important ones, some hundreds of thousands of people in +the great city on the three rivers will recall many episodes of the nine +days' wonder known to them as "The Yacht Mystery" though they may never +have heard of either Winifred or Rex. + +It began simply, as all major events do begin, and, of course, at the +outset, neither of these two young people seemed to have the remotest +connection with it. + +On the evening of October 5, 1913--that is the date when the first entry +appears in the diary of Mr. James Steingall, chief of the Bureau--the +stream of traffic in Fifth Avenue was interrupted to an unusual degree +at a corner near Forty-second Street. The homeward-bound throng going +up-town and the equally dense crowd coming down-town to restaurants and +theater-land merely chafed at a delay which they did not understand, but +the traffic policeman knew exactly what was going on, and kept his head +and his temper. + +A few doors down the north side of the cross street a famous club +was ablaze with lights. Especially did three great windows on the +first floor send forth hospitable beams, for the spacious room within +was the scene of an amusing revel. Mr. William Pierpont Van Hofen, +ex-commodore of the New York Yacht Club, owner of the _Sans Souci_, +and multi-millionaire, had just astonished his friends by one of the +eccentric jests for which he was famous. + +The _Sans Souci_, notable the world over for its size, speed, and +fittings, was going out of commission for the winter. Van Hofen had +marked the occasion by widespread invitations to a dinner at his club, +"to be followed by a surprise party," and the nature of the "surprise" +was becoming known. Each lady had drawn by lot the name of her dinner +partner, and each couple was then presented with a sealed envelope +containing tickets for one or other of the many theaters in New York. +Thus, not only were husbands, wives, eligible bachelors, and smart +débutantes inextricably mixed up, but none knew whither the oddly +assorted pairs were bound, since the envelopes were not to be opened +until the meal reached the coffee and cigarette stage. + +There existed, too, a secret within a secret. Seven men were bidden +privately to come on board the _Sans Souci_, moored in the Hudson +off the Eighty-sixth Street landing-stage, and there enjoy a quiet +session of auction bridge. + +"We'll duck before the trouble gets fairly started," explained Van Hofen +to his cronies. "You'll see how the bunch is sorted out at dinner, but +the tangle then will be just one cent in the dollar to the pandemonium +when they find out where they're going." + +Of course, everybody was acquainted with everybody else, or the joke +might have been in bad taste. Moreover, as the gathering was confined +exclusively to the elect of New York society, the host had notified the +Detective Bureau, and requested the presence of one of their best men +outside the club shortly before eight o'clock. None realized better than +he that where the carcass is there the vultures gather, and he wanted no +untoward incident to happen during the confusion which must attend the +departure of so many richly bejeweled ladies accompanied by unexpected +cavaliers. + +Thus it befell that Detective-Inspector Clancy was detailed for the +job. Steingall and he were the "inseparables" of the Bureau, yet no two +members of a marvelously efficient service were more unlike, physically +and mentally. Steingall was big, blond, muscular, a genial giant whose +qualities rendered him almost popular among the very criminals he +hunted, whereas those same desperadoes feared the diminutive Clancy, +the little, slight, dark-haired sleuth of French-Irish descent. He, +they were aware instinctively, read their very souls before Steingall's +huge paw clutched their quaking bodies. + +Idle chance alone decided that Clancy should undertake the half-hour's +vigil at the up-town club that evening. All unknowing, he became thereby +the controlling influence in many lives. + +At eight o'clock an elderly man emerged from the building and edged +his way through the cheery, laughing people already grouped about the +doorway and awaiting automobiles. Mr. William Meiklejohn might have been +branded with the word "Senator," so typical was he of the upper house +at Washington. The very cut of his clothes, the style of his shoes, the +glossiness of his hat, even the wide expanse of pearl-studded white +linen marked him as a person of consequence. + +A uniformed policeman, striving to keep the pavement clear of loiterers, +recognized and saluted him. The salute was returned, though its +recipient's face seemed to be gloomy, preoccupied, almost disturbed. +Therefore he did not notice a gaunt, angular-jawed woman--one whose +carriage and attire suggested better days long since passed--who had +been peering eagerly at the revellers pouring out of the club, and now +stepped forward impetuously as if to intercept him. + +She failed. The policeman barred her progress quietly but effectually, +and the woman, if bent on achieving her purpose, must have either called +after the absorbed Meiklejohn or entered into a heated altercation with +the policeman when accident came to her aid. + +Mrs. Ronald Tower, strikingly handsome, richly gowned and cloaked, with +an elaborate coiffure that outvied nature's best efforts, was crossing +the pavement to enter a waiting car when she stopped and drew her hand +from her escort's arm. + +"Senator Meiklejohn!" she cried. + +The elderly man halted. He doffed his hat with a flourish. + +"Ah, Helen," he said smilingly. "Whither bound?" + +"To see Belasco's latest. Isn't that lucky? The very thing I wanted. +Poor Ronald! I don't know what has become of him, or into what net he +may have fallen." + +The Senator beamed. He knew that Ronald Tower was one of the eight +bridge-players, but was pledged to secrecy. + +"I only hailed you to jog your memory about that luncheon to-morrow," +went on Mrs. Tower. + +"How could I forget?" he retorted gallantly. "Only two hours ago I +postponed a business appointment on account of it." + +"So good of you, Senator," and Mrs. Tower's smile lent a tinge of +sarcasm to the words. "I'm awfully anxious that you should meet Mr. +Jacob. I'm deeply interested, you know." + +Meiklejohn glanced rather sharply at the lady's companion, who, however, +was merely a vacuous man about town. It struck Clancy that the Senator +resented this incautious using of names. The shabby-genteel woman, +hovering behind the policeman, was following the scene with hawklike +eyes, and Clancy kept her, too, under close observation. + +The Senator coughed, and lowered his voice. + +"I shall be most pleased to discuss matters with him," he said. "It +will be a pleasure to render him a service if you ask it." + +Mrs. Tower laughed lightly. "One o'clock," she said. "Don't be late! +Come along, Mr. Forrest. Your car is blocking the way." + +Mr. Meiklejohn flourished his hat again. He turned and found himself +face to face with the hard-featured woman who had been waiting and +watching for this very opportunity. She barred his further +progress--even caught his arm. + +Had the Senator been assaulted by the blue-coated guardian of law and +order he could not have displayed more bewilderment. + +"You, Rachel?" he gasped. + +The policeman was about to intervene, but it was the Senator, not the +shabbily dressed woman, who prevented him. + +"It's all right, officer," he stammered vexedly. "I know this lady. She +is an old friend." + +The man saluted again and drew aside. Clancy moved a trifle nearer. No +one would take notice of such an insignificant little man. Though he had +his back to this strangely assorted pair, he heard nearly every syllable +they uttered. + +"He is here," snapped the woman without other preamble. "You must see +him." + +"It is quite impossible," was the answer, and, though the words were +frigid and unyielding, Clancy felt certain that Senator Meiklejohn had +to exercise an iron self-control to keep a tremor out of his utterance. + +"You dare not refuse," persisted the woman. + +The Senator glanced around in a scared way. Clancy thought for an +instant that he meant to dart back into the security of the club. After +an irresolute pause, however, he moved somewhat apart from the crowd of +sightseers. The two stood together on the curb, and clear of the flood +of light pouring through the open doors. Clancy edged after them. He +gathered a good deal, not all, of what they said, as both voices were +harsh and tinged with excitement. + +"This very night," the woman was saying. "Bring at least five hundred +dollars--If the police.... Says he will confess everything.... Do you +get me? This thing can't wait." + +The Senator did not even try now to conceal his agitation. He looked at +the gaping mob, but it was wholly absorbed in the stream of fashionable +people pouring out of the club, while the snorting of scores of +automobiles created a din which meant comparative safety. + +"Yes, yes," he muttered. "I understand. I'll do anything in reason. I'll +give _you_ the money, and you----" + +"No. He means seeing you. You need not be afraid. He says you are going +to Mr. Van Hofen's yacht at nine o'clock----" + +"Good Lord!" broke in Meiklejohn, "how can he possibly know that?" Again +he peered at the press of onlookers. A dapper little man who stood near +was raised on tiptoe and craning his neck to catch a glimpse of a noted +beauty who had just appeared. + +"Oh, pull yourself together!" and there was a touch of scorn in the +woman's manner as she reassured this powerfully built man. "Isn't he +clever and fertile in device? Haven't the newspapers announced your +presence on the _Sans Souci_? And who will stop a steward's tongue +from wagging? At any rate, he knows. He will be on the Hudson in a small +boat, with one other man. At nine o'clock he will come close to the +landing-stage at Eighty-sixth Street. There is a lawn north of the +clubhouse, he says. Walk to the end of it and you will find him. You +can have a brief talk. Bring the money in an envelope." + +"On the lawn--at nine!" repeated the Senator in a dazed way. + +"Yes. What better place could he choose? You see, he is willing to play +fair and be discreet. But, quick! I must have your answer. Time is +passing. Do you agree?" + +"What is the alternative?" + +"Capture, and a mad rage. Then others will share in his downfall." + +"Very well. I'll be there. I'll not fail him, or you." + +"He says it's his last request. He has some scheme----" + +"Ah, his schemes! If only I could hope that this will be the end!" + +"That is his promise." + +The woman dropped the conversation abruptly. She darted through the +line of cars and made off in the direction of Sixth Avenue. Senator +Meiklejohn gazed after her dubiously, but her tall figure was soon lost +in the traffic. Then, with bent head, and evidently a prey to harassing +thoughts, he crossed Fifth Avenue. + +Clancy sauntered after him, and saw him enter a block of residential +flats in a side street. Then the detective strolled back to the club. + +Most of Van Hofen's guests had gone. The policeman grinned and muttered +in Clancy's ear: + +"The Senator's a giddy guy. Two of 'em at wanst. Mrs. Tower's a +good-looker, but I didn't think much of the other wan." + +Clancy nodded. His black and beady eyes had just clashed with those of a +notorious crook, who suddenly remembered an urgent appointment +elsewhere. + +Fifteen minutes later Senator Meiklejohn returned. He entered the club +without being waylaid a second time. Clancy consulted his watch. + +"Keep a sharp lookout here, Mac," he said, _sotto voce_. "While I was +away just now Broadway Jim showed up. He's got cold feet, and there'll +be nothing more doing to-night, I think. Anyhow, I'm going up-town." + +In Fifth Avenue he boarded a Riverside Drive bus. The weather was mild, +and he mounted to the roof. + +"Now, who in the world will Senator Meiklejohn meet on the +landing-stage?" he mused. "Seems to me the chief may be interested. Five +hundred dollars, too! I wonder!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +A DARING CRIME + + +It was no part of Detective Clancy's business to pry into the private +affairs of Senator Meiklejohn. Senators are awkward fish to handle, +being somewhat similar to whales caught in nets designed to capture +mackerel. But the Bureau is no respecter of persons. Men much higher up +in politics and finance than William Meiklejohn would be disagreeably +surprised if they could read certain details entered opposite their +names in the _dossiers_ kept by the police department. Still, it +behooved Clancy to tread warily. + +As it happened, he was just the man for this self-imposed duty. Two +Celtic strains mingled in his blood, while American birth and training +had not only quickened his intelligence but imparted a quality of +wide-eyed shrewdness to a daring initiative. When he and the bluff +Steingall worked together the malefactor on whose heels they pressed had +a woeful time. As one blood-stained rascal put it in a bitter moment +before the electric chair claimed him for the expiation of his last and +worst crime: + +"Them two guys give a reg'lar fellow no chanst. When they're trailin' +you every road leads straight to Sing Sing. The big guy has a punch like +Jess Willard, an' the lil 'un a nose like a Montana wolf." + +It was Clancy's nose for the more subtle elements in crime which brought +him to the small châlet on the private pier at the foot of Eighty-sixth +Street that night. He could not guess what game he might flush, but he +was keen as a bloodhound in the chase. + +Meanwhile, Senator Meiklejohn encountered Ronald Tower the moment he +re-entered the palatial club. By this time he seemed to have regained +his customary air of geniality, being one of those rather uncommon men +whose apparent characteristics are never so marked as when they are +acting a part. + +"H'lo, Ronnie," he cried affably, "I met Helen as she left for the +theater. She has an inquiring mind, but I headed her off. By the way, +will you be at this luncheon to-morrow?" + +"Not I," laughed Tower. "I'm barred. She says I have no head for +business, and some deep-laid plan for filling the family coffers is +in hand." + +The Senator obviously disliked these outspoken references to +money-making. He squirmed, but smiled as though Tower had made an +excellent joke. + +"Try and get the ukase lifted," he urged. "I want you to be there." + +"Nothing doing," and the other grinned. "Helen says I resemble you in +everything but brain power, Senator. I'm a good-looker as a husband, but +a poor mutt in Wall Street." + +They laughed at the conceit. The two men were curiously alike in face +and figure, though a close observer like Clancy would have classed them +as opposite as the poles in character and temperament. Meiklejohn's +features were cast in the stronger mold. They showed lines which Ronald +Tower's placid existence would never produce. The Senator was suave, +too. He seldom pressed a point to the limit. + +"Helen's good opinion is doubly flattering," he said. "She is a bright +woman, and knows how to command her friends." + +Tower glanced at a clock in the hall. + +"Time we were off," he announced. "Come with me. I'm taking Johnny Bell, +I think." + +"Sorry. I have an important letter to write. But I'll join before the +crowd cuts in." + +The Senator hurried up-stairs. He must take the journey alone, and +snatch an opportunity to attend that mysterious rendezvous while the +_Sans Souci's_ gig was ferrying some of the bridge-players to +the yacht. + +Owing to a slight misunderstanding Tower missed the other man, and +traveled alone in his car. On that trivial circumstance hinged events +which not only affected many lives but disturbed New York society more +than any other incident within a decade. + +Few among the thousands of summer promenaders who enjoy the magnificent +panorama of the North River from the wooded heights of the Drive know of +the pier at Eighty-sixth Street. For one thing, the clubhouse itself is +an unpretentious structure; for another, the narrow and winding stairway +leading down the side of the cliff gives no indication of its specific +purpose. Moreover, a light foot-bridge across the tracks is hardly +noticeable through the screen of trees and shrubs above, and the +water-front lies yet fifty yards farther on. + +At night the approach is not well lighted. In fact, no portion of the +beautiful and precipitous riparian park is more secluded than the short +stretch between the landing-stage and the busy thoroughfare on the +crest. + +That evening, as has been seen, Mr. Van Hofen was taking no risks for +himself or his guests. A patrolman from the local precinct was stationed +at the iron-barred gate on the landward end of the foot-bridge. + +Clancy, on descending from the bus, stood for a few seconds and surveyed +the scene. The night was dark and the sky overcast, but the myriad +lights on the New Jersey shore were reflected in the swift current of +the Hudson. The superb _Sans Souci_ was easily distinguishable. All her +ports were a-glow; lamps twinkled beneath the awnings on her after deck, +and a boarding light indicated the lowered gangway. + +The yacht was moored about three hundred feet from the landing-stage. +Her graceful outlines were clearly discernible against the black, moving +plain of the river. Just in that spot shone her radiance, lending a +sense of opulence and security. For the rest, that part of New York's +great waterway was dim and impalpable. + +Try as he might, the detective could see no small craft afloat. The +yacht's gig, waiting at the clubhouse, was hidden from view. He sped +rapidly down the steps, and found the patrolman. + +"That you, Nolan?" he said. + +The man peered at him. + +"Oh, Mr. Clancy, is it?" he replied. + +"You know Senator Meiklejohn by sight?" + +"Sure I do." + +"When he comes along hail him. Say 'Good evening, Senator.' I'll hear +you." + +Clancy promptly moved off along the path which runs parallel with the +railway. Nolan, though puzzled, put no questions, being well aware he +would be told nothing more. + +Three gentlemen came down the cliff, and crossed the bridge. One was Van +Hofen himself. Now, the fates had willed that Ronald Tower should come +next, and alone. He was hurrying. He had seen figures entering the club, +and wanted to join them in the gig. + +The policeman made the same mistake as many others. + +"Good evenin', Senator," he said. + +Tower nodded and laughed. He had no time to correct the harmless +blunder. Even so, he was too late for the boat, which was already well +away from the stage when he reached it. He lighted a cigarette, and +strolled along the narrow terrace between river and lawn. + +Clancy, on receiving his cue, followed Tower. An attendant challenged +him at the iron gate, but Nolan certified that this diminutive stranger +was "all right." + +It was on the tip of the detective's tongue to ask if Mr. Meiklejohn had +gone into the clubhouse when he saw, as he imagined, the Senator's tall +form silhouetted against the vague carpet of the river; so he passed on, +and this minor incident contributed its quota to a tragic occurrence. He +heard some one behind him on the bridge, but paid no heed, his wits +being bent on noting anything that took place in the semi-obscurity of +the river's edge. + +Meanwhile, the patrolman, encountering a double of Senator Meiklejohn, +was dumbfounded momentarily. He sought enlightenment from the attendant. + +"An', for the love of Mike, who was the first wan?" he demanded, when +assured that the latest arrival was really the Senator. + +"Mr. Ronald Tower," said the man. "They're like as two peas in a pod, +ain't they?" + +Nolan muttered something. He, too, crossed the bridge, meaning to find +Clancy and explain his error. Thus, the four men were not widely +separated, but Tower led by half a minute--long enough, in fact, to be +at the north end of the terrace before Meiklejohn passed the gate. + +There, greatly to his surprise, he looked down into a small motor-boat, +with two occupants, keeping close to the sloping wall. The craft and its +crew could have no reasonable business there. They suggested something +sinister and furtive. The engine was stopped, and one of the men, +huddled up in the bows, was holding the boat against the pull of the +tide by using a boathook as a punting pole. + +Tower, though good-natured and unsuspicious, was naturally puzzled by +this apparition. He bent forward to examine it more definitely, and +rested his hands on a low railing. Then he was seen by those below. + +"That you?" growled the second man, standing up suddenly. + +"It is," said Tower, speaking with strict accuracy, and marveling now +who on earth could have arranged a meeting at such a place and in such +bizarre conditions. + +"Well, here I am," came the gruff announcement. "The cops are after me. +Some one must have tipped them off. If it was you I'll get to know and +even things up, P. D. Q. Chew on that during the night's festivities, I +advise you. Brought that wad?" + +Tower was the last man breathing to handle this queer situation +discreetly. He ought to have temporized, but he loathed anything in the +nature of vulgar or criminal intrigue. Being quick-tempered withal, if +deliberately insulted, he resented this fellow's crude speech. + +"No," he cried hotly. "What you really want is a policeman, and there's +one close at hand--Hi! Officer!" he shouted: "Come here at once. There +are two rascals in a boat--" + +Something swirled through the darkness, and his next word was choked in +a cry of mortal fear, for a lasso had fallen on his shoulders and was +drawn taut. Before he could as much as lift his hands he was dragged +bodily over the railing and headlong into the river. + +Clancy, forced by circumstances to remain at a distance, could only +overhear Tower's share in the brief conversation. The tones in the voice +perplexed him, but the preconcerted element in the affair seemed to +offer proof positive that Senator Meiklejohn had kept his appointment. +He was just in time to see Tower's legs disappearing, and a loud splash +told what had happened. He was not armed. He never carried a revolver +unless the quest of the hour threatened danger or called for a display +of force. In a word, he was utterly powerless. + +Senator Meiklejohn, alive to the vital fact that some one on the terrace +had discovered the boat, hung back dismayed. He was joined by Nolan, who +could not understand the sudden commotion. + +"What's up?" Nolan asked. "Didn't some wan shout?" + +Clancy, in all his experience of crime and criminals, had never before +encountered such an amazing combination of unforeseen conditions. The +boat's motor was already chugging breathlessly, and the small craft was +curving out into the gloom. He saw a man hauling in a rope from the +stern, and well did he know why the cord seemed to be attached to a +heavy weight. Not far away he made out the yacht's gig returning to the +stage. + +"_Sans Souci_ ahoy!" he almost screamed. "Head off that launch! +There's murder done!" + +It was a hopeless effort, of course, though the sailors obeyed +instantly, and bent to their oars. Soon they, too, vanished in the murk, +but, finding they were completely outpaced, came back seeking for +instructions which could not be given. The detective thought he was +bewitched when he ran into Senator Meiklejohn, pallid and trembling, +standing on the terrace with Nolan. + +"You?" he shrieked in a shrill falsetto. "Then, in heaven's name, who is +the man who has just been pulled into the river?" + +"Tower!" gasped the Senator. "Mr. Ronald Tower. They mistook him for +me." + +"Faith, an' I did that same," muttered the patrolman, whose slow-moving +wits could assimilate only one thing at a time. + +Clancy, afire with rage and a sense of inexplicable failure, realized +that Meiklejohn's admission and its now compulsory explanation could +wait a calmer moment. The club attendant, attracted by the hubbub, raced +to the lawn, and the detective tackled him. + +"Isn't there a motor launch on the yacht?" he asked. + +"Yes, sir, but it'll be all sheeted up on deck." + +"Have you a megaphone?" + +"Yes." + +The man ran and grabbed the instrument from its hook, so Clancy bellowed +the alarming news to Mr. Van Hofen and the others already on board the +_Sans Souci_ that Ronald Tower had been dragged into the river and +probably murdered. But what could they do? The speedy rescue of Tower, +dead or alive, was simply impossible. + +The gig arrived. Clancy stormed by telephone at a police station-house +and at the up-river station of the harbor police, but such vain efforts +were the mere necessities of officialdom. None knew better than he that +an extraordinary crime had been carried through under his very eyes, yet +its daring perpetrators had escaped, and he could supply no description +of their appearance to the men who would watch the neighboring ferries +and wharves. + +Van Hofen and his friends, startled and grieved, came ashore in the gig, +and Clancy was striving to give them some account of the tragedy without +revealing its inner significance when his roving glance missed +Meiklejohn from the distraught group of men. + +"Where is the Senator?" he cried, turning on the gaping Nolan. + +"Gee, he's knocked out," said the policeman. "He axed me to tell you +he'd gone down-town. Ye see, some wan has to find Mrs. Tower." + +Clancy's black eyes glittered with fury, yet he spoke no word. A blank +silence fell on the rest. They had not thought of the bereaved wife, but +Meiklejohn had remembered. That was kind of him. The Senator always did +the right thing. And how he must be suffering! The Towers were his +closest friends! + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +WINIFRED BARTLETT HEARS SOMETHING + + +Early next morning a girl attired in a neat but inexpensive costume +entered Central Park by the One Hundred and Second Street gate, and +walked swiftly by a winding path to the exit on the west side at One +Hundredth Street. + +She moved with the easy swing of one to whom walking was a pleasure. +Without hurry or apparent effort her even, rapid strides brought her +along at a pace of fully four miles an hour. And an hour was exactly the +time Winifred Bartlett needed if she would carry out her daily program, +which, when conditions permitted, involved a four-mile detour by way of +Riverside Drive and Seventy-second Street to the Ninth Avenue "L." This +morning she had actually ten minutes in hand, and promised herself an +added treat in making little pauses at her favorite view-points on the +Hudson. + +To gain this hour's freedom Winifred had to practise some harmless +duplicity, as shall be seen. She was obliged to rise long before the +rest of her fellow-workers in the bookbinding factory of Messrs. Brown, +Son & Brown, an establishment located in the least inviting part of +Greenwich Village. + +But she went early to bed, and the beams of the morning sun drew her +forth as a linnet from its nest. Unless the weather was absolutely +prohibitive she took the walk every day, for she revelled in the +ever-changing tints of the trees, the music of the songbirds, and the +gambols of the squirrels in the park, while the broad highway of the +river, leading to and from she hardly knew what enchanted lands, brought +vague dreams of some delightful future where daily toil would not claim +her and she might be as those other girls of the outer world to whom +existence seemed such a joyous thing. + +Winifred was not discontented with her lot--the ichor of youth and good +health flowed too strongly in her veins. But at times she was bewildered +by a sense of aloofness from the rest of humanity. + +Above all did she suffer from the girls she met in the warehouse. +Some were coarse, nearly every one was frivolous. Their talk, their +thinly-veiled allusions to a night life in which she bore no part, +puzzled and disturbed her. True, the wild revels of which they boasted +did not sound either marvelous or attractive when analyzed. A couple of +hours at the movies, a frolic in a dance hall, a quarrel about some +youthful gallant, violent fluctuations from arm-laced friendship to +sparkling-eyed hatred and back again to tears and kisses--these joys +and cankers formed the limited gamut of their emotions. + +For all that, Winifred could not help asking herself with ever +increasing insistence why she alone, among a crude, noisy sisterhood of +a hundred young women of her own age, should be with them yet not of +them. She realized that her education fitted her for a higher place in +the army of New York workers than a bookbinder's bench. She could soon +have acquired proficiency as a stenographer. Pleasant, well-paid +situations abounded in the stores and wholesale houses. There was even +some alluring profession called "the stage," where a girl might actually +earn a living by singing and dancing, and Winifred could certainly sing +and was certain she could dance if taught. + +What queer trick of fate, then, had brought her to Brown, Son & Brown's +in the spring of that year, and kept her there? She could not tell. She +could not even guess why she dwelt so far up-town, while every other +girl in the establishment had a home either in or near Greenwich +Village. + +Heigho! Life was a riddle. Surely some day she would solve it. + +Her mind ran on this problem more strongly than usual that morning. +Still pondering it, she diverged for a moment at the Soldiers' and +Sailors' Monument, and stood on the stone terrace which commands such a +magnificent stretch of the silvery Hudson, with the green heights of the +New Jersey shore directly opposite, and the Palisades rearing their +lofty crests away to the north. + +Suddenly she became aware that a small group of men had gathered there, +and were displaying a lively interest in two motor boats on the river. +Something out of the common had stirred them; voices were loud and +gestures animated. + +"Look!" said one, "they've gotten that boat!" + +"You can't be sure," doubted another, though his manner showed that he +wanted only to be convinced. + +"D'ye think a police launch 'ud be foolin' around with a tow at this +time o' day if it wasn't something special?" persisted the first +speaker. "Can't yer see it's empty? There's a cop pointin' now to the +clubhouse." + +"Good for you," pronounced the doubtful one. The pointing cop had +clinched the argument. + +"An' they're headin' that way," came the cry. + +Off raced the men. Winifred found that people on top of motor-omnibuses +scurrying down-town were also watching the two craft. Opposite the end +of Eighty-sixth Street such a crowd assembled as though by magic that +she could not see over the railings. She could not imagine why people +should be so worked up by the mere finding of an empty boat. She heard +allusions to names, but they evoked no echo in her mind. At last, +approaching a girl among the sightseers, she put a timid question: + +"Can you tell me what is the matter?" she said. + +"They've found the boat," came the ready answer. + +"Yes, but what boat? Why any boat?" + +"Haven't you read about the murder last night. Mr. Van Hofen, who owns +that yacht there, the _San Sowsy_, had a party of friends on board, an' +one of 'em was dragged into the river an' drowned. Nice goin's on. _San +Sowsy_--it's a good name for the whole bunch, I guess." + +Winifred did not understand why the girl laughed. + +"What a terrible thing!" she said. "Perhaps it was only an accident; +and sad enough at that if some poor man lost his life." + +"Oh, no. It's a murder right enough. The papers are full of it. I was +walkin' here at nine o'clock with a fellow. It might ha' been done under +me very nose. What d'ye know about that?" + +"It's very sad," repeated Winifred. "Such dreadful things seem to be +almost impossible under this blue sky and in bright sunshine. Even the +river does not look cruel." + +She went on, having no time for further dawdling. Her informant glanced +after her curiously, for Winifred's cheap clothing and worn shoes were +oddly at variance with her voice and manner. + +At Seventy-second Street Winifred bought a newspaper, which she read +instead of the tiny volume of Browning's poems carried in her hand-bag. +She always contrived to have a book or periodical for the train +journeys, since men had a way of catching her eye when she glanced +around thoughtlessly, and such incidents were annoying. She soon learned +the main details of "The Yacht Mystery." The account of Ronald Tower's +dramatic end was substantially accurate. It contained, of course, no +allusion to Senator Meiklejohn's singular connection with the affair, +but Clancy had taken care that a disturbing paragraph should appear +with the rest of a lurid write-up. + +"Sinister rumors are current in clubland," read Winifred. "These warrant +the belief that others beside the thugs in the boat are implicated in +the tragedy. Indeed, it is whispered that a man high in the political +world can, if he chooses, throw light on what is, at this writing, an +inexplicable crime, a crime which would be incredible if it had not +actually taken place." + +The reporter did not know, and Clancy did not tell him, just what this +innuendo meant. The detective was anxious that Senator Meiklejohn should +realize the folly of refusing all information to the authorities, and +this thinly-veiled threat of publicity was one way of bringing him to +his senses. + +Winifred had never before come into touch, so to speak, with any deed of +criminal violence. She was so absorbed in the story of the junketing at +a fashionable club, with its astounding sequel in a locality familiar to +her eyes, that she hardly noticed a delay on the line. + +She did not even know that she would be ten minutes late until she saw +a clock at Fourteenth Street. Then she raced to the door of a big, +many-storied building. A timekeeper shook his head at her, but, punctual +as a rule, on wet mornings she was invariably the first to arrive, so +the watch-dog compromised on the give-and-take principle. When she +emerged from the elevator at the ninth floor her cheeks were still +suffused with color, her eyes were alight, her lips parted under the +spell of excitement and haste. In a word, she looked positively +bewitching. + +Two people evidently took this view of her as she advanced into the +workroom after hanging up her hat and coat. + +"You're late again, Bartlett," snapped Miss Agatha Sugg, a forewoman, +whose initials suggested an obvious nickname among the set of flippant +girls she ruled with a severity that was also ungracious. "I'll not +speak to you any more on the matter. Next time you'll be fired. See?" + +Winifred's high color fled before this dire threat. Even the few dollars +a week she earned by binding books was essential to the up-keep of her +home. At any rate this fact was dinned into her ears constantly, and +formed a ready argument against any change of employment. + +"I'm sorry, Miss Sugg," she stammered. "I didn't think I had lost any +time. Indeed, I started out earlier than usual." + +"Rubbish!" snorted Miss Sugg. "What're givin' me? It's a fine day." + +"Yes," said Winifred timidly, "but unfortunately I stopped a while on +Riverside Drive to watch the police bringing in the boat from which Mr. +Tower was mur--pulled into the river last night." + +"Riverside Drive!" snapped the forewoman. "Your address is East One +Hundred and Twelfth Street, ain't it? What were you doing on Riverside +Drive?" + +"I walk that way every morning unless it is raining." + +Miss Sugg looked incredulous, but felt that she was traveling outside +her own territory. + +"Anyhow," she said, "that's your affair, not mine, an' it's no excuse +for bein' late." + +"Oh, come now," intervened a man's voice, "this young lady is not so far +behind time as to cause such a row. She can pull out a bit and make up +for it." + +Miss Sugg wheeled wrathfully to find Mr. Fowle, manager on that floor, +gazing at Winifred with marked approval. Fowle, a shifty-eyed man of +thirty, compactly built, and somewhat of a dandy, seldom gave heed to +any of the girls employed by Brown, Son & Brown. His benevolent attitude +toward Winifred was a new departure. + +"Young lady!" gasped the forewoman. She was in such a temper that other +words failed. + +"Yes, she isn't an old one," smirked Fowle. "That's all right, Miss +Bartlett, get on with your work. Miss Sugg's bark is worse than her +bite." + +Though he had poured oil on the troubled waters his air was not +altogether reassuring. Winifred went to her bench in a flurry of +trepidation. She dreaded the vixenish Miss Sugg less than the too +complaisant manager. Somehow, she fancied that he would soon speak to +her again; when, a few minutes later, he drew near, and she felt rather +than saw that he was staring at her boldly, she flushed to the nape of +her graceful neck. + +Yet he put a quite orthodox question. + +"Did I get your story right when you came in?" he said. "I think you +told Miss Sugg that the harbor police had picked up the motor-boat in +that yacht case." + +"So I heard," said Winifred. She was in charge of a wire-stitching +machine, and her deft fingers were busy. Moreover, she was resolved not +to give Fowle any pretext for prolonging the conversation. + +"Who told you?" + +The manager's tone grew a trifle less cordial. He was not accustomed to +being held at arm's length by any young woman in the establishment whom +he condescended to notice. + +"I really don't know," and Winifred began placing her array of work in +sorted piles. "Indeed, I spoke carelessly. No one told me. I saw a +commotion on Riverside Drive, and heard a man arguing with others that a +boat then being towed by a police launch must be the missing one." + +Fowle's whiff of annoyance had passed. He had jumped to the conclusion +that such an extremely pretty girl would surely own a sweetheart who +escorted her to and from work each day. He did not suspect that every +junior clerk downstairs had in turn offered his services in this regard, +but with such lack of success that each would-be suitor deemed Winifred +conceited. + +"I wish I had been there," he said. "Do you go home the same way?" + +"No." + +Winifred was aware that the other girls were watching her furtively and +exchanging meaning looks. + +"You take the Third Avenue L, I suppose?" persisted Fowle. Then Winifred +faced him squarely. For some reason her temper got the better of her. + +"It is a house rule, Mr. Fowle," she said, "that the girls are forbidden +to talk during working hours." + +"Nonsense," laughed Fowle. "I'm in charge here, an' what I say goes." + +He left her, however, and busied himself elsewhere. Apparently, he was +even forgiving enough to call Miss Sugg out of the room and detain her +all the rest of the morning. + +Winifred was promptly rallied by some of her companions. + +"I must say this for you, Winnie Bartlett, you don't think you're the +whole shootin' match," said a stout, red-faced creature, who would have +been more at home on a farm than in a New York warehouse, "but it gets +my goat when you hand the mustard to Fowle in that way. If he made +goo-goo eyes at me, I'd play, too." + +"I wish little Carlotta was a blue-eyed, golden-haired queen," sighed +another, a squat Neapolitan with the complexion of a Moor. "She's give +Fowle a chance to dig into his pocketbook, believe me." + +The youthful philosopher won a chorus of approval. All the girls liked +Winifred. They even tacitly admitted that she belonged to a different +order, and seldom teased her. Fowle's obvious admiration, however, +imposed too severe a strain, and their tongues ran freely. + +The luncheon-hour came, and Winifred hurried out with the others. They +patronized a restaurant in Fourteenth Street. At a news-stand she +purchased an evening paper, a rare event, since she had to account for +every cent of expenditure. Though allowed books, she was absolutely +forbidden newspapers! + +But this forlorn girl, who knew so little of the great city in whose +life she was such an insignificant item, felt oddly concerned in "The +Yacht Mystery." It was the first noteworthy event of which she had even +a remote first-hand knowledge. That empty launch, its very abandonment +suggesting eeriness and fatality, was a tangible thing. Was she not one +of the few who had literally seen it? So she invested her penny, and +after reading of the discovery of the boat--it was found moored to a +wharf at the foot of Fort Lee--breathlessly read: + + As the outcome of information given by a well-known Senator, + the police have obtained an important clue which leads + straight to a house in One Hundred and Twelfth Street. + +"Well," mused Winifred, wide-eyed with astonishment. "Fancy that! The +very street where I live!" + +She read on: + + The arrest of at least one person, a woman, suspected of + complicity in the crime may occur at any moment. Detectives + are convinced that the trail of the murderers will soon be + clearer. + + Every effort is being made to recover Mr. Tower's body, which, + it is conceivable, may have been weighted and sunk in the + river near the spot where the boat was tied. + +Winifred gave more attention to the newspaper report than to her frugal +meal. Resolving, however, that Miss Sugg should have no further cause +for complaint that day, she returned to the factory five minutes before +time. An automobile was standing outside the entrance, but she paid no +heed to it. + +The checker tapped at his little window as she passed. + +"The boss wants you," he said. + +"Me!" she cried. Her heart sank. Between Miss Sugg and Mr. Fowle she had +already probably lost her situation! + +"Yep," said the man. "You're Winifred Bartlett, I guess. Anyhow, if +there's another peach like you in the bunch I haven't seen her." + +She bit her lip and tears trembled in her eyes. Perhaps the gruff +Cerberus behind the window sympathized with her. He lowered his voice to +a hoarse whisper: "There's a cop in there, an' a 'tec,' too." + +Winifred was startled out of her forebodings. + +"They cannot want me!" she said amazedly. + +"You never can tell, girlie. Queer jinks happen sometimes. I wouldn't +bat an eyelid if they rounded up the boss hisself." + +She was sure now that some stupid mistake had been made. At any rate, +she no longer dreaded dismissal, and the first intuition of impending +calamity yielded to a nervous curiosity as she pushed open a door +leading to the general office. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +FURTHER SURPRISES + + +A clerk, one of the would-be swains who had met with chilling +discouragement after working-hours, was evidently on the lookout for +her. An ignoble soul prompted a smirk of triumph now. + +"Go straight in," he said, jerking a thumb. "A cop's waitin' for you." + +Winifred did not vouchsafe him even an indignant glance. Holding her +head high, she passed through the main office, and made for a door +marked "Manager." She knocked, and was admitted by Mr. Fowle. Grouped +around a table she saw one of the members of the firm, the manager, a +policeman, and a dapper little man, slight of figure, who held himself +very erect. He was dressed in blue serge, and had the ivory-white +face and wrinkled skin of an actor. She was conscious at once of the +penetration of his glance. His eyes were black and luminous. They +seemed to pierce her with an X-ray quality of comprehension. + +"This is the girl," announced Mr. Fowle deferentially. + +The little man in the blue suit took the lead forthwith. + +"You are Winifred Bartlett?" he said, and by some subtle inter-flow of +magnetism Winifred knew instantly that she had nothing to fear from this +diminutive stranger. + +"Yes," she replied, looking at him squarely. + +"You live in East One Hundred and Twelfth Street?" + +"Yes." + +"With a woman described as your aunt, and known as Miss Rachel Craik?" + +"Yes." + +Each affirmative marked a musical crescendo. Especially was Winifred +surprised by the sceptical description of her only recognized relative. + +"Well," went on Clancy, suppressing a smile at the girl's naïve +astonishment, "don't be alarmed, but I want you to come with me to +Mulberry Street." + +Now, Winifred had just been reading about certain activities in Mulberry +Street, and her eyebrows rounded in real amazement. + +"Isn't that the Police Headquarters?" she asked. + +Fowle chuckled, whereupon Clancy said pleasantly: + +"Yes. One man here seems to know the address quite intimately. But that +fact need not set your heart fluttering. The chief of the Detective +Bureau wishes to put a few questions. That is all." + +"Questions about what?" + +Winifred's natural dignity came to her aid. She refused to have this +grave matter treated as a joke. + +"Take my advice, Miss Bartlett, and don't discuss things further until +you have met Mr. Steingall," said Clancy. + +"But I have never even heard of Mr. Steingall," she protested. "What +right have you or he to take me away from my work to a police-station? +What wrong have I done to any one?" + +"None, I believe." + +"Surely I have a right to some explanation." + +"If you insist I am bound to answer." + +"Then I do insist," and Winifred's heightened color and wrathful eyes +only enhanced her beauty. Clancy spread his hands in a gesture inherited +from a French mother. + +"Very well," he said. "You are required to give evidence concerning the +death of Mr. Ronald Tower. Now, I cannot say any more. I have a car +outside. You will be detained less than an hour. The same car will bring +you back, and I think I can guarantee that your employers will raise no +difficulty." + +The head of the firm growled agreement. As a matter of fact the staid +respectability of Brown, Son & Brown had sustained a shock by the mere +presence of the police. Murder has an ugly aspect. It was often bound up +in the firm's products, but never before had it entered that temple of +efficiency in other guise. + +Clancy sensed the slow fermentation of the pharisaical mind. + +"If I had known what sort of girl this was I would never have brought a +policeman," he muttered into the great man's ear. "She has no more to do +with this affair than you have." + +"It is very annoying--very," was the peevish reply. + +"What is? Assisting the police?" + +"Oh, no. Didn't mean that, of course." + +The detective thought he might do more harm than good by pressing for a +definition of the firm's annoyance. He turned to Winifred. + +"Are you ready, Miss Bartlett?" he said. "The only reason the Bureau has +for troubling you is the accident of your address." + +Almost before the girl realized the new and astounding conditions which +had come into her life she was seated in a closed automobile and +speeding swiftly down-town. + +She was feminine enough, however, to ply Clancy with questions, and he +had to fence with her, as it was all-important that such information as +she might be able to give should be imparted when he and Steingall could +observe her closely. The Bureau hugged no delusions. Its vast experience +of the criminal world rendered misplaced sympathy with erring mortals +almost impossible. Young or old, rich or poor, beautiful or ugly, the +strange procession which passes in unending review before the police +authorities is subjected to impartial yet searching analysis. Few of the +guilty ones escape suspicion, no matter how slight the connecting clue +or scanty the evidence. On the other hand, Steingall and his trusty aid +seldom made a mistake when they decided, as Clancy had already done in +Winifred's case, that real innocence had come under the shadow of crime. + +Steingall shared Clancy's opinion the instant he set eyes on the new +witness. He gazed at her with a humorous dismay that was wholly genuine. + +"Sit there, Miss Bartlett," he said, rising to place a chair for her. +"Please don't feel nervous. I am sure you understand that only those who +have broken the law need fear it. Now, _you_ haven't killed anybody, +have you?" + +Winifred smiled. She liked this big man's kindly manner. Really, the +police were not such terrifying ogres when you came to close quarters +with them. + +"No, indeed," she said, little guessing that Clancy had indulged in a +Japanese grimace behind her back, thereby informing his chief that "The +Yacht Mystery" was still maintaining its claim to figure as one of the +most sensational crimes the Bureau had investigated during many a year. + +Steingall, wishing to put the girl wholly at ease, affected to consult +some notes on his desk, but Winifred was too wrought up to keep silent. + +"The gentleman who brought me here told me that I would be required to +give evidence concerning the murder of Mr. Ronald Tower," she said. +"Believe me, sir, that unfortunate gentleman's name was unknown to me +before I read it in this morning's paper. I have no knowledge of the +manner of his death other than is contained in the account printed here +in this newspaper." + +She proffered the newspaper purchased before lunch, which she still held +in her left hand. The impulsive action broadened Steingall's smile. He +was still utterly at a loss to account for this well-mannered girl's +queer environment. + +"Why," he cried, "I quite understand that. Mr. Clancy didn't tell you we +regarded you as a desperate crook, did he?" + +Winifred yielded to the chief's obvious desire to lift their talk out of +the rut of formality. She could not help being interested in these two +men, so dissimilar in their characteristics, yet each so utterly unlike +the somewhat awesome personage she would have sketched if asked to +define her idea of a "detective." Clancy, who had taken a chair at the +side of the table, sat on it as though he were an automaton built of +steel springs and ready to bounce instantly in any given direction. +Steingall's huge bulk lolled back indolently. He had been smoking when +the others entered, and a half-consumed cigar lay on an ash-tray. +Winifred thought it would be rather amusing if she, in turn, made things +comfortable. + +"Please don't put away your cigar on my account," she said. "I like the +smell of good tobacco." + +"Ha!" cackled Clancy. + +"Thank you," said Steingall, tucking the Havana into a corner of his +mouth. The two men exchanged glances, and Winifred smiled. Steingall's +look of tolerant contempt at his assistant was distinctly amusing. + +"That little shrimp can't smoke, Miss Bartlett," he explained, "so he is +an anti-tobacco maniac." + +"You wouldn't care to take poison, would you?" and Clancy shot the words +at Winifred so sharply that she was almost startled. + +"No. Of course not," she agreed. + +"Yet that is what that mountain of brawn does during fourteen hours out +of the twenty-four. Nicotine is one of the deadliest poisons known to +science. Even when absorbed into the tissues in minute doses it corrodes +the brain and atrophies the intellect. Did you see how he grinned when +you described that vile weed as 'good tobacco'? Now, you don't know +good, meaning real, tobacco from bad, do you?" + +"I know whether or not I like the scent of it," persisted Winifred. She +began to think that officialdom in Mulberry Street affected the methods +of the court circles frequented by Alice and the Mad Hatter. + +"Don't mind him," put in Steingall genially. "He's a living example of +the close alliance between insanity and genius. On the tobacco question +he's simply cracked, and that is all there is to it. Now we're wasting +your time by this chatter. I'll come to serious business by asking a +question which you will not find embarrassing for a good many years yet +to come. How old are you?" + +"Nineteen last birthday." + +"When were you born?" + +"On June 6, 1894." + +"And where?" + +Winifred reddened slightly. + +"I don't know," she said. + +"What?" + +Steingall seemed to be immensely surprised, and Winifred proceeded +forthwith to throw light on this singular admission, which was exactly +what he meant her to do. + +"That is a very odd statement, but it is quite true," she said +earnestly. "My aunt would never tell me where I was born. I believe it +was somewhere in the New England States, but I have only the vaguest +grounds for the opinion. What I mean is that aunty occasionally reveals +a close familiarity with Boston and Vermont." + +"What is her full name?" + +"Rachel Craik." + +"She has never been married?" + +Winifred's sense of humor was keen. She laughed at the idea of "Aunt +Rachel" having a husband. + +"I don't think aunty will ever marry anybody now," she said. "She holds +the opposite sex in detestation. No man is ever admitted to our house." + +"It is a small, old-fashioned residence, but very large for the +requirements of two women?" continued Steingall. He took no notes, and +might have been discussing the weather, now that the first whiff of +wonderment as to Winifred's lack of information about her birth-place +had passed. + +"Yes. We have several rooms unoccupied." + +"And unfurnished?" + +"Say partly furnished." + +"Ever had any boarders?" + +"No." + +"No servants, of course?" + +"No." + +"And how long have you been employed in Messrs. Brown, Son & Brown's +bookbinding department?" + +"About six months." + +"What do you earn?" + +"Eight dollars a week." + +"Is that the average amount paid to the other girls?" + +"Slightly above the average. I am supposed to be quick and accurate." + +"Well now, Miss Bartlett, you seem to be a very intelligent and +well-educated young woman. How comes it that you are employed in such +work?" + +"It was the best I could find," she volunteered. + +"No doubt. But you must be well aware that few, if any, among the girls +in the bookbinding business can be your equal in education, and, may I +add, in refinement. Now, if you were a bookkeeper, a cashier or a +typist, I could understand it; but it does seem odd to me that you +should be engaged in this kind of job." + +"It was my aunt's wish," said Winifred simply. + +"Ah!" + +Steingall dwelt on the monosyllable. + +"What reason did she give for such a singular choice?" he went on. + +"I confess it has puzzled me," was the unaffected answer. "Although +aunty is severe in her manner she is well educated, and she taught me +nearly all I know, except music and singing, for which I took lessons +from Signor Pecci ever since I was a tiny mite until about two years +ago. Then, I believe, aunty lost a good deal of money, and it became +necessary that I should earn something. Signor Pecci offered to get me a +position in a theater, but she would not hear of it, nor would she allow +me to enter a shop or a restaurant. Really, it was aunty who got me work +with Messrs. Brown, Son & Brown." + +"In other words," said Steingall, "you were deliberately reared to fill +a higher social station, and then, for no assignable reason, save a +whim, compelled to sink to a much lower level?" + +"I do not know. I never disputed aunty's right to do what she thought +best." + +"Well, well, it is odd. Do you ever entertain any visitors?" + +"None whatever. We have no acquaintances, and live very quietly." + +"Do you mean to say that your aunt never sees any one but yourself and +casual callers, such as tradespeople?" + +"So far as I know, that is absolutely the case." + +"Very curious," commented Steingall. "Does your aunt go out much?" + +"She leaves the house occasionally after I have gone to bed at ten +o'clock, but that is seldom, and I have no idea where she goes. Every +week-day, you know, I am away from home between seven in the morning and +half past six at night, excepting Saturday afternoons. If possible, I +take a long walk before going to work." + +"Do you go straight home?" + +Winifred remembered Mr. Fowle's query, and smiled again. + +"Yes," she said. + +"Now last night, for instance, was your aunt at home when you reached +the house?" + +"No; she was out. She did not come in until half past nine." + +"Did she go out again last night?" + +"I do not know. I was tired. I went to bed rather early." + +Steingall bent over his notes for the first time since Winifred +appeared. His lips were pursed, and he seemed to be weighing certain +facts gravely. + +"I think," he said at last, "that I need not detain you any longer, +Miss Bartlett. By the way, I'll give you a note to your employers to say +that you are in no way connected with the crime we have under +investigation. It may, perhaps, save you needless annoyance." + +"Thank you, sir," said the girl. "But won't you tell me why you have +asked me so many questions about my aunt and her ways?" + +Steingall looked at her thoughtfully before he answered: "In the first +place, Miss Bartlett, tell me this. I assume Miss Craik is your mother's +sister. When did your mother die?" + +Winifred blushed with almost childish discomfiture. "It may seem very +stupid to say such a thing," she admitted, "but I have never known +either a father or a mother. My aunt has always refused to discuss our +family affairs in any way whatever. I fear her view is that I am +somewhat lucky to be alive at all." + +"Few people would be found to agree with her," said the chief gallantly. +"Now I want you to be brave and patient. A very extraordinary crime has +been committed, and the police occasionally find clues in the most +unexpected quarters. I regret to tell you that Miss Craik is believed to +be in some way connected with the mysterious disappearance, if not the +death, of Mr. Ronald Tower, and she is being held for further +inquiries." + +Winifred's face blanched. "Do you mean that she will be kept in prison?" +she said, with a break in her voice. + +"She must be detained for a while, but you need not be so alarmed. Her +connection with this outrage may be as harmless as your own, though I +can inform you that, without your knowledge, your house last night +certainly sheltered two men under grave suspicion, and for whom we are +now searching." + +"Two men! In our house!" cried the amazed girl. + +"Yes. I tell you this to show you the necessity there is for calmness +and reticence on your part. Don't speak to any one concerning your visit +here. Above all else, don't be afraid. Have you any one with whom you +can go to live until Miss Craik is"--he corrected himself--"until +matters are cleared up a bit?" + +"No," wailed Winifred, her pent-up feelings breaking through all +restraint. "I am quite alone in the world now." + +"Come, come, cheer up!" said Steingall, rising and patting her on the +shoulder. "This disagreeable business may only last a day or two. You +will not want for anything. If you are in any trouble all you need do is +to let me know. Moreover, to save you from being afraid of remaining +alone in the house at night, I'll give special instructions to the +police in your precinct to watch the place closely. Now, be a brave +girl and make the best of it." + +The house in One Hundred and Twelfth Street would, of course, be an +object of special interest to the police for other reasons apart from +those suggested by the chief. Nevertheless, his kindness had the desired +effect, and Winifred strove to repress her tears. + +"Here is your note," he said, "and I advise you to forget this temporary +trouble in your work. Mr. Clancy will accompany you in the car if you +wish." + +"Please--I would rather be alone," she faltered. She was far from +Mulberry Street before she remembered that she had said nothing about +seeing the boat that morning! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +PERSECUTORS + + +During the brief run up-town Winifred managed to dry her tears, yet the +mystery and terror of the circumstances into which she was so suddenly +plunged seemed to become more distressful the longer she puzzled over +them. She could not find any outlet from a labyrinth of doubt and +uncertainty. She strove again to read the printed accounts of the crime, +in order to wrest from them some explanation of the extraordinary charge +brought against her aunt, but the words danced before her eyes. At last, +with an effort, she threw the paper away and bravely resolved to follow +Steingall's parting advice. + +When she reached the warehouse she was naturally the object of much +covert observation. Neither Miss Sugg nor Mr. Fowle spoke to her, but +Winifred thought she saw a malicious smile on the forewoman's face. The +hours passed wearily until six o'clock. She was about to quit the +building with her companions--many of whom meant bombarding her with +questions at the first opportunity--when she was again requested to +report at the office. + +A clerk handed her one of the firm's pay envelopes. + +"What's comin' to you up to date," he blurted out, "and a week's salary +instead of notice." + +She was dismissed! + +Some girls might have collapsed under this final blow, but not so +Winifred Bartlett. Knowing it was useless to say anything to the clerk, +she spiritedly demanded an interview with the manager. This was refused. +She insisted, and sent Steingall's letter to the inner sanctum, having +concluded that the dismissal was in some way due to her visit to the +detective bureau. + +The clerk came back with the note and a message: "The firm desire me to +tell you," he said, "that they quite accept your explanation, but they +have no further need of your services." + +Explanation! How could a humble employee explain away the unsavory fact +that the smug respectability of Brown, Son & Brown had been outraged by +the name of the firm appearing in the evening papers as connected, even +in the remotest way, with the sensational crime now engaging the +attention of all New York? + +Winifred walked into the street. Something in her face warned even the +most inquisitive of her fellow-workers to leave her alone. Besides, the +poor always evince a lively sympathy with others in misfortune. These +working-class girls were consumed with curiosity, yet they respected +Winifred's feelings, and did not seek to intrude on her very apparent +misery by inquiry or sympathetic condolence. A few among them watched, +and even followed her a little way as she turned the corner into +Fourteenth Street. + +"She goes home by the Third Avenue L," said Carlotta. "Sometimes I've +walked with her that far. H'lo! Why's Fowle goin' east in a taxi! He +lives on West Seventeenth. Betcher a dime he's after Winnie." + +"Whadda ya mean--after her?" cried another girl. + +"Why, didn't you hear how he spoke up for her this mornin' when Ole +Mother Sugg handed her the lemon about bein' late?" + +"But he got her fired." + +"G'wan!" + +"He did, I tell you. I heard him phonin' a newspaper. He made 'em wise +about Winnie's bein' pinched, and then took the paper to the boss. I was +below with a packin' check when he went in, so I saw that with my own +eyes, an' that's just as far as I'd trust Fowle." + +The cynic's shrewd surmise was strictly accurate. Fowle had, indeed, +secured Winifred's dismissal. Her beauty and disdain had stirred his +lewd impulses to their depths. His plan now was to intercept her before +she reached her home, and pose as the friend in need who is the most +welcome of all friends. Knowing nothing whatsoever of her domestic +surroundings he deemed it advisable to make inquiries on the spot. His +crafty and vulpine nature warned him against running his head into a +noose, since Winifred might own a strong-armed father or brother, but no +one could possibly resent a well-meant effort at assistance. + +The mere sight of her graceful figure as she hurried along with pale +face and downcast eyes inflamed him anew when his taxi sped by. She +could not avoid him now. He would go up-town by an earlier train, and +await her at the corner of One Hundred and Twelfth Street. + +But the wariest fox is apt to find his paw in a trap, and Fowle, though +foxy, was by no means so astute as he imagined himself. Once again that +day Fate was preparing a surprise for Winifred, and not the least +dramatic feature thereof connoted the utter frustration and undoing of +Fowle. + +About the time that Winifred caught her train it befell that Rex +Carshaw, gentleman of leisure, the most industrious idler who ever +extracted dividends from a business he cared little about, drove a +high-powered car across the Harlem River by the Willis Avenue Bridge, +and entered that part of Manhattan which lies opposite Randall's Island. + +This was a new world to the eyes of the young millionaire. Nor was it +much to his liking. The mixed citizenry of New York must live somewhere, +but Carshaw saw no reason why he and his dainty car should loiter in a +district which seemed highly popular with all sorts of undesirable +folks; so, after skirting Thomas Jefferson Park he turned west, meaning +to reach the better roadway and more open stretches of Fifth Avenue. + +A too hasty express wagon, however, heedless of the convenience of +wealthy automobilists, bore down on Carshaw like a Juggernaut car, and +straightway smashed the differential, besides inflicting other grievous +injuries on a complex mechanism. A policeman, the proprietor of a +neighboring garage, and a greatly interested crowd provided an impromptu +jury for the dispute between Carshaw and the express man. + +The latter put up a poor case. It consisted almost entirely of the +bitter and oft-repeated plaint: + +"What was a car like that doin' here, anyhow?" + +The question sounded foolish. It was nothing of the kind. Only the +Goddess of Wisdom could have answered it, and she, being invisible, was +necessarily dumb. + +At last, when the damaged car was housed for the night, Carshaw set out +to walk a couple of blocks to the elevated railway, his main objective +being dinner with his mother in their apartment on Madison Avenue. He +found himself in a comparatively quiet street, wherein blocks of cheap +modern flats alternated with the dingy middle-class houses of a by-gone +generation. He halted to light a cigarette, and, at that moment, a girl +of remarkable beauty passed, walking quickly, yet without apparent +effort. She was pallid and agitated, and her eyes were swimming with +ill-repressed tears. + +As a matter of fact, Winifred nearly broke down at sight of her empty +abode. It was a cheerless place at best, and now the thought of being +left there alone had induced a sense of feminine helplessness which +overcame her utterly. + +Carshaw was distinctly impressed. In the first place, he was young and +good-looking, and human enough to try and steal a second glance at such +a lovely face, though the steadily decreasing light was not altogether +favorable. Secondly, he thought he had never seen any girl who carried +herself with such rhythmic grace. Thirdly, here was a woman in distress, +and, to one of Carshaw's temperament and upbringing, that in itself +formed a convincing reason why he should wish to help her. + +He racked his brain for a fitting excuse to offer his services. He could +find none. Above all else, Rex Carshaw was a gentleman. + +Of course, he could not tell that the way was being made smooth for +knight-errantry by a certain dragon named Fowle. He did not even quicken +his pace, and was musing on the curious incongruity of the maid in +distress with the rather squalid district in which she had her being +when he saw a man bar her path. + +This was Fowle, who, with lifted hat, was saying deferentially: "Miss +Bartlett, may I have a word?" + +Winifred stopped as though she had run into an unseen obstruction. She +even recoiled a step or two. + +"What do you want?" she said, and there was a quality of scorn, perhaps +of fear, in her voice that sent Carshaw, now five yards away, into the +open doorway of a block of flats. He was an impulsive young man. He +liked the girl's face, and quite as fixedly disliked Fowle's. So he +adopted the now world-famous policy of watchful waiting, being not +devoid of a dim belief that the situation might evolve an overt act. + +"I want to tell you how sorry I am for what happened to-day," said +Fowle, trying to speak sympathetically, but not troubling to veil the +bold admiration of his stare. "I tried hard to stop unpleasantness, and +even risked a row with the boss. But it was no use. I couldn't do a +thing." + +"But why are you here?" demanded Winifred, and those sorrow-laden eyes +of hers might have won pity from any but one of Fowle's order. + +"To help, of course," came the ready assurance. "I can get you a far +better job than stitchin' octavos at Brown's. You're not meanin' to stay +home with your folks, I suppose?" + +"That is kind of you," said Winifred. "I may have to depend altogether +on my own efforts, so I shall need work. I'll write to you for a +reference, and perhaps for advice." + +She had unwittingly told Fowle just what he was eager to know--that she +was friendless and alone. He prided himself on understanding the ways of +women, and lost no more time in coming to the point. + +"Listen, now, Winnie," he said, drawing nearer, "I'd like to see you +through this worry. Forget it. You can draw down twice or three times +the money as a model in Goldberg's Store. I know Goldberg, an' can fix +things. An', say, why mope at home evenings? I often get orders for two +for the theaters an' vaudeville shows. What about comin' along down-town +to-night? A bit of dinner an' a cabaret'd cheer you up after to-day's +unpleasantness." + +Winifred grew scarlet with vexation. The man had always been a repulsive +person in her eyes, and, unversed though she was in the world's wiles, +she knew instinctively that his present pretensions were merely a cloak +for rascality. One should be fair to Winifred, too. Like every other +girl, she had pictured the Prince Charming who would come into her life +some day. But--Fowle! Her gorge rose. + +"How dare you follow me here and say such vile things?" she cried +hysterically. + +"What's up now?" said Fowle in mock surprise. "What have I said that you +should fly off the trolley in that way?" + +"I take it that this young lady is telling you to quit," broke in +another voice. "Go, now! Go while the going is good." + +Quietly but firmly elbowing Fowle aside, Rex Carshaw raised his hat and +spoke to Winifred. + +"If this fellow is annoying you he can soon be dealt with," he said. "Do +you live near? If so, he can stop right here. I'll occupy his mind till +you are out of sight." + +The discomfited masher was snarling like a vicious cur. The first swift +glance that measured the intruder's proportions did not warrant any +display of active resentment on his part. Out of the tail of his eye, +however, he noticed a policeman approaching on the opposite side of the +street. The sight lent a confidence which might have been lacking +otherwise. + +"Why are you buttin' in?" he cried furiously. "This young lady is a +friend of mine. I'm tryin' to pull her out of a difficulty, but she's +got me all wrong. Anyhow, what business is it of yours?" + +Fowle's anger was wasted, since Carshaw seemed not to hear. Indeed, why +should a chivalrous young man pay heed to Fowle when he could gaze his +fill into Winifred's limpid eyes and listen to her tuneful voice? + +"I am very greatly obliged to you," she was saying, "but I hope Mr. +Fowle understands now that I do not desire his company and will not seek +to force it on me." + +"Sure he understands. Don't you, Fowle?" and Carshaw gave the +disappointed wooer a look of such manifest purpose that something had to +happen quickly. Something did happen. Fowle knew the game was up, and +behaved after the manner of his kind. + +"You're a cute little thing, Winifred Bartlett," he sneered, with a +malicious glance from the girl to Carshaw, while a coarse guffaw +imparted venom to his utterance. "Think you're taking an easier road to +the white lights, I guess?" + +"Guess again, Fowle," said Carshaw. + +He spoke so quietly that Fowle was misled, because the pavement rose and +struck him violently on the back of his head. At least, that was his +first impression. The second and more lasting one was even more +disagreeable. When he sat up, and fumbled to recover his hat, he was +compelled to apply a handkerchief to his nose, which seemed to have been +reduced to a pulp. + +"Too bad you should be mixed up in this disturbance," Carshaw was +assuring Winifred, "but a pup of the Fowle species can be taught manners +in only one way. Now, suppose you hurry home!" + +The advice was well meant, and Winifred acted on it at once. Fowle had +scrambled to his feet and the policeman was running up. From east and +west a crowd came on the scene like a well-trained stage chorus rushing +in from the wings. + +"Now, then, what's the trouble?" demanded the law, with gruff +insistency. + +"Nothing. A friend of mine met with a slight accident--that's all," said +Carshaw. + +"It's--it's--all right," agreed Fowle thickly. Some glimmer of reason +warned him that an exposé in the newspapers would cost him his job with +Brown, Son & Brown. The policeman eyed the damaged nose. He grinned. + +"If you care to take a wallop like that as a friendly tap it's your +affair, not mine," he said. "Anyhow, beat it, both of you!" + +Carshaw was not interested in Fowle or the policeman. He had been +vouchsafed one expressive look by Winifred as she hurried away, and he +watched the slim figure darting up half a dozen steps to a small +brown-stone house, and opening the door with a latch-key. Oddly enough, +the policeman's attention was drawn by the girl's movements. His air +changed instantly. + +"H'lo," he said, evidently picking on Fowle as the doubtful one of these +two. "This must be inquired into. What's your name?" + +"No matter. I make no charge." + +Fowle was turning away, but the policeman grabbed him. + +"You come with me to the station-house," he said determinedly. "An' you, +too," he added jerking his head at Carshaw. + +"Have you gone crazy with the heat?" inquired Carshaw. + +"I hold you for fighting in the public street, an' that's all there is +to it," was the firm reply. "You can come quietly or be 'cuffed, just as +you like. Clear off, the rest of you." + +An awe-stricken mob backed hastily. Fowle was too dazed even to +protest, and Carshaw sensed some hidden but definite motive behind +the policeman's strange alternation of moods. He looked again at the +brown-stone house, but night was closing in so rapidly that he could +not distinguish a face at any of the windows. + +"Let us get there quickly--I'll be late for dinner," he said, and the +three returned by the way Carshaw had come. + +Thus it was that Rex Carshaw, eligible young society bachelor, was drawn +into the ever-widening vortex of "The Yacht Mystery." He did not +recognize it yet, but was destined soon to feel the force of its +swirling currents. + +Gazing from a window of the otherwise deserted house Winifred saw both +her assailant and her protector marched off by the policeman. It was +patent, even to her benumbed wits, that they had been arrested. The +tailing-in of the mob behind the trio told her as much. + +She was too stunned to do other than sink into a chair. For a while she +feared she was going to faint. With lack-lustre eyes she peered into a +gulf of loneliness and despair. Then outraged nature came to her aid, +and she burst into a storm of tears. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +BROTHER RALPH. + + +Clancy forced Senator Meiklejohn's hand early in the fray. He was at the +Senator's flat within an hour of the time Ronald Tower was dragged into +the Hudson, but a smooth-spoken English man-servant assured the +detective that his master was out, and not expected home until two or +three in the morning. + +This arrangement obviously referred to the Van Hofen festivity, so +Clancy contented himself with asking the valet to give the Senator a +card on which he scribbled a telephone number and the words, "Please +ring up when you get this." + +Now, he knew, and Senator Meiklejohn knew, the theater at which Mrs. +Tower was enjoying herself. He did not imagine for an instant that the +Senator was discharging the mournful duty of announcing to his friend's +wife the lamentable fate which had overtaken her husband. Merely as a +perfunctory duty he went to the theater and sought the manager. + +"You know Mrs. Ronald Tower?" he said. + +"Sure I do," said the official. "She's inside now. Came here with Bobby +Forrest." + +"Anybody called for her recently?" + +"I think not, but I'll soon find out." + +No. Mrs. Tower's appreciation of Belasco's genius had not been disturbed +that evening. + +"Anything wrong?" inquired the manager. + +Clancy's answer was ready. + +"If Senator Meiklejohn comes here within half an hour, see that the lady +is told at once," he said. "If he doesn't show up in that time, send for +Mr. Forrest, tell him that Mr. Tower has met with an accident, and leave +him to look after the lady." + +"Wow! Is it serious? Why wait?" + +"The slight delay won't matter, and the Senator can handle the situation +better than Forrest." + +Clancy gave some telephonic instruction to the man on night duty at +headquarters. He even dictated a paragraph for the press. Then he went +straight to bed, for the hardiest detectives must sleep, and he had a +full day's work before him when next the sun rose over New York. + +He summed up Meiklejohn's action correctly. The Senator did not +communicate with Mulberry Street during the night, so Clancy was an +early visitor at his apartment. + +"The Senator is ill and can see no one," said the valet. + +"No matter how ill he may be, he must see me," retorted Clancy. + +"But he musn't be disturbed. I have my orders." + +"Take a fresh set. He's going to be disturbed right now, by you or me. +Choose quick!" + +The law prevailed. A few minutes later Senator Meiklejohn entered the +library sitting-room, where the little detective awaited him. He looked +wretchedly ill, but his sufferings were mental, not physical. Examined +critically now, in the cold light of day, he was a very different man +from the spruce, dandified politician and financier who figured so +prominently among Van Hofen's guests the previous evening. Yet Clancy +saw at a glance that the Senator was armed at all points. Diplomacy +would be useless. The situation demanded a bludgeon. He began the attack +at once. + +"Why didn't you ring up Mulberry Street last night, Senator?" he said. + +"I was too upset. My nerves were all in." + +"You told the patrolman at Eighty-sixth Street that you were hurrying +away to break the news to Mrs. Tower, yet you did not go near her?" + +Meiklejohn affected to consult Clancy's card to ascertain the +detective's name. + +"Perhaps I had better get in touch with the Bureau now," he said, and a +flush of anger darkened his haggard face. + +"No need. The Bureau is right here. Let us get down to brass tacks, +Senator. A woman named Rachel met you outside the Four Hundred Club at +eight o'clock as you were coming out. You had just spoken to Mrs. Tower, +when this woman told you that you must meet two men who would await you +at the Eighty-sixth landing-stage at nine. You were to bring five +hundred dollars. At nine o'clock these same men killed Mr. Tower, and +you yourself admitted to me that they mistook him for you. Now, will you +be good enough to fill in the blanks? Who is Rachel? Where does she +live? Who were the two men? Why should you give them five hundred +dollars, apparently as blackmail?" + +Clancy was exceedingly disappointed by the result of this thunderbolt. +Any ordinary man would have shrivelled under its crushing impact. If +the police knew so much that might reasonably be regarded as secret, +of what avail was further concealment? Yet Senator Meiklejohn bore up +wonderfully. He showed surprise, as well he might, but was by no means +pulverized. + +"All this is rather marvelous," he said slowly, after a long pause. He +had avoided Clancy's gaze after the first few words, and sank into an +armchair with an air of weariness that was not assumed. + +"Simple enough," commented the detective readily. Above all else he +wanted Meiklejohn to talk. "I was on duty outside the club, and heard +almost every word that passed between you and Rachel." + +"Well, well." + +The Senator arose and pressed an electric bell. + +"If you don't mind," he explained suavely, "I'll order some coffee and +rolls. Will you join me?" + +This was the parry of a skilled duelist to divert an attack and gain +breathing-time. Clancy rather admired such adroitness. + +"Sorry, I can't on principle," he countered. + +"How--on principle?" + +"You see, Senator, I may have to arrest you, and I never eat with any +man with whom I may clash professionally." + +"You take risks, Mr. Clancy." + +"I love 'em. I'd cut my job to-day if it wasn't for the occasional +excitement." + +The valet appeared. + +"Coffee and rolls for two, Phillips," said Meiklejohn. He turned to +Clancy. "Perhaps you would prefer toast and an egg?" + +"I have breakfasted already, Senator," smiled the detective, "but I may +dally with the coffee." + +When the door was closed on Phillips, his master glanced at a clock on +the mantelpiece. The hour was eight-fifteen. Some days elapsed before +Clancy interpreted that incident correctly. + +"You rose early," said the Senator. + +"Yes, but worms are coy this morning." + +"Meaning that you still await answers to your questions. I'll deal with +you fully and frankly, but I'm curious to know on what conceivable +ground you could arrest me for the murder of my friend Ronald Tower." + +"As an accessory before the act." + +"But, consider. You have brains, Mr. Clancy. I am glad the Bureau sent +such a man. How can a bit of unthinking generosity on my part be +construed as participation in a crime?" + +"If you explain matters, Senator, the absurdity of the notion may become +clear." + +"Ah, that's better. Let me assure you that my coffee will not affect +your fine sensibilities. Miss Rachel Craik is a lady I have known nearly +all my life. I have assisted her, within my means. She resides in East +One Hundred and Twelfth Street, and the man about whom she was so +concerned last night is her brother. He committed some technical offense +years ago, and has always been a ne'er-do-well. To please his sister, +and for no other reason, I undertook to provide him with five hundred +dollars, and thus enable him to start life anew. I have never met the +man. I would not recognize him if I saw him. I believe he is a desperate +character; his maniacal behavior last night seems to leave no room for +doubt in that respect. Don't you see, Mr. Clancy, that it was I, and not +poor Tower, whom he meant attacking? But for idle chance, it is my +corpse, not Tower's, that would now be floating in the Hudson. You heard +what Tower said. I did not. I assume, however, that some allusion was +made to the money--which, by the way, is still in my pocketbook--and +Tower scoffed at the notion that he had come there to hand over five +hundred dollars. There you have the whole story, in so far as I can tell +it." + +"For the present, Senator." + +"How?" + +"It should yield many more chapters. Is that all you're going to say? +For instance, did you call on Rachel Craik after leaving Eighty-sixth +Street?" + +Meiklejohn's jaws closed like a steel trap. He almost lost his temper. + +"No," he said, seemingly conquering the desire to blaze into anger at +this gadfly of a detective. + +"Sure?" + +"I said 'no.' That is not 'yes.' I was so overcome by Tower's miserable +fate that I dismissed my car and walked home. I could not face any one, +least of all Helen--Mrs. Tower." + +"Or the Bureau?" + +"Mr. Clancy, you annoy me." + +Clancy stood up. + +"I must duck your coffee, Senator," he said cheerfully. "Is Miss Craik +on the phone?" + +"No. She is poor, and lives alone--or, to be correct, with a niece, I +believe." + +"Well, think matters over. I'll see you again soon. Then you may be able +to tell me some more." + +"I have told you everything." + +"Perhaps _I_ may do the telling." + +"Now, as to this poor woman, Miss Craik. You will not adopt harsh +measures, I trust?" + +"We are never harsh, Senator. If she speaks the truth, and all the +truth, she need not fear." + +In the hall Clancy met the valet, carrying a laden tray. + +"Do you make good coffee, Phillips?" he inquired. + +"I try to," smiled the other. + +"Ah, that's modest--that's the way real genius speaks. Sorry I can't +sample your brew to-day. So few Englishmen know the first thing about +coffee." + +"Nice, friendly little chap," was Phillips's opinion of the detective. +Senator Meiklejohn's description of the same person was widely +different. When Clancy went out, he, too, rose and stretched his stiff +limbs. + +"I got rid of that little rat more easily than I expected," he +mused--that is to say, the Senator's thoughts may be estimated in some +such phrase. But he was grievously mistaken in his belief. Clancy was no +rat, but a most stubborn terrier when there were rats around. + +While Meiklejohn was drinking his coffee the telephone rang. It was Mrs. +Tower. She was heartbroken, or professed to be, since no more selfish +woman existed in New York. + +"Are you coming to see me?" she wailed. + +"Yes, yes, later in the day. At present I dare not. I am too unhinged. +Oh, Helen, what a tragedy! Have you any news?" + +"News! My God! What news can I hope for except that Ronald's poor, +maimed body has been found?" + +"Helen, this is terrible. Bear up!" + +"I'm doing my best. I can hardly believe that this thing has really +happened. Help me in one small way, Senator. Telephone Mr. Jacob and +explain why our luncheon is postponed." + +"Yes, I'll do that." + +Meiklejohn smiled grimly as he hung up the receiver. In the midst of +her tribulations Helen Tower had not forgotten Jacob and the little +business of the Costa Rica Cotton Concession! The luncheon was only +"postponed." + +An inquiry came from a newspaper, whereupon he gave a curt order that no +more calls were to be made that day, as the apartment would be empty. He +dressed, and devoted himself forthwith to the task of overhauling +papers. He had a fire kindled in the library. + +Hour after hour he worked, until the grate was littered with the ashes +of destroyed documents. Sending for newspapers, he read of Rachel +Craik's arrest. At last, when the light waned, he looked at his watch. +Should he not face his fellow-members at the Four Hundred Club? Would it +not betray weakness to shirk the ordeal of inquiry, of friendly scrutiny +and half-spoken wonder that he, the irreproachable, should be mixed up +in such a weird tragedy. Once he sought support from a decanter of +brandy. + +"Confound it!" he muttered, "why am I so shaky. _I_ didn't murder Tower. +My whole life may be ruined by one false step!" + +He was still pondering irresolutely a visit to the club when Phillips +came. The valet seemed flurried. + +"There's a gentleman outside, sir, who insists on seeing you," he said +nervously. "He's a very violent gentleman, sir. He said if I didn't +announce him he----" + +"What name?" interrupted Meiklejohn. + +"Name of Voles, sir." + +"Voles?" + +"Yes, sir, but he says you'll recognize him better by the initials R. V. +V." + +Men of Meiklejohn's physique--big, fleshy, with the stamp of success on +them--are rare subjects for nervous attacks. They seem to defy events +which will shock the color out of ordinary men's cheeks, yet Meiklejohn +felt that if he dared encounter the eyes of his discreet servant he +would do something outrageous--shriek, or jump, or tear his hair. He +bent over some papers on the table. + +"Send Mr. Voles in," he murmured. "If any other person calls, say I'm +engaged." + +The man who was ushered into the room was of a stature and demeanor +which might well have cowed the valet. Tall, strongly built, altogether +fitter and more muscular than the stalwart Senator, he carried with him +an impression of truculence, of a savage forcefulness, not often clothed +in the staid garments of city life. Were his skin bronze, were he decked +in the barbaric trappings of a Pawnee chief, his appearance would be +more in accord with the chill and repellant significance of his +personality. His square, hard features might have been chiseled out of +granite. A pair of singularly dark eyes blazed beneath heavy and +prominent eyebrows. A high forehead, a massive chin, and a well-shaped +nose lent a certain intellectuality to the face, but this attribute was +negatived by the coarse lines of a brutal mouth. + +From any point of view the visitor must invite attention, while +compelling dislike--even fear. In a smaller frame, such qualities might +escape recognition, but this man's giant physique accentuated the evil +aspect of eyes and mouth. Hardly waiting till the door was closed, he +laughed sarcastically. + +"You are well fixed here, brother o' mine," he said. + +The man whom he addressed as "brother" leaned with his hands on the +table that separated them. His face was quite ghastly. All his +self-control seemed to have deserted him. + +"You?" he gasped. "To come here! Are you mad?" + +"Need you ask? It will not be the first time you have called me a +lunatic, nor will it be the last, I reckon." + +"But the risk, the infernal risk! The police know of you. Rachel is +arrested. A detective was here a few hours ago. They are probably +watching outside." + +"Bosh!" was the uncompromising answer. "I'm sick of being hunted. Just +for a change I turn hunter. Where's the mazuma you promised Rachel?" + +Meiklejohn, using a hand like one in a palsy, produced a pocketbook and +took from it a bundle of notes. + +"Here!" he quavered. "Now, for Heaven's sake----" + +"Just the same old William," cried the stranger, seating himself +unceremoniously. "Always ready to do a steal, but terrified lest the law +should grab him. No, I'm not going. It will be good nerve tonic for you +to sit down and talk while you strain your ears to hear the tramp of +half a dozen cops in the hall. What a poor fish you are!" he continued, +voice and manner revealing a candid contempt, as Meiklejohn did indeed +start at the slamming of a door somewhere in the building. "Do you think +I'd risk my neck if I were likely to be pinched? Gad! I know my way +around too well for that." + +"But you don't understand," whispered the other in mortal terror. "By +some means the detective bureau may know of your existence. Rachel +promised to be close-lipped, but--" + +"Oh, take a bracer out of that decanter. At the present moment I am +registered in a big Fifth Avenue hotel, a swell joint which they +wouldn't suspect in twenty years." + +"How can that be? Rachel said you were in desperate need." + +"So I was until I went through that idiot's pockets. He had two hundred +dollars in bills and chicken-feed. I knew I'd get another wad from you +to-night." + +"Why did you want to murder me, Ralph?" + +"Murder! Oh, shucks! I didn't want to kill anybody. But I don't trust +you, William. I'm always expecting you to double-cross me. Last night it +was a lasso. To-night it is this." And he suddenly whipped out a +revolver. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +STILL MERE MYSTERY + + +Meiklejohn pushed his chair back so quickly that it caught the fender +and brought down some fire-irons with a crash. + +"More nerves!" croaked his grim-visaged relative, but the revolver +disappeared. + +"Tell me," said the tortured Meiklejohn; "why have you returned to New +York? Above all, why did you straightway commit a crime that cannot fail +to stir the whole country?" + +"That's better. You are showing some sort of brotherly interest. I came +back because I was sick of mining camps and boundless sierras. I had a +hankering after the old life--the theaters, dinners, race-meetings, wine +and women. As to 'the crime,' I thought that fool was you. He called for +the cops." + +"For the police! Why?" + +"Because my line of talk was a trifle too rough, I suppose." + +"Did he know you were there to meet me?" + +"Can't say. The whole thing was over like a flash. I am quick on the +trigger." + +"But if you had killed me what other goose would lay golden eggs?" + +"You forget that the goose was unwilling to lay any more eggs. I only +meant scaring you. To haul you neck and crop into the river was a good +scheme. You see, we haven't met for some years." + +"Then why--why murder Ronald Tower?" + +"There you go again. Murder! How you chew on the word. I never touched +the man, only to haul him into the boat and go through his pockets. I +guess he had a weak heart, due to over-eating, and the cold water upset +him." + +"But you left him in the river?" + +"Wrong every time. I chucked him into a barge and covered him tenderly +with a tarpaulin." + +Meiklejohn sprang upright. "Good God," he cried, "he may be alive!" + +"Sit down, William, sit down," was the cool response. "If he's alive, +he'll turn up. In any case, he'll be found sooner or later. Shout the +glad news now and you go straight to the Tombs." + +This was obviously so true that the Senator collapsed into his chair +again, and in so doing disturbed the fire-irons a second time. + +The incident amused the unbidden guest. "I see you won't be happy till I +leave you," he laughed, "so let's go on with the knitting. That +girl--she is becoming a woman--what is to be done with her?" + +"Rachel takes every care--" + +"Rachel is excellent in her way. But she is growing old. She may die. +The girl is the living image of her mother. It's a queer world, and a +small one at times. For instance, who would have expected your double to +walk onto the terrace at the landing-stage at nine o'clock precisely +last night? Well, some one may recognize the likeness. Inquiries might +be instituted. That would be very awkward for you." + +"Far more awkward for you." + +"Not a bit of it. I've lived with my neck in the loop for eighteen +years. I'm getting used to it. But you, William, with your Senatorship +and high record in Wall Street--really the downfall would be terrible!" + +"What can we do with her? Murder her, as you--" + +"The devil take you and your parrotlike repetition of one word!" roared +brother Ralph, bringing his clenched fist down on the table with a bang. +"I never laid violent hands on a woman yet, whatever I may have done to +men. Who has reaped the reward of my misdeeds, I'd like to know--I, an +outcast and a wanderer, or you, living here like Lord Tomnoddy? None of +your preaching to me, you smug Pharisee! We're six of one and half a +dozen of the other." + +When this self-proclaimed adventurer was really aroused he dropped the +rough argot of the plains. His diction showed even some measure of +culture. + +Meiklejohn walked unsteadily to the door. He opened it. There was no one +in the passage without. + +"I'm sorry," he said in a strangely subdued voice. "What do you want? +What do you suggest?" + +"This," came the instant reply. "It was a piece of folly on Rachel's +part to educate the girl the way she did. You stopped the process too +late. In a year or two Miss Winifred will begin to think and ask +questions, if she hasn't done so already. She must leave the +East--better quit America altogether." + +"Very well. When this affair of Tower's blows over I'll arrange it." + +The other man seemed to be somewhat mollified. He lighted a cigarette. +"That rope play was sure a mad trick," he conceded sullenly, "but I +thought you were putting the cops on my trail." + +A bell rang and the Senator started. Many callers, mostly reporters, had +been turned away by Phillips already that day, but brother Ralph's +untimely visit had made the position peculiarly dangerous. Moreover, +the valet's protests had proved unavailing this time. The two heard his +approaching footsteps. + +Meiklejohn's care-worn face turned almost green with fright, and even +his hardier companion yielded to a sense of peril. He leaped up, moving +catlike on his toes. + +"Where does that door lead to?" he hissed, pointing. + +"A bedroom. But I've given orders--" + +"You dough-faced dub, don't you see you create suspicion by refusing to +meet people? And, listen! If this is a cop, bluff hard! I'll shoot up +the whole Bureau before they get me!" + +He vanished, moving with a silence and celerity that were almost uncanny +in so huge a man. Phillips knocked and thrust his head in. He looked +scared yet profoundly relieved. + +"Mr. Tower to see you, sir," he said breathlessly. + +"What?" shrieked the Senator in a shrill falsetto. + +"Yes, sir. It's Mr. Tower himself, sir." + +"H'lo, Bill!" came a familiar voice. "Here I am! No spook yet, thank +goodness!" + +Meiklejohn literally staggered to the door and nearly fell into Ronald +Tower's arms. Of the two men, the Senator seemed nearer death at that +moment. He blubbered something incoherent, and had to be assisted to a +chair. Even Tower was astonished at the evident depth of his friend's +emotion. + +"Cheer up, old sport!" he cried affectionately. "I had no notion you +felt so badly about my untimely end, as the newspapers call it. I tried +to get you on the phone, but you were closed down, the exchange said, so +Helen packed me off here when she was able to sit up and take +nourishment. Gad! Even my wife seems to have missed me!" + +Many minutes elapsed before Senator Meiklejohn's benumbed brain could +assimilate the facts of a truly extraordinary story. Tower, after being +whisked so unceremoniously into the Hudson, remembered nothing further +until he opened his eyes in numb semi-consciousness in the cubbyhole of +a tug plodding through the long Atlantic rollers off the New Jersey +coast. + +When able to talk he learned that the captain of the tug _Cygnet_, +having received orders to tow three loaded barges from a Weehawken pier +to Barnegat City, picked up his "job" at nine-thirty the previous night, +and dropped down the river with the tide. In the early morning he was +amazed by the sight of a man crawling from under the heavy tarpaulin +that sheeted one of the barges--a man so dazed and weak that he nearly +fell into the sea. + +"Cap' Rickards slowed up and took me aboard," explained Tower volubly. +"Then he filled me with rock and rye and packed me in blankets. Gee, how +they smelt, but how grateful they were! What between prime old whiskey +inside and greasy wool outside I dodged a probable attack of pneumonia. +When the _Cygnet_ tied up at Barnegat at noon to-day I was fit as a +fiddle. Cap' Rickards rigged me out in his shore-going suit and lent me +twenty dollars, as that pair of blackguards in the launch had robbed me +of every cent. They even took a crooked sixpence I found in London +twenty years ago, darn 'em! I phoned Helen, of course, but didn't +realize what a hubbub my sad fate had created until I read a newspaper +in the train. When I reached home poor Helen was so out of gear that she +hadn't told a soul of my escape. I do believe she hardly accepted my own +assurance that I was still on the map. However, when I got her calmed +down a bit, she remembered you and the rest of the excitement, so I +phoned the detective bureau and the club, and came straight here." + +"That is very good of you, Tower," murmured Meiklejohn brokenly. He +looked in far worse plight than the man who had survived such a +desperate adventure. + +"Well, my dear chap, I was naturally anxious to see you, because--but +perhaps you don't know that those scoundrels meant to attack you, not +me?" + +Meiklejohn smiled wanly. "Oh, yes," he said. "The police found that out +by some means. I believe the authorities actually suspected me of being +concerned in the affair." + +Tower laughed boisterously. "That's the limit!" he roared. "Come with me +to the club. We'll soon spoil that yarn. What a fuss the papers made! +I'm quite a celebrity." + +"I'll follow you in half an hour. And, look here, Tower, this matter did +really affect me. There was a woman in the case. I butted into an old +feud merely as a friend. I think matters will now be settled amicably. +Allow me to make good your loss in every way. If you can persuade the +police that the whole thing was a hoax--" + +For the first time Tower looked non-plussed. He was enjoying the +notoriety thrust on him so unexpectedly. + +"Well, I can hardly do that," he said. "But if I can get them to drop +further inquiries I'll do it, Meiklejohn, for your sake. Gee! Come to +look at you, you must have had a bad time.... Well, good-by, old top! +See you later. Suppose we dine together? That will help dissipate this +queer story as to you being mixed up in an attack on me. Now, I must be +off and play ghost in the club smoking-room." + +Meiklejohn heard his fluttering man-servant let Tower out. He tottered +to a chair, and Ralph Voles came in noiselessly. + +"Well, what about it?" chuckled the reprobate. "We seem to have struck +it lucky." + +"Go away!" snarled the Senator, goaded to a sudden rage by the other +man's cynical humor. "I can stand no more to-day." + +"Oh, take a pull at this!" And the decanter was pushed across the table. +"Didn't Dr. Johnson once say that claret is the liquor for boys, port +for men, but he who aspires to be a hero should drink brandy? And you +must be a hero to-night. Get onto the Bureau and use the soft pedal. +Then beat it to the club. You and Tower ought to be well soused in an +hour. He's a good sport, all right. I'll mail him that sixpence if it's +still in my pants." + +"Do nothing of the sort!" snapped Meiklejohn. "You're--" + +"Ah, cut it out! Tower wants plenty to talk about. His crooked sixpence +will fill many an eye, and the more he spiels the better it is for you. +Gee, but you're yellow for a two-hundred pounder! Now, listen! Make +those cops drop all charges against Rachel. Then, in a week or less, +I'll come along and fix things about the girl. She's the fly in the +amber now. Mind she doesn't get out, or the howl about Mr. Ronald +Tower's trip to Barnegat won't amount to a row of beans against the +trouble pretty Winifred can give you. _Dios!_ It's a pity. She's a real +beauty, and that's more than any one can say for you, Brother William." + +"You go to--" + +"That's better! You're reviving. Well, good-by, Senator! _Au revoir sans +adieux!_" + +The big man swaggered out. Meiklejohn drank no spirits. He needed a +clear brain that evening. After deep self-communing he rang up police +headquarters and inquired for Mr. Clancy. + +"Mr. Clancy is out," he was told by some one with a strong, resonant +voice. "Anything we can do, Senator?" + +"About that poor woman, Rachel Craik--" + +"Oh, she's all right! She gave us a farewell smile two hours ago." + +"You mean she is at liberty?" + +"Certainly, Senator." + +"May I ask to whom I am speaking?" + +"Steingall, Chief of the Bureau." + +"This wretched affair--it's merely a family squabble between Miss Craik +and a relative--might well end now, Mr. Steingall." + +"That is for Mr. Tower and Mr. Van Hofen to decide." + +"Yes, I quite understand. I have seen Mr. Tower, and he shares my +opinion." + +"Just so, Senator. At any rate, the yacht mystery is almost cleared up." + +"I agree with you most heartily." + +For the first time in nearly twenty-four hours Senator Meiklejohn looked +contented with life when he hung up the receiver. Therefore, it was well +for his peace of mind that he could not hear Steingall's silent comment +as he, in turn, disconnected the phone. + +"That old fox agreed with me too heartily," he thought. "The yacht +mystery is only just beginning--or I'm a Dutchman!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE DREAM FACE + + +That evening of her dismissal from Brown's, and her meeting with Rex +Carshaw, Winifred opened the door of the dun house in One Hundred and +Twelfth Street the most downhearted girl in New York. Suddenly, mystery +had gathered round her. Something threatened, she knew not what. When +the door slammed behind her her heart sank--she was alone not only in +the house, but in the world. This thought possessed her utterly when the +excitement caused by Carshaw and Fowle, and their speedy arrest, had +passed. + +That her aunt, the humdrum Rachel Craik, should have any sort of +connection with the murder of Ronald Tower, of which Winifred had +chanced first to hear on Riverside Drive that morning, seemed the +wildest nonsense. Then Winifred was overwhelmed afresh, and breathed to +herself, "I must be dreaming!" + +And yet--the house was empty! Her aunt was not there--her aunt was held +as a criminal! It was not a dream, but only like one, a waking nightmare +far more terrifying. Most of the rooms in the house had nothing but +dust in them. Rachel Craik had preferred to live as solitary in teeming +Manhattan as a castaway on a rock in the midst of the sea. + +Winifred's mind was accustomed now to the thought of that solitude +shared by two. This night, when there were no longer two, but only one, +the question arose strongly in her mind--why had there never been more +than two? Certainly her aunt was not rich, and might well have let some +of the rooms. Yet, even the suggestion of such a thing had made Rachel +Craik angry. This, for the first time, struck Winifred as odd. +Everything was puzzling, and all sorts of doubts peeped up in her, like +ghosts questioning her with their eyes in the dark. + +When the storm of tears had spent its force she had just enough interest +in her usual self to lay the table and make ready a meal, but not enough +interest to eat it. She sat by a window of her bedroom, her hat still on +her head, looking down. The street lamps were lit. It grew darker and +darker. Down there below feet passed and repassed in multitudes, like +drops of the eternal cataract of life. + +Winifred's eyes rested often on the spot where Rex Carshaw had spoken to +her and had knocked down Fowle, her tormentor. In hours of trouble, when +the mind is stunned, it will often go off into musings on trivial +things. So this young girl, sitting at the window of the dark and empty +house, let her thoughts wander to her rescuer. He was well built, and +poised like an athlete. He had a quick step, a quick way of talking, was +used to command; his brow was square, and could threaten; he had the +deepest blue eyes, and glossy brown hair; he was a tower of strength to +protect a girl; and his wife, if he had one, must have a feeling of +safety. Thoughts, or half-thoughts, like these passed through her mind. +She had never before met any young man of Carshaw's type. + +It became ten o'clock. She was tired after the day's work and trouble of +mind. The blow of her dismissal, the fright of her interview with the +police, the arrest of her aunt--all this sudden influx of mystery and +care formed a burden from which there was no escape for exhausted nature +but in sleep. Her eyes grew weary at last, and, getting up, she +discarded her hat and some of her clothes; then threw herself on the +bed, still half-dressed, and was soon asleep. + +The hours of darkness rolled on. That tramp of feet in the street grew +thin and scattered, as if the army of life had undergone a repulse. Then +there was a rally, when the theaters and picture-houses poured out their +crowds; but it was short, the powers of night were in the ascendant, and +soon the last stragglers retreated under cover. Of all this Winifred +heard nothing--she slept soundly. + +But was it in a dream, that voice which she heard? Something somewhere +seemed to whisper, "She must be taken out of New York--she is the image +of her mother." + +It was a hushed, grim voice. + +The room, the whole house, had been in darkness when she had thrown +herself on the bed. But, somewhere, had she not been conscious of a +light at some moment? Had she dreamed this, or had she seen it? She sat +up in bed, staring and startled. The room was in darkness. In her ears +were the words: "She is the image of her mother." + +She had heard them in some world, she did not know in which. She +listened with the keen ears of fear. Not a wagon nor a taxi any longer +moved in the street; no step passed; the house was silent. + +But after a long ten minutes the darkness seemed to become pregnant with +a sound, a steady murmur. It was as if it came from far away, as if a +brook had spurted out of the granite of Manhattan, and was even more +like a dream-sound than those words which still buzzed in Winifred's +ear. Somehow that murmur as of water in the night made Winifred think of +a face, one which, as far as she could remember, she had never +consciously seen--a man's face, brown, hard, and menacing, which had +looked once into her eyes in some state of semi-conscious being, and +then had vanished. And now this question arose in her mind: was it not +that face, hard and brown, which she had never seen, and yet once had +seen--were not those the cruel lips which somewhere had whispered: "She +is the image of her mother?" + +Winifred, sitting up in bed, listened to the steady, dull murmuring a +long time, till there came a moment when she said definitely: "It is in +the house." + +For, as her ears grew accustomed to its tone, it seemed to lose some of +its remoteness, to become more local and earthly. Presently this sound +which the darkness was giving out became the voices of people talking in +subdued undertones not far off. Nor was it long before the murmur was +broken by a word sharply uttered and clearly heard by her--a gruff and +unmistakable oath. She started with fright at this, it sounded so near. +She was certain now that there were others in the house with her. She +had gone to bed alone. Waking up in the dead of the small hours to find +men or ghosts with her, her heart beat horribly. + +But ghosts do not swear--at least such was Winifred's ideal of the +spirit world. And she was brave. Nerving herself for the ordeal, she +found the courage to steal out of bed and make her way out of the room +into a passage, and she had not stood there listening two minutes when +she was able to be certain that the murmur was going on in a back room. + +How earnest that talk was--how low in pitch! It could hardly be burglars +there, for burglars do not enter a house in order to lay their heads +together in long conferences. It could not be ghosts, for a light came +out under the rim of the door. + +After a time Winifred stole forward, tapped on a panel, and her heart +jumped into her mouth as she lifted her voice, saying: + +"Aunty, is it you?" + +There was silence at this, as though they had been ghosts, indeed, and +had taken to flight at the breath of the living. + +"Speak! Who is it?" cried Winifred with a fearful shrillness now. A +chair grated on the floor inside, hurried steps were heard, a key +turned, the door opened a very little, and Winifred saw the gaunt face +of Rachel Craik looking dourly at her, for she had frightened this +masterful woman very thoroughly. + +"Oh, aunt, it _is_ you!" gasped Winifred with a flutter of relief. + +"You are to go to bed, Winnie," said Rachel. + +"It is you! They have let you out, then?" + +"Yes." + +"Tell me what happened; let me come in--" + +"Go back to bed; there's a good girl. I'll tell you everything in the +morning." + +"Oh, but I am glad! I was so lonely and frightened! Aunt, what was it +all about?" + +"About nothing; as far as I can discover," said Rachel Craik--"a mere +mare's-nest found by a set of stupid police. Some man--a Mr. Ronald +Tower--was supposed to have been murdered, and I was supposed to have +some connection with it, though I had never seen the creature in my +life. Now the man has turned up safe and sound, and the pack of noodles +have at last thought fit to allow a respectable woman to come home to +her bed." + +"Oh, how good! Thank heaven! But, you have some one in there with you?" + +"In here--where?" + +"Why, in the room, aunt." + +"I? No, no one." + +"I am sure I heard--" + +"Now, really, you must go to bed, Winifred! What are you doing awake at +this hour of the morning, roaming about the house? You were asleep half +an hour ago--" + +"Oh, then, it was your light I saw in my sleep! I thought I heard a man +say: 'She is the image--'" + +"Just think of troubling me with your dreams at this unearthly hour! I'm +tired, child; go to bed." + +"Yes--but, aunt, this day's work has cost me my situation. I am +dismissed!" + +"Well, a holiday will do you good." + +"Good gracious--you take it coolly!" + +"Go to bed." + +A sudden din of tumbling weights and splintering wood broke out behind +the half-open door. For, within the room a man had been sitting on a +chair tilted back on its two hind legs. The chair was old and slender, +the man huge; and one of the chair-legs had collapsed under the weight +and landed the man on the floor. + +"Oh, aunt! didn't you say that no one--" began Winifred. + +The sentence was never finished. Rachel Craik, her features twisted in +anger, pushed the young girl with a force which sent her staggering, and +then immediately shut the door. Winifred was left outside in the +darkness. + +She returned to her bed, but not to sleep. It was certain that her aunt +had lied to her--there was more in the air than Winifred's quick wits +could fathom. The fact of Rachel Craik's release did not clear up the +mystery of the fact that she had been arrested. Winifred lay, spurring +her fancy to account for all that puzzled her; and underlying her +thoughts was the man's face and those strange words which she had heard +somewhere on the borders of sleep. + +She fancied she had seen the man somewhere before. At last she recalled +the occasion, and almost laughed at the conceit. It was a picture of +Sitting Bull, and that eminent warrior had long since gone to the happy +hunting-grounds. + +Meantime, the murmur of voices in the back room had recommenced and was +going on. Then, towards morning, Winifred became aware that the murmur +had stopped, and soon afterward she heard the click of the lock of the +front door and a foot going down the front steps. + +Rising quickly, she crept to the window and looked out. Going from the +door down the utterly empty street she saw a man, a big swaggerer, with +something of the over-seas and the adventurer in his air. It was Ralph +"Voles," the "brother" of Senator William Meiklejohn. But Winifred could +not distinguish his features, or she might have recognized the man she +had seen in her half-dreams, and who had said: "She must be taken out of +New York--she is the image of her mother." + +Voles had hardly quitted the place before a street-car conductor, who +had taken temporary lodgings the previous evening in a house opposite, +hurried out into the coldness of the hour before dawn. He seemed pleased +at the necessity of going to work thus early. + +"Oh, boy!" he said softly. "I'm glad there's somethin' doin' at last. I +was getting that sleepy. I could hardly keep me eyes open!" + +When Detective Clancy came to the Bureau a few hours later he found a +memorandum to the effect that a Mr. Ralph V. Voles, of Chicago, stopping +at a high-grade hotel in Fifth Avenue, had dined with Rachel Craik in a +quiet restaurant, had parted from her, and met her again, evidently by +appointment. The two had entered the house in One Hundred and Twelfth +Street separately shortly before midnight, and Voles returned to his +hotel at four o'clock in the morning. + +Clancy shook his head waggishly. + +"Who'd have thought it of you, Rachel?" he cackled. "And, now that I've +seen _you_, what sort of weird specimen can Mr. Ralph V. Voles, of +Chicago, be? I'll look him up!" + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE FLIGHT + + +Carshaw and Fowle enjoyed, let us say, a short but almost triumphal +march to the nearest police-station. Their escort of loafers and small +boys grew quickly in numbers and enthusiasm. It became known that the +arrest was made in East One Hundred and Twelfth Street, and that street +had suddenly become famous. The lively inhabitants of the East Side do +not bother their heads about grammatical niceties, so the gulf between +"the yacht murder" and "the yacht murderers" was easily bridged. The +connection was clear. Two men in a boat, and two men in the grip of +the law! It needed only Fowle's ensanguined visage to complete the +circle of reasoning. Consciousness of this ill-omened popularity +infuriated Carshaw and alarmed Fowle. When they arrived at the precinct +station-house each was inclined to wish he had never seen or heard of +Winifred Bartlett! + +Their treatment by the official in charge only added fuel to the flame. +The patrolman explained that "these two were fighting about the girl +who lives in that house in East One Hundred and Twelfth," and this vague +statement seemed all-sufficient. The sergeant entered their names and +addresses. He went to the telephone and came back. + +"Sit there!" he said authoritatively, and they sat there, Carshaw +trying to take an interest in a "drunk" who was brought in, and Fowle +alternately feeling the sore lump at the back of his head and the sorer +cartilage of his nose. After waiting half an hour Carshaw protested, but +the sergeant assured him that "a man from the Bureau" was _en route_ and +would appear presently. At last Clancy came in. That is why he was "out" +when Senator Meiklejohn inquired for him. + +"H'lo!" he cried when he set eyes on Fowle. "My foreman bookbinder! Your +folio looks somewhat battered!" + +"Glad it's you, Mr. Clancy," snuffled Fowle. "You can tell these cops--" + +"Suppose _you_ tell me," broke in the detective, with a glance at +Carshaw. + +"Yes, Fowle, speak up," said Carshaw. "You've a ready tongue. Explain +your fall from grace." + +"There's nothing to it," growled Fowle. "I know the girl, an' asked her +to come with me this evening. She'd been fired by the firm, an'--" + +"Ah! Who fired her?" Clancy's inquiry sounded most matter-of-fact. + +"The boss, of course." + +"Why?" + +"Well--this newspaper stuff. He didn't like it." + +"He told you so?" + +"Yes. That is--the department is a bit crowded. He--er--asked me--Well, +we reckoned we could do without her." + +"I see. Go on." + +"So I just came up-town, meanin' to talk things over, an' find her a new +job, but she took it all wrong." + +Clancy whirled around on Carshaw. Evidently he had heard enough from +Fowle. + +"And you?" he snapped. + +"I know nothing of either party," was the calm answer. "I couldn't help +overhearing this fellow insulting a lady, so put him where he +belongs--in the gutter." + +"Mr. Clancy," interrupted the sergeant, "you're wanted on the phone." + +The detective was detained a good five minutes. When he returned he +walked straight up to Fowle. + +"Quit!" he said, with a scornful and sidelong jerk of the head. "You got +what you wanted. Get out, and leave Miss Bartlett alone in the future." + +Fowle needed no second bidding. + +"As for me?" inquired Carshaw, with arched eyebrows. + +"May I drop you in Madison Avenue?" said Clancy. Once the police car was +speeding down-town he grew chatty. + +"Wish I had seen you trimming Fowle," he said pleasantly. "I've a notion +he had a finger in the pie of Winifred Bartlett's dismissal." + +"It may be." + +Carshaw's tone was indifferent. Just then he was aware only of a very +definite resentment. His mother would be waiting for dinner, and +alarmed, like all mothers who own motoring sons. The detective looked +surprised, but made his point, for all that. + +"I suppose you'll be meeting that very charming young lady again one of +these days," he said. + +"I? Why? Most unlikely." + +"Not so. Do you floor every man you see annoying a woman in the +streets?" + +"Well--er--" + +"Just so. Winifred interested you. She interests me. I mean to keep an +eye on her, a friendly eye. If you and she come together again, let me +know." + +"Really--" + +"No wonder you are ready with a punch. You won't let a man speak. +Listen, now. The patrolman held you and Fowle because he had orders to +arrest, on any pretext or none, any one who seemed to have the remotest +connection with the house in One Hundred and Twelfth Street, where +Winifred Bartlett lives with her aunt. You've read of the Yacht Mystery +and the lassoing of Ronald Tower?" + +"Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Tower are my close friends." + +"Exactly. Now, Rachel Craik, Winifred's aunt, was released from custody +an hour ago. She would have been charged with complicity in the supposed +murder of Tower. I say 'supposed' because there was no murder. Mr. Tower +has returned home, safe and sound--" + +"By Jove, that's good news! But what a strange business it is! My mother +was with Helen Tower this morning, trying to console her." + +"Good! Now, perhaps, you'll sit up and take notice. The truth is that +the mystery of this outrage on Tower is not--cannot be--of recent +origin. I'm sure it is bound up with some long-forgotten occurrence, +possibly a crime, in which the secret of the birth and parentage of +Winifred Bartlett is involved. That girl is no more the niece of her +'aunt' than I am her nephew." + +"But one is usually the niece of one's aunt." + +"I think you need a cigarette," said Clancy dryly. "Organisms accustomed +to poisonous stimulants often wilt when deprived too suddenly of such +harmful tonics." + +Carshaw edged around slightly and looked at this quaint detective. + +"I apologize," he said contritely. "But the crowd got my goat when it +jeered at me as a murderer. And the long wait was annoying, too." + +Clancy, however, was not accustomed to having his confidences slighted. +He was ruffled. + +"Perhaps what I was going to say is hardly worth while," he snapped. "It +was this. If, by chance, your acquaintance with Winifred Bartlett goes +beyond to-day's meeting, and you learn anything of her life and history +which sounds strange in your ears, you may be rendering her a far +greater service than by flattening Fowle's nose if you bring your +knowledge straight to the Bureau." + +"I'll not forget, Mr. Clancy. But let me explain. It will be a miracle +if I meet Miss Bartlett again." + +"It'll be a miracle if you don't," retorted the other. + +So there was a passing whiff of misunderstanding between these two, and, +like every other trivial phase of a strange record, it was destined to +bulk large in the imminent hazards threatening one lone girl. Thus, +Clancy ceased being communicative. He might have referred guardedly to +Senator Meiklejohn. But he did not. Oddly enough, his temperament was +singularly alike to Carshaw's, and that is why sparks flew. + +The heart, however, is deceitful, and Fate is stronger than an irritated +young man whose conventional ideals have been besmirched by being +marched through the streets in custody. The garage in which Carshaw's +automobile was housed temporarily was located near One Hundred and +Twelfth Street. He went there on the following afternoon to see the +machine stripped and find out the exact extent of the damage. Yet he +passed Winifred's house resolutely, without even looking at it. He +returned that way at half past six, and there, on the corner, was posted +Fowle--Fowle, with a swollen nose! There also was their special +patrolman, with an eye for both! + +The mere sight of Fowle prowling in unwholesome quest stirred upwrath +in Carshaw's mind; and the heart, always subtle and self-deceiving, +whispered elatedly: "Here you have an excuse for renewing an +acquaintance which you wished to make yourself believe you did not +care to renew." + +He walked straight to the door of the brown-stone house and rang. Then +he rapped. There was no answer. When he had rapped a second time he +walked away, but he had not gone far when he was almost startled to +find himself face to face with Winifred coming home from making some +purchases, with a bag on her arm. + +He lifted his hat. Winifred, with a vivid blush, hesitated and stopped. +From the corner Fowle stared at the meeting, and made up his mind that +it was really a rendezvous. The patrolman thought so, too, but he had +new orders as to these two. + +"Pardon me, Miss Bartlett," said Carshaw. "Ah, you see I know your name +better than you know mine. Mine is Carshaw--Rex Carshaw, if I may +introduce myself. I have this moment tapped at your door, in the hope of +seeing you." + +"Why so?" asked Winifred. + +"Do you wish to forget the incident of yesterday evening?" + +"No; hence my stopping to hear what you have to say." + +"Well, then, I am here to see to the repairing of my car--not in the +hope of seeing _you_, you know"--Carshaw said this with a twinkle in his +eye; "though, perhaps, if the truth were known, a little in that hope, +too. Then, there at the corner, I find the very man who molested you +last night looking at your house, and this spurred me to knock in order +to ask a favor. Was I wrong?" + +"What favor, sir?" + +"That, if ever you have the least cause to be displeased with the +conduct of that man in the future, you will consider it as _my_ +business, and as an insult offered to _me_--as it will be after the +trouble of last night--and that you will let me know of the matter by +letter. Here is my address." + +Winifred hesitated, then took the proffered card. + +"But--" she faltered. + +"No; promise me that. It really is my business now, you know." + +"I cannot write to you. I--don't--know you." + +"Then I shall only have to stand sentinel a certain number of hours +every day before your house, to see that all goes well. You can't +prevent me doing that, can you? The streets are free to everybody." + +"You are only making fun." + +"That I am not. See how stern and solemn I look. I shall stand sentinel +and gaze up at your window on the chance of seeing your face. Will you +show yourself sometimes to comfort me?" + +"No." + +"I'm sure you will." + +"I'd better promise to write the letter--" + +"There now, that's a point for me!" + +"Oh, don't make me laugh." + +"Point number two--for you have been crying, Miss Winifred!" + +"I?" + +"Yes, I'm sorry to say. Oh, I only wish--" + +"How do you know my name?" + +"What, the 'Winifred' and the 'Bartlett?' Winifred was always one of my +favorite names for a girl, and you look the name all through. Well, +Fowle and I were taken to the station-house last night, and in the +course of the inquiry I heard your name, of course." + +"Did they do anything to you for knocking down Mr. Fowle?" + +"No, no. Of course, they didn't do anything to me. In fact, they seemed +rather pleased. Were you anxious, then, about me?" + +"I was naturally anxious, since it was I who--" + +"Ah, now, don't spoil it by giving a reason. You were anxious, that is +enough; let me be proud, as a recompense. And now I want to ask you two +favors, one of them a great favor. The first is to tell me all you know +about this Fowle. And the second--why you look so sad and have been +crying. May we walk on a little way together, and then you will tell +me?" + +They walked on together, and for a longer time than either of them +realized. Winifred was rather bewitched. Carshaw was something of a +revelation to her in an elusive quality of mind or manner which she in +her heart could only call "charming." + +She spoke of life at Brown, Son & Brown's, in Greenwich Village. She +even revealed that she had been crying because of dark clouds which had +gathered round her of a sudden, doubts and fears for which she had no +name, and because of a sort of dream the previous night in which she had +seen a man's Indian face, and heard a hushed, grim voice say: "She must +be taken out of New York--she is the image of her mother." + +"Ah! And your mother--who and where is she?" asked Carshaw. + +"I don't know. I can't tell. I never knew her," answered Winifred +droopingly, with a shake of her head. + +"And as to your father?" + +"I have no father. I have only my aunt." + +"Winifred," said Carshaw solemnly, "will you consider me your friend +from this night?" + +"You are kind. I trust you," she murmured. + +"A friend is a person who acts for another with the same zeal as for +himself, and who has the privilege of doing whatever seems good to him +for that other. Am I to regard myself as thus privileged?" + +Winifred, who had never flirted with any young man in her life, fancied +she knew nothing about the rules of the game. She was confused. She +veiled her eyes. + +"I don't know--perhaps--we shall see," she stammered. Which was not so +bad for a novice. + +They parted with a warm hand-shake. Ten minutes later Carshaw was in a +telephone booth with Clancy's ear at the other end of the wire. + +"I have just had a chat with Miss Bartlett," he began. + +"Tut, tut! How passing strange!" cackled the detective. "The merest +chance in the world, I'm sure." + +"Yes. The miracle came off, so you're entitled to your gibe. But I have +news for you. It's about a dream and a face." + +"Gee! Throw the picture on the screen, Mr. Carshaw." + +Then Carshaw spoke, and Clancy listened and bade him work more miracles, +even though he might have to report such phenomena to the Psychical +Research Society. Next morning Carshaw, a hard man when offended, +visited Brown, Son & Brown, who had executed a large rebinding order for +his father's library, and Fowle was speedily out of a job. The +ex-foreman knew the source of his misfortune, and vowed vengeance. + +In the evening, about half past six, Carshaw was back in One Hundred and +Twelfth Street. There had been no promise of a meeting between him and +Winifred--no promise, but, by those roundabout means by which people in +sympathy understand each other, it was perfectly well understood that +they would happen to meet again that night. + +He waited in the street, but Winifred did not appear. The brown-stone +house was in total darkness. An hour passed, and the waiting was weary, +for it was drizzling. But Carshaw waited, being a persistent young man. +At last, after seven, a pang of fear shot through his breast. He +remembered the girl's curious account of the dream-man. + +He determined to knock at the door, relying on his wits to invent some +excuse if any stranger opened. But to his repeated loud knockings there +came no answer. The house seemed abandoned. Winifred was gone! Even a +friendly patrolman took pity on his drawn face and drew near. + +"No use, sir!" he confided. "They've skipped. But don't let on _I_ told +you. Call up the Detective Bureau!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +CARSHAW TAKES UP THE CHASE + + +"Busy, Mr. Carshaw?" inquired some one when an impatient young man got +in touch with Mulberry Street after an exasperating delay. + +"Not too busy to try and defeat the scoundrels who are plotting against +a defenseless girl," he cried. + +"Well, come down-town. We'll expect you in half an hour." + +"But, Mr. Clancy asked me--" + +"Better come," said the voice, and Carshaw, though fuming, bowed to +authority. + +It is good for the idle rich that they should be brought occasionally +into sharp contact with life's realities. During his twenty-seven years +Rex Carshaw had hardly ever known what it meant to have a purpose +balked. Luckily for him, he was of good stock and had been well reared. + +The instinct of sport, fostered by triumphs at Harvard, had developed an +innate quality of self-reliance and given him a physical hardihood which +revelled in conquest over difficulties. Each winter, instead of lounging +in flannels at the Poinciana, he was out with guides and dogs in the +Northwest after moose and caribou. + +He preferred polo to tennis. He would rather pass a fortnight in +oilskins with the rough and ready fisher-folk of the Maine coast than +don the white ducks and smart caps of his wealthy yachting friends. In a +word, society and riches had not spoiled him. But he did like to have +his own way, and the suspicion that he might be thwarted in his desire +to help Winifred Bartlett cut him now like a sword. So he chafed against +the seeming slowness of the Subway, and fuel was added to the fire when +he was kept waiting five minutes on arriving at police headquarters. + +He found Clancy closeted with a big man who had just lighted a fat +cigar, and this fact in itself betokened official callousness as to +Winifred's fate. Hot words leaped from his lips. + +"Why have you allowed Miss Bartlett to be spirited away? Is there no law +in this State, nor any one who cares whether or not the law is obeyed? +She's gone--taken by force. I'm certain of it." + +"And we also are certain of it, Mr. Carshaw," said Steingall placidly. +"Sit down. Do you smoke? You'll find these cigars in good shape," and he +pushed forward a box. + +"But, is nothing being done?" Nevertheless, Carshaw sat down and took a +cigar. He had sufficient sense to see that bluster was useless and only +meant loss of dignity. + +"Sure. That's why I asked you to come along." + +"You see," put in Clancy, "you short-circuited the connections the night +before last, so we let you cool your heels in the rain this evening. We +want no 'first I will and then I won't' helpers in this business." + +Carshaw met those beady brown eyes steadily. "I deserved that," he said. +"Now, perhaps, you'll forget a passing mood. I have come to like +Winifred." + +Clancy stared suddenly at a clock. + +"Tick, tick!" he said. "Eight fifteen. _Nom d'un pipe_, now I +understand." + +For the first time the true explanation of Senator Meiklejohn's covert +glance at the clock the previous morning had occurred to him. That wily +gentleman wanted Winifred out of the house for her day's work before the +police interviewed Rachel Craik. He had fought hard to gain even a few +hours in the effort to hinder inquiry. + +"What's bitten you, Frog?" inquired the chief. + +Probably--who knows?--but there was some reasonable likelihood that the +Senator's name might have reached Carshaw's ears had not the telephone +bell jangled. Steingall picked up the receiver. + +"Long-distance call. This is it, I guess," and his free hand enjoined +silence. The talk was brief and one-sided. Steingall smiled as he +replaced the instrument. + +"Now, we're ready for you, Mr. Carshaw," he said, lolling back in his +chair again. "The Misses Craik and Bartlett have arrived for the night +at the Maples Inn, Fairfield, Connecticut. Thanks to you, we knew that +some one was desperately anxious that Winifred should leave New York. +Thanks to you, too, she has gone. Neither her aunt nor the other +interested people cared to have her strolling in Central Park with an +eligible and fairly intelligent bachelor like Mr. Rex Carshaw." + +Carshaw's lips parted eagerly, but a gesture stayed him. + +"Yes. Of course, I know you're straining at the leash, but please don't +go off on false trails. You never lose time casting about for the true +line. This is the actual position of affairs: A man known as Ralph V. +Voles, assisted by an amiable person named Mick the Wolf--he was so +christened in Leadville, where they sum up a tough accurately--hauled +Mr. Ronald Tower into the river. For some reason best known to himself, +Mr. Tower treats the matter rather as a joke, so the police can carry +it no further. But Voles is associated with Rachel Craik, and was in her +house during several hours on the night of the river incident and the +night following. It is almost safe to assume that he counseled the +girl's removal from New York because she is 'the image of her mother.' +One asks why this very natural fact should render Winifred Bartlett an +undesirable resident of New York. There is a ready answer. She might be +recognized. Such recognition would be awkward for somebody. But the girl +has lived in almost total seclusion. She is nineteen. If she is so like +her mother as to be recognized, her mother must have been a person of no +small consequence, a lady known to and admired by a very large circle of +friends. The daughter of any other woman, presumably long since dead, +who was not of social importance, could hardly be recognized. You follow +this?" + +"Perfectly." Carshaw was beginning to remodel his opinion of the Bureau +generally, and of its easy-going, genial-looking chief in particular. + +"This fear of recognition, with its certain consequences," went on +Steingall, pausing to flick the ash off his cigar, "is the dominant +factor in Winifred's career as directed by Rachel Craik. This woman, +swayed by some lingering shreds of decent thought, had the child well +educated, but the instant she approaches maturity, Winifred is set to +earn a living in a bookbinding factory. Why? Social New York does not +visit wholesale trade houses, nor travel on the elevated during rush +hours. But it does go to the big stores and fashionable milliners where +a pretty, well proportioned girl can obtain employment readily. +Moreover, Rachel Craik would never 'hear of' the stage, though Winifred +can sing, and believes she could dance. And how prompt recognition might +be in a theater. It all comes to this, Mr. Carshaw: the Bureau's hands +are tied, but it can and will assist an outsider, whom it trusts, who +means rescuing Miss Bartlett from the exile which threatens her. We have +looked you over carefully, and think you are trustworthy--" + +"The Lord help you if you're not!" broke in Clancy. "I like the girl. It +will be a bad day for the man who works her evil." + +Carshaw's eyes clashed with Clancy's, as rapiers rasp in thrust and +parry. From that instant the two men became firm friends, for the young +millionaire said quietly: + +"I have her promise to call for help on me, first, Mr. Clancy." + +"You'll follow her to Fairfield then?" and Steingall sat up suddenly. + +"Yes. Please advise me." + +"That's the way to talk. I wish there was a heap more boys like you +among the Four Hundred. But I can't advise you. I'm an official. +Suppose, however, I were a young gentleman of leisure who wanted to +befriend a deserving young lady in Winifred Bartlett's very peculiar +circumstances. I'd persuade her to leave a highly undesirable 'aunt,' +and strike out for herself. I'd ask my mother, or some other lady of +good standing, to take the girl under her wing, and see that she was +cared for until a place was found in some business or profession suited +to her talents. And that's as far as I care to go at this sitting. As +for the ways and means, in these days of fast cars and dare-devil +drivers who are in daily danger of losing their licenses--" + +"By gad, I'll do it," and Carshaw's emphatic fist thumped the table. + +"Steady! This Voles is a tremendous fellow. In a personal encounter you +would stand no chance. And he's the sort that shoots at sight. Mick the +Wolf, too, is a bad man from the wild and woolly West. The type exists, +even to-day. We have gunmen here in New York who'd clean up a whole +saloonful of modern cowboys. Voles and Mick are in Fairfield, but I've a +notion they'll not stay in the same hotel as Winifred and her aunt. I +think, too, that they may lie low for a day or two. You'll observe, of +course, that Rachel Craik, so poverty-stricken that Winifred had to +earn eight dollars a week to eke out the housekeeping, can now afford to +travel and live in expensive hotels. All this means that Winifred ought +to be urged to break loose and come back to New York. The police will +protect her if she gives them the opportunity, but the law won't let us +butt in between relatives, even supposed ones, without sufficient +justification. One last word--you must forget everything I've said." + +"And another last word," cried Clancy. "The Bureau is a regular old +woman for tittle-tattle. We listen to all sorts of gossip. Some of it is +real news." + +"And, by jing, I was nearly omitting one bit of scandal," said +Steingall. "It seems that Mick the Wolf and a fellow named Fowle met in +a corner saloon round about One Hundred and Twelfth Street the night +before last. They soon grew thick as thieves, and Fowle, it appears, +watched a certain young couple stroll off into the gloaming last night." + +"Next time I happen on Fowle!" growled Carshaw. + +"You'll leave him alone. Brains are better than brawn. Ask Clancy." + +"Sure thing!" chuckled the little man. "Look at us two!" + +"Anyhow, I'd hate to have the combination working against me," and with +this deft rejoinder Carshaw hurried away to a garage where he was +known. At dawn he was hooting an open passage along the Boston Post Road +in a car which temporarily replaced his own damaged cruiser. + +Within three hours he was seated in the dining-room of the Maples Inn +and reading a newspaper. It was the off season, and the hotel contained +hardly any guests, but he had ascertained that Winifred and her aunt +were certainly there. For a long time, however, none but a couple of +German waiters broke his vigil, for this thing happened before the war. +One stout fellow went away. The other, a mere boy, remained and flecked +dust with a napkin, wondering, no doubt, why the motorist sat hours at +the table. At last, near noon, Rachel Craik, with a plaid shawl draped +around her angular shoulders, and Winifred, in a new dress of French +gray, came in. + +Winifred started and cast down her eyes on seeing who was there. +Carshaw, on his part, apparently had no eyes for her, but kept a look +over the top of his newspaper at Rachel Craik, to see whether she +recognized him, supposing it to be a fact that he had been seen with +Winifred. She seemed, however, hardly to be aware of his presence. + +The girl and the woman sat some distance from him--the room was +large--near a window, looking out, and anon exchanging a remark in +quiet voices. Then a lunch was brought into them, Carshaw meantime +buried in the newspaper except when he stole a glance at Winifred. + +His hope was that the woman would leave the girl alone, if only for one +minute, for he had a note ready to slip into Winifred's hand, beseeching +her to meet him that evening at seven in the lane behind the church for +some talk "on a matter of high importance." + +But fortune was against him. Rachel Craik, after her meal, sat again at +the window, took up some knitting, and plied needles like a slow +machine. The afternoon wore on. Finally, Carshaw rang to order his own +late lunch, and the German boy brought it in. He rose to go to table; +but, as if the mere act of rising spurred him to further action, he +walked straight to Winifred. The hours left him were few, and his +impatience had grown to the point of desperateness now. He bowed and +held out the paper, saying: + +"Perhaps you have not seen this morning's newspaper?" At the same time +he presented her the note. + +Miss Craik was sitting two yards away, half-turned from Winifred, but at +this afternoon offer of the morning's paper she glanced round fully at +Winifred, and saw, that as Winifred took the newspaper, she tried to +grasp with it a note also which lay on it--tried, but failed, for the +note escaped, slipped down on Winifred's lap, and lay there exposed. + +Miss Craik's eyebrows lifted a little, but she did not cease her +knitting. Winifred's face was painfully red, and in another moment pale. +Carshaw was not often at his wits' end, but now for some seconds he +stood embarrassed. + +Rachel Craik, however, saved him by saying quickly: "The gentleman has +dropped something in your lap, Winifred." Whereupon Winifred handed back +the unfortunate note. + +What was he to do now? If he wrote to Winifred through the ordinary +channels of the hotel she might, indeed, soon receive the letter, but +the risks of this course were many and obvious. He ate, puzzling his +brains, spurring all his power of invention. The time for action was +growing short. + +Suddenly he noticed the German boy, and had a thought. He could speak +German well, and, guessing that Rachel Craik probably did not understand +a word of it, he said in a natural voice to the boy in German: + +"Fond of American dollars, boy?" + +"_Ja, mein Herr_," answered the boy. + +"I'm going to give you five." + +"You are very good, _mein Herr_," said the boy, "beautiful thanks!" + +"But you have to earn them. Will you do just what I tell you, without +asking for any reason?" + +"If I can, _mein Herr_." + +"Nothing very difficult. You have only to go over yonder by that chair +where I was sitting, throw yourself suddenly on the floor, and begin to +kick and wriggle as though you had a fit. Keep it up for two minutes, +and I will give you not five but ten. Will you do this?" + +"From the heart willingly, _mein Herr_," answered the boy, who had a +solemn face and a complete lack of humor. + +"Wait, then, three minutes, and then--suddenly--do it." + +The three minutes passed in silence; no sound in the room, save the +clicking of Carshaw's knife and fork, and the ply of Rachel Craik's +knitting-needles. Then the boy lounged away to the farther end of the +room; and suddenly, with a bump, he was on the floor and in the promised +fit. + +"Halloo!" cried Carshaw, while from both Winifred and Rachel came little +cries of alarm--for a fit has the same effect as a mouse on the nerves +of women. + +"He's in a fit!" screamed the aunt. + +"Please do something for him!" cried Winifred to Carshaw, with a face of +distress. But he would not stir from his seat. The boy still kicked and +writhed, lying on his face and uttering blood-curdling sounds. This was +easy. He had only to make bitter plaint in the German tongue. + +"Oh, aunt," said Winifred, half risen, yet hesitating for fear, "do help +that poor fellow!" + +Whereupon Miss Craik leaped up, caught the water-jug from the table with +a rather withering look at Carshaw, and hurried toward the boy. Winifred +went after her and Carshaw went after Winifred. + +The older woman turned the boy over, bent down, dipped her fingers in +the water, and sprinkled his forehead. Winifred stood a little behind +her, bending also. Near her, too, Carshaw bent over the now quiet form +of the boy. + +A piece of paper touched Winifred's palm--the note again. This time her +fingers closed on it and quickly stole into her pocket. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE TWO CARS + + +"It is highly improper on my part to come here and meet you," said +Winifred. "What can it be that you have to say to me of such 'high +importance'?" + +The two were in the lane behind the church, at seven that same evening. +Winifred, on some pretext, had escaped the watchful eyes of Rachel +Craik, or fancied that she had, and came hurriedly to the waiting +Carshaw. She was all aflutter with expectancy not untinged by fear, she +knew not of what. The nights were beginning to darken early, and it was +gloomy that evening, for the sky was covered with clouds and a little +drizzle was falling. + +"You are not to think that there is the least hint of impropriety about +the matter," Carshaw assured her. "Understand, please, Winifred, that +this is no lovers' meeting, but a business one, on which your whole +future life depends. You cannot suppose that I have followed you to +Fairfield for nothing." + +"How could you possibly know that I was here?" + +"From the police." + +"The police _again_? What a strange thing!" + +"Yes, a strange thing, and yet not so strange. They are keenly +interested in you and your movements, for your good. And I, of course, +still more so." + +"You are wonderfully good to care. But, tell me quickly, I cannot stay +ten minutes. I think my aunt suspects something. She already knows about +the note dropped to-day into my lap." + +"And about the boy in the fit. Does she suspect that, too?" + +"What, was that a ruse? Good gracious, how artful you must be! I'm +afraid of you--" + +"Endlessly artful for your sake, Winifred." + +"You are kind. But tell me quickly." + +"Winifred, you are in danger, from which there is only one way of escape +for you--namely, absolute trust in me. Pray understand that the dream in +which you heard some one say, 'She must be taken away from New York' was +no dream. You are here in order to be taken. This may be the first stage +of a long journey. Understand also that there is no bond of duty which +forces you to go against your will, for the shrewdest men in the New +York police have reason to think you are not who you imagine you are, +and that the woman you call your aunt is no relative of yours." + +"What reason have they?" asked Winifred. + +"I don't care--I don't know, they have not told me. But I believe them, +and I want you to believe me. The persons who have charge of your +destiny are not normal persons--more or less they have done, or are +connected with wrong. There is no doubt about that. The police know it, +though they cannot yet drag that wrong into the light. Do you credit +what I say?" + +"It is all very strange." + +"It is _true_. That is the point. Have you, by the way, ever seen a man +called Voles?" + +"Voles? No." + +"Yet that man at this moment is somewhere near you. He came in the same +train with you from New York. He is always near you. He is the most +intimate associate of your aunt. Think now, and tell me whether it is +not a disturbing thing that you never saw this man face to face?" + +"Most disturbing, if what you say is so." + +"But suppose I tell you what I firmly believe--that you _have_ seen him; +that it was _his_ face which bent over you in your half-sleep the other +night, and his voice which you heard?" + +"I always thought that it was no dream," said Winifred. "It was--not a +nice face." + +"And remember, Winifred," urged Carshaw earnestly, "that to-day and +to-morrow are your last chances. You are about to be taken far +away--possibly to France or England, as surely as you see those clouds. +True, if you go, I shall go after you." + +"You?" + +"Yes, I. But, if you go, I cannot be certain how far I may be able to +defend and rescue you there, as I can in America. I know nothing of +foreign laws, and those who have you in their power do. On that field +they may easily beat me. So now is your chance, Winifred." + +"But what am I to do?" she asked in a scared tone, frightened at last by +the sincerity blazing from his eyes. + +"Necessity has no rules of propriety," he answered. "I have a car here. +You should come with me this very night to New York. Once back there, it +is only what my interest in you gives me the right to expect that you +will consent to use my purse for a short while, till you find suitable +employment." + +Winifred covered her face and began to cry. "Oh, I couldn't!" she +sobbed. + +"Don't cry," said Carshaw tenderly. "You must, you know, since it is the +only way. You cry because you do not trust me." + +"Oh! I do. But what a thing it is that you propose! To break with all my +past on a sudden. I hardly even know you; last week I had not seen +you--" + +"There, that is mistrust. I know you as well as if I had always known +you. In fact, I always did, in a sense. Please don't cry. Say that you +will come with me to-night. It will be the best piece of work that you +ever did for yourself, and you will always thank me for having persuaded +you." + +"But not to-night! I must have time to reflect, at least." + +"Then, when?" + +"Perhaps to-morrow night. I don't know. I must think it over first in +all its bearings. To-morrow morning I will leave a letter in the office, +telling you--" + +"Well, if you insist on the delay. But it is dangerous, Winifred--it is +horribly dangerous!" + +"I can't help that. How could a girl run away in that fashion?" + +"Well, then, to-morrow night at eleven, precisely. I shall be at the end +of this lane in my car, if your letter in the morning says 'Yes.' Is +that understood?" + +"Yes." + +"Let me warn you against bringing anything with you--any clothes or a +grip. Just steal out of the inn as you are. And I shall be just there at +the corner--at eleven." + +"Yes." + +"I may not have the chance of speaking to you again before--" + +But Carshaw's pleading stopped short; from the near end of the lane a +tall form entered it--Rachel Craik. She had followed Winifred from the +hotel, suspecting that all was not well--had followed her, lost her, and +now had refound her. She walked sedately, with an inscrutable face, +toward the spot where the two were talking. The moment Carshaw saw this +woman of ill omen he understood that all was lost, unless he acted with +bewildering promptness, and quickly he whispered in Winifred's ear: + +"It must be to-night or never! Decide now. 'Yes' or 'No.'" + +"Yes," said Winifred, in a voice so low that he could hardly hear. + +"At eleven to-night?" + +"Yes," she murmured. + +Rachel Craik was now up to them. She was in a vile temper, but contrived +to curb it. + +"What is the meaning of this, Winifred? And who is this gentleman?" she +said. + +Winifred, from the habit of a lifetime, stood in no small awe of that +austere woman. All the blood fled from the girl's face. She could only +say brokenly: + +"I am coming, aunt," and went following with a dejected air a yard +behind her captor. In this order they walked till they arrived at the +door of the Maples Inn, neither having uttered a single word to the +other. There Miss Craik halted abruptly. "Go to your room," she +muttered. "I'm ashamed of you. Sneaking out at night to meet a strange +man! No kitchen-wench could have behaved worse." + +Winifred had no answer to that taunt. She could not explain her motives. +Indeed, she would have failed lamentably had she attempted it. All she +knew was that life had suddenly turned topsy-turvy. She distrusted her +aunt, the woman to whom she seemed to owe duty and respect, and was +inclined to trust a young man whom she had met three times in all. But +she was gentle and soft-hearted. Perhaps, if this Mr. Rex Carshaw, with +his earnest eyes and wheedling voice, could have a talk with "aunty," +his queer suspicions--so oddly borne out by events--might be dissipated. + +"I'm sorry if I seem to have done wrong," she said, laying a timid hand +on Rachel Craik's arm. "If you would only tell me a little, dear. Why +have we left New York? Why--" + +"Do you want to see me in jail?" came the harsh whisper. + +"No. Oh, no. But--" + +"Obey me, then! Remain in your room till I send for you. I'm in danger, +and you, you foolish girl, are actually in league with my enemies. Go!" + +Winifred sped through the porch, and hied her to a window in her room on +the first floor which commanded a view of the main street. She could see +neither Carshaw nor Aunt Rachel, the one having determined to lie low +for a few hours, and the other being hidden from sight already as she +hastened through the rain to the small inn where Voles and Mick the Wolf +were located. + +These worthies were out. The proprietor said they had hired a car and +gone to Bridgeport. Miss Craik could only wait, and she sat in the +lobby, prim and quiet, the picture of resignation, not betraying by a +look or gesture the passions of anger, apprehension, and impatience +which raged in her breast. + +Voles did not come. An hour passed; eight struck, then nine. Once the +word "carousing"! passed Miss Rachel's lips with an intense bitterness; +but, on the whole, she sat with a stiff back, patient as stone. + +Then after ten there came the hum and whir of an automobile driven at +high speed through the rain-sodden main street. It stopped outside the +inn. A minute later the gallant body of Voles entered, cigar in his +mouth, and a look of much champagne in his eyes. + +"What, Rachel, girl, you here!" he said in his offhand way. + +"Are you sober?" asked Rachel, rising quickly. + +"Sober? Never been really soused in my life! What's up?" + +He dropped a huge paw roughly on her shoulder, and her hard eyes +softened as she looked at his face and splendid frame, for Ralph "Voles" +was Rachel Craik's one weakness. + +"What's the trouble?" he went on, seeing that her lips were twitching. + +"You should have been here," she snapped. "Everything may be lost. A man +is down here after Winifred, and I've caught her talking to him in +secret." + +"A cop?" and Voles glanced around the otherwise deserted lobby. + +"I don't know--most probably. Or he may be that same man who was walking +with her on Wednesday night in Central Park. Anyway, this afternoon he +tried to hand her a note in offering her a newspaper. The note fell, and +I saw it. Afterward he managed to get it to her in some way, though I +never for a moment let her out of my sight; and they met about seven +o'clock behind the church." + +"The little cat! She beat you to it, Rachel!" + +"There is no time for talk, Ralph. That man will take her from us, and +then woe to you, to William, to us all. Things come out; they do, they +do--the deepest secrets! Man, man--oh, rouse yourself, sober yourself, +and act! We must be far from this place before morning." + +"No more trains from here--" + +"You could hire a car for your own amusement. Rush her off in that. +Snatch her away to Boston. We may catch a liner to-morrow." + +"But we can't have her seeing us!" + +"We can't help that. It is dark; she won't see your face. Let us be +gone. We must have been watched, or how could that man have found us +out? Ralph! Don't you understand? You must do something." + +"Where's this spy you gab of? I'll--" + +"This is not the Mexican border. You can't shoot here. The man is not +the point, but the girl. She must be gotten away at once." + +"Nothing easier. Off, now to the hotel, and be ready in half an hour. +I'll bring the car around." + +Rachel Craik wanted no further discussion. She reached the Maples Inn in +a flurry of little runs. Before the door she saw two glaring lights, the +lamps of Carshaw's automobile. It was not far from eleven. Even as she +approached the hotel, Carshaw got in and drove down the street. He drew +up on a patch of grass by the roadside at the end of the lane behind +the church. Soon after this he heard a clock strike eleven. + +His eyes peered down the darkness of the lane to see Winifred coming, as +she had promised. It was still drizzling slightly--the night was heavy, +stagnant and silent. Winifred did not come, and Carshaw's brows puckered +with care and foreboding. A quarter of an hour passed, but no light +tread gladdened his ear. Fairfield lay fast asleep. + +Carshaw could no longer sit still. He paced restlessly about the wet +grass to ease his anxious heart. And so another quarter of an hour wore +slowly. Then the sound of a fast-moving car broke the silence. Down the +road a pair of dragon-eyes blazed. The car came like the chariots of +Sennacherib, in reckless flight. Soon it was upon him. He drew back out +of the road toward his own racer. + +Though rather surprised at this urgent flight he had no suspicion that +Winifred might be the cause of it. As the car dashed past he clearly saw +on the front seat two men, and in the tonneau he made out the forms of +two women. The faces of any of the quartet were wholly merged in speed +and the night, but some white object fluttered in the swirl of air and +fell forlornly in the road, dropping swiftly in its final plunge, like a +stricken bird. He darted forward and picked up a lady's handkerchief. +Then he knew! Winifred was being reft from him again. He leaped to his +own car, started the engine, turned with reckless haste, and in a few +seconds was hot in chase. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE PURSUIT + + +The two automobiles rushed along the Boston Post Road, heading for +Bridgeport. The loud rivalry of their straining engines awoke many a +wayside dweller, and brought down maledictions on the heads of all +midnight joy-riders. + +Carshaw knew the road well, and his car was slightly superior to the +other in speed. His hastily evolved plan was to hold the kidnappers +until they were in the main street of Bridgeport. There he could dash +ahead, block further progress, risking a partial collision if necessary, +and refer the instant quarrel to the police, bidding them verify his +version of the dispute by telephoning New York. + +He could only hope that Winifred would bear him out as against her +"aunt," and he felt sure that Voles and his fellow-adventurer dare not +risk close investigation by the law. At any rate, his main object at +present was to overtake the car in front, which had gained a flying +start, and thus spoil any maneuvering for escape, such as turning into a +side road. In his enthusiasm he pressed on too rapidly. + +He was seen, and his intent guessed. The leading car slowed a trifle in +rounding a bend; as Carshaw careened into view a revolver-shot rang out, +and a bullet drilled a neat hole in the wind-screen, making a noise like +the sharp crack of a whip. Simultaneously came a scream! + +That must be Winifred's cry of terror in his behalf. The sound nerved +him anew. He saw red. A second shot, followed by a wilder shriek, spat +lead somewhere in the bonnet. Carshaw set his teeth, gave the engine +every ounce of power, and the two chariots of steel went raging, +reckless of consequences, along the road. + +There must be a special Providence that looks after chauffeurs, as well +as after children and drunkards, for at some places the road, though +wide enough, was so dismal with shadow that if any danger lurked within +the darkness it would not have been seen in time to be avoided. + +"Drunkenness" is, indeed, the word to describe the state of mind of the +two drivers by this time--a heat to be on, a wrath against obstacles, a +storm in the blood, and a light in the eyes. Voles would have whirled +through a battalion of soldiers on the march, if he had met them, and +would have hissed curses at them as he pitched over their bodies. He +knew how to handle an automobile, having driven one over the rough +tracks of the Rockies, so this well-kept road offered no difficulties. +For five minutes the cars raged ahead, passed through a sleeping village +street and down a hill into open country beyond. + +No sound was made by their occupants, whose minds and purposes remained +dark one to the other. Voles might have fancied himself chased by the +flight of witches who harried Tam o' Shanter, while Carshaw might have +been hunting a cargo of ghosts; only the running hum of the cars droned +its music along the highway, with a staccato accompaniment of +revolver-shots and Winifred's appeals to heaven for aid. Meantime, the +rear car still gained on the one in front. And, on a sudden, Carshaw was +aware of a shouting, though he could not make out the words. It was Mick +the Wolf, who had clambered into the tonneau and was bellowing: + +"Pull up, you--Pull up, or I'll get you sure!" + +Nor was the threat a waste of words, for he had hardly shouted when +again a bullet flicked past Carshaw's head. + +Just then a bend of the road and a patch of woodland hid the two cars +from each other; but they had hardly come out upon a reach of straight +road again when another shot was fired. Carshaw, however, was now +crouched low over the steering wheel, and using the hood of the car as a +breast-work; though, since he was obliged to look out, his head was +still more or less exposed. + +He bated no whit of speed on this account, but raced on; still, that +firing in the dark had an effect upon his nerves, making him feel rather +queer and small, for every now and again at intervals of a few seconds, +it was sure to come, the desperado taking slow, cool aim with the +perseverance of a man plying his day's work, of a man repeating to +himself the motto: + +"If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again." + +Those shots, moreover, were coming from a hand whose aim seldom +failed--a dead shot, baffled only by the unconquerable vibration. And +yet Carshaw was untouched. He could not even think. He was conscious +only of the thrum of the car, the spurts of flame, the whistle of lead, +the hysterical frenzy of Winifred's plaints. + +The darkness alone saved him, but the more he caught up with the +fugitive the less was this advantage likely to stand him in good stead. +And when he should actually catch them up--what then? This question +presented itself now to his heated mind. He had no plan of action. None +was possible. Even in Bridgeport what could he do? There were two +against one--he would simply be shot as he passed the other car. + +It was only the heat of the hunt that had created in him the feeling +that he must overtake them, though he died for it; but when he was +within thirty yards of the front car, and two shots had come dangerously +near in swift succession, a flash of reason warned him, and he +determined to slacken speed a little. He was not given time to do this. +There was an outcry on the car in front from three throats in it. + +A mob of oxen, being driven to some market, blocked the road just beyond +a bend. The men in charge had heard the thunder of the oncoming racers, +with its ominous obbligato of screams and shooting. They had striven +desperately to whack the animals to the hedge on either side, and were +bawling loud warnings to those thrice accursed gunmen whom they imagined +chased by police. Their efforts, their yells, were useless. Sixty miles +an hour demands at least sixty yards for safety. When Voles put hand and +foot to the brakes he had hardly a clear space of ten. An obstreperous +bullock was the immediate cause of disaster. Facing the dragon eyes, it +charged valiantly! + +Mick the Wolf, running short of cartridges, was about to ask Voles to +slow down until he "got" the reckless pursuer, when he found himself +describing a parabola backward through the air. He landed in the +roadway, breaking his left arm. + +Voles had an extraordinary lurid oath squeezed out of his vast bulk as +he was forced onto the steering-wheel, the pillar snapping like a +carrot. Winifred and Rachel Craik were flung against the padded back of +the driving seat, but saved from real injury because of their crouching +to avoid Mick the Wolf. + +Voles was as quick as a wildcat in an emergency like this. He was on his +feet in a second, with a leg over the door, meaning to shoot Carshaw ere +the latter could do anything to protect himself. But luck, dead against +honesty thus far, suddenly veered against crime. Carshaw's car smashed +into the rear of the heavy mass composed of crushed bullock and +automobile no longer mobile, and dislocated its own engine and feed +pipes. The jerk threw Voles heavily, and nearly, not quite, sprained his +ankle. So, during a precious second or two, he lay almost stunned on the +left side of the road. + +Carshaw, given a hint of disaster by the slightest fraction of time, and +already braced low in the body of his car, was able to jump unobserved +from the wreck. As though his brain were illumined by a flash of +lightning, he remembered that the signal handkerchief had fluttered from +the off side of the flying car, so he ran to the right, and grabbed a +breathless bundle of soft femininity out of the ruin. + +"Winifred," he gasped. + +"Oh, are you safe?" came the strangled sob. So that was her first +thought, his safety! It is a thrilling moment in a man's life when he +learns that his well-being provides an all-sufficing content for some +dear woman. Come weal, come woe, Carshaw knew then that he was clasping +his future wife in his arms. He ran with her through a mob of frightened +cattle, and discovered a gate leading into a field. + +"Can you stand if I lift you over?" he said, leaning against the bars. + +"Of course! I can run, too," and, in maidenly effort to free herself, +she hugged him closer. They crossed the gate and together breasted a +slight rise through scattered sheaves of corn-shucks. Meanwhile, Voles +and the cattlemen were engaged in a cursing match until Rachel Craik, +recovering her wind, screamed an eldrich command: + +"Stop, you fool! They're getting away. He has taken her down the road!" + +Voles limped off in pursuit, and Mick the Wolf took up the fierce +argument with the drivers. At that instant the wreck blazed into flame. +Rachel had to move quickly to avoid a holocaust in which a hapless +bullock provided the burnt offering. The light of this pyre revealed the +distant figures of Winifred and Carshaw, whereupon the maddened Voles +tried pot shots at a hundred yards. Bullets came close, too. One cut +the heel of Carshaw's shoe; another plowed a ridge through his motoring +cap. Realizing that Voles would aim only at him, he told Winifred to run +wide. + +She caught his hand. + +"Please--help!" she breathed. "I cannot run far." + +He smothered a laugh of sheer joy. Winifred's legs were supple as his. +She was probably the fleeter of the two. It was the mother-instinct that +spoke in her. This was her man, and she must protect him, cover him from +enemies with her own slim body. + +Soon they were safe from even a chance shot. On climbing a rail fence, +Carshaw led the girl clearly into view until a fold in the ground +offered. Then they doubled and zigzagged. They saw some houses, but +Carshaw wanted no explanation or parleying then and pressed on. They +entered a lane, or driveway, and followed it. There came a murmuring of +mighty waters, the voice of the sea; they were on the beach of Long +Island Sound. Far behind, in the gloom, shone a lurid redness, marking +the spot where the two cars and the bullock were being converted into +ardent gasses. + +Carshaw halted and surveyed a long, low line of blackness breaking into +the deep-blue plain of the sea to the right. + +"I know where we are," he said. "There's a hotel on that point. It's +about two miles. You could walk twenty, couldn't you?" + +"Oh, yes," said Winifred unthinkingly. + +"Or run five at a jog-trot?" he teased her. + +"Well--er--" + +She blushed furiously, and thanked the night that hid her from his eyes. +No maid wishes a man to think she is in love with him before he has +uttered the word of love. When next she spoke, Winifred's tone was +reserved, almost distant. + +"Now tell me what has caused this tornado," she said. "I have been +acting on impulse. Please give me some reasonable theory of to-night's +madness." + +It was on the tip of Carshaw's tongue to assure her that they were going +to New York by the first train, and would hie themselves straight to the +City Hall for a marriage license. But--he had a mother, a prized and +deeply reverenced mother. Ought he to break in on her placid and +well-balanced existence with the curt announcement that he was married, +even to a wife like Winifred. Would he be playing the game with those +good fellows in the detective bureau? Was it fair even to Winifred that +she should be asked to pay the immediate price, as it were, of her +rescue? So the fateful words were not uttered, and the two trudged on, +talking with much common sense, probing the doubtful things in +Winifred's past life, and ever avoiding the tumult of passion which must +have followed their first kiss. + +In due course an innkeeper was aroused and the mishap of a car +explained. The man took them for husband and wife; happily, Winifred did +not overhear Carshaw's smothered: + +"Not yet!" + +The girl soon went to her room. They parted with a formal hand-shake; +but, to still the ready lips of scandal, Carshaw discovered the +landlord's favorite brand of wine and sat up all night in his company. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE NEW LINK + + +Steingall and Clancy were highly amused by Carshaw's account of the +"second burning of Fairfield," as the little man described the struggle +between Winifred's abductors and her rescuer. The latter, not so well +versed in his country's history as every young American ought to be, had +to consult a history of the Revolution to learn that Fairfield was +burned by the British in 1777. The later burning, by the way, created a +pretty quarrel between two insurance companies, the proprietors of two +garages and the owner of a certain bullock, with Carshaw's lawyer and a +Bridgeport lawyer, instructed by "Mr. Ralph Voles," as interveners. + +"And where is the young lady now?" inquired Steingall, when Carshaw's +story reached its end. + +"Living in rooms in a house in East Twenty-seventh Street, a quiet place +kept by a Miss Goodman." + +"Ah! Too soon for any planning as to the future, I suppose?" + +"We talked of that in the train. Winifred has a voice, so the stage +offers an immediate opening. But I don't like the notion of musical +comedy, and the concert platform demands a good deal of training, since +a girl starts there practically as a principal. There is no urgency. +Winifred might well enjoy a fortnight's rest. I have counseled that." + +"A stage wait, in fact," put in Clancy, sarcastically. + +By this time Carshaw was beginning to understand the peculiar quality of +the small detective's wit. + +"Yes," he said, smiling into those piercing and brilliant eyes. "There +are periods in a man's life when he ought to submit his desires to the +acid test. Such a time has come now for me." + +"But 'Aunt Rachel' may find her. Is she strong-willed enough to resist +cajoling, and seek the aid of the law if force is threatened?" + +"Yes, I am sure now. What she heard and saw of those two men during the +mad run along the Post Road supplied good and convincing reasons why she +should refuse to return to Miss Craik." + +"Why are you unwilling to charge them with attempted murder?" said +Steingall, for Carshaw had stipulated there should be no legal +proceedings. + +"My lawyers advise against it," he said simply. + +"You've consulted them?" + +"Yes, called in on my way here. When I reached home after seeing +Winifred fixed comfortably in Miss Goodman's, I opened a letter from my +lawyers, requesting an interview--on another matter, of course. Meaning +to marry Winifred, if she'll take me, I thought it wise to tell them +something about recent events." + +Steingall carefully chose a cigar from a box of fifty, all exactly +alike, nipped the end off, and lighted it. Clancy's fingers drummed +impatiently on the table at which the three were seated. Evidently he +expected the chief to play Sir Oracle. But the head of the Bureau +contented himself with the comment that he was still interested in +Winifred Bartlett's history, and would be glad to have any definite +particulars which Carshaw might gather. + +Clancy sighed so heavily on hearing this "departmental" utterance that +Carshaw was surprised. + +"If I could please myself, I'd rush Winifred to the City Hall for a +marriage license to-day," he said, believing he had fathomed the other's +thought. + +"I'm a bit of a Celt on the French and Irish sides," snapped Clancy, +"and that means an ineradicable vein of romance in my make-up. But I'm +a New York policeman, too--a guy who has to mind his own business far +more frequently than the public suspects." + +And there the subject dropped. Truth to tell, the department had to +tread warily in stalking such big game as a Senator. Carshaw was a +friend of the Towers, and "the yacht mystery" had been deliberately +squelched by the highly influential persons most concerned. It was +impolitic, it might be disastrous, if Senator Meiklejohn's name were +dragged into connection with that of the unsavory Voles on the flimsy +evidence, or, rather, mere doubt, affecting Winifred Bartlett's early +life. + +Winifred herself lived in a passive but blissful state of dreams during +the three weeks. Perhaps, in her heart of hearts, she wondered if every +young man who might be in love with a girl imposed such rigid restraint +on himself as Rex Carshaw when he was in her company. The unspoken +language of love was plain in every glance, in every tone, in the merest +touch of their hands. But he spoke no definite word, and their lips had +never met. + +Miss Goodman, who took an interest in the pretty and amiable girl, spent +many an hour of chat with her. Every morning there arrived a present of +flowers from Carshaw; every afternoon Carshaw himself appeared as +regularly as the clock and drank of Miss Goodman's tea. They were weeks +of _Nirvana_ for Winifred, and, but for her fear of being found out and +her continued lack of occupation, they were the happiest she had ever +known. Meantime, however, she was living on "borrowed" money, and felt +herself in a false position. + +"Well, any news?" was always Carshaw's first question as he placed his +hat over his stick on a chair. And Winifred might reply: + +"Not much. I saw such-and-such a stage manager, and went from such an +agent to another, and had my voice tried, with the usual promises. I'm +afraid that even your patience will soon be worn out. I am sorry now +that I thought of singing instead of something else, for there are +plenty of girls who can sing much better than I." + +"But don't be so eager about the matter, Winifred," he would say. "It is +an anxious little heart that eats itself out and will not learn repose. +Isn't it? And it chafes at being dependent on some one who is growing +weary of the duty. Doesn't it?" + +"No, I didn't mean that," said Winifred with a rueful and tender smile. +"You are infinitely good, Rex." They had soon come to the use of +Christian names. Outwardly they were just good friends, while inwardly +they resembled two active volcanoes. + +"Now I am 'infinitely good,' which is really more than human if you +think it out," he laughed. "See how you run to extremes with nerves and +things. No, you are not to care at all, Winnie. You have a more or less +good voice. You know more music than is good for you, and sooner or +later, since you insist on it, you will get what you want. Where is the +hurry?" + +"You don't or won't understand," said Winifred. "I know what I want, and +must get some work without delay." + +"Well, then, since it upsets you, you shall. I am not much of an +authority about professional matters myself, but I know a lady who +understands these things, and I'll speak to her." + +"Who is this lady?" asked Winifred. + +"Mrs. Ronald Tower." + +"Young--nice-looking?" asked Winifred, looking down at the crochet work +in her lap. She was so taken up with the purely feminine aspect of +affairs that she gave slight heed to a remarkable coincidence. + +"Er--so-so," said Carshaw with a smile borne of memories, which +Winifred's downcast eyes just noticed under their raised lids. + +"What is she like?" she went on. + +"Let me see! How shall I describe her? Well, you know Gainsborough's +picture of the Duchess of Devonshire? She's like that, full-busted, +with preposterous hats, dashing--rather a beauty!" + +"Indeed!" said Winifred coldly. "She must be awfully attractive. A +_very_ old friend?" + +"Oh, rather! I knew her when I was eighteen, and she was _elancée_ +then." + +"What does _elancée_ mean?" + +"On the loose." + +"What does _that_ mean?" + +"Well--a bit free and easy, doesn't it? Something of that sort. Smart +set, you know." + +"I see. Do _you_, then, belong to the smart set?" + +"I? No. I dislike it rather. But one rubs with all sorts in the grinding +of the mill." + +"And this Mrs. Ronald Tower, whom you knew at eighteen, how old was she +then?" + +"About twenty-two or so." + +"And she was--gay then?" + +"As far as ever society would let her." + +"How--did you know?" + +"I--well, weren't we almost boy and girl together?" + +"I wonder you can give yourself the pains to come to spend your precious +minutes with me when that sort of woman is within--" + +"What, not jealous?" he cried joyously. "And of that _passée_ creature? +Why, she isn't worthy to stoop and tie the latchets of your shoes, as +the Scripture saith!" + +"Still, I'd rather not be indebted to that lady for anything," said +Winifred. + +"But why not? Don't be excessive, little one. There is no reason, you +know." + +"How does she come to know about singing and theatrical people?" + +"I don't know that she does. I only assume it. A woman of the world, +cutting a great dash, yet hard up--that kind knows all sorts and +conditions of men. I am sure she could help you, and I'll have a try." + +"But is she the wife of the Ronald Tower who was dragged by the lasso +into the river?" + +"The same." + +"It is odd how that name keeps on occurring in my life," said Winifred +musingly. "A month ago I first heard it on Riverside Drive, and since +then I hear it always. I prefer, Rex, that you do not say anything to +that woman about me." + +"I shall!" said Rex playfully. "You mustn't start at shadows." + +Winifred was silent. After a time she asked: + +"Have you seen Mr. Steingall or Mr. Clancy lately?" + +"Yes, a couple of days ago. We are always more or less in communication. +But I have nothing to report. They're keeping track of Voles and Mick +the Wolf, but those are birds who don't like salt on their tails. You +know already that the Bureau never ceases to work at the mystery of your +relation with your impossible 'aunt,' and I think they have information +which they have not passed on to me." + +"Is my aunty still searching for me, I wonder?" asked Winifred. + +"Oh, don't call her aunty--call her your antipodes! It is more than that +woman knows how to be your aunt. Of course, the whole crew of them are +moving heaven and earth to find you! Clancy knows it. But let them +try--they won't succeed. And even if they do, please don't forget that +I'm here now!" + +"But why should they be so terribly anxious to find me? My aunty always +treated me fairly well, but in a cold sort of a way which did not betray +much love. So love can't be their motive." + +"Love!" And Carshaw breathed the word softly, as though it were pleasing +to his ear. "No. They have some deep reason, but what that is is more +than any one guesses. The same reason made them wish to take you far +from New York, though what it all means is not very clear. Time, +perhaps, will show." + +The same night Rex Carshaw sat among a set which he had not frequented +much of late--in Mrs. Tower's drawing-room. There were several tables +surrounded with people of various American and foreign types playing +bridge. The whole atmosphere was that of Mammon; one might have fancied +oneself in the halls of a Florentine money-changer. At the same table +with Carshaw were Mrs. Tower, another society dame, and Senator +Meiklejohn, who ought to have been making laws at Washington. + +Tower stood looking on, the most unimportant person present, and anon +ran to do some bidding of his wife's. Carshaw's only relation with Helen +Tower of late had been to allow himself to be cheated by her at bridge, +for she did not often pay, especially if she lost to one who had been +something more than a friend. When he did present himself at her house, +she felt a certain gladness apart from the money which he would lose; +women ever keep some fragment of the heart which the world is not +permitted to scar and harden wholly. + +She grew pensive, therefore, when he told her that he wished to place a +girl on the concert stage, and wished to know from her how best to +succeed. She thought dreamily of other days, and the slightest pin-prick +of jealousy touched her, for Carshaw had suddenly become earnest in +broaching this matter, and the other pair of players wondered why the +game was interrupted for so trivial a cause. + +"What is the girl's name?" she asked. + +"Her name is of no importance, but, if you must know, it is Winifred +Bartlett," he answered. + +Senator Meiklejohn laid his thirteen cards face upward on the table. +There had been no bidding, and his partner screamed in protest: + +"Senator, what are you doing?" + +He had revealed three aces and a long suit of spades. + +"We must have a fresh deal," smirked Mrs. Tower. + +"Well, of all the wretched luck!" sighed the other woman. Meiklejohn +pleaded a sudden indisposition, yet lingered while a servant summoned +Ronald Tower to play in his stead. + +Carshaw knew Winifred--that same Winifred whom he and his secret +intimates had sought so vainly during three long weeks! Voles and his +arm-fractured henchman were recuperating in Boston, but Rachel Craik and +Fowle were hunting New York high and low for sight of the girl. + +Fowle, though skilled in his trade, found well-paid loafing more to his +choice, for Voles had sent Rachel to Fowle, guessing this man to be of +the right kidney for underhanded dealings. Moreover, he knew Winifred, +and would recognize her anywhere. Fowle, therefore, suddenly blossomed +into a "private detective," and had reported steady failure day after +day. Rachel Craik had never ascertained Carshaw's name, as it was not +necessary that he should register in the Fairfield Inn, and Fowle, with +a nose still rather tender to the touch, never spoke to her of the man +who had smashed it. + +So these associates in evil remained at cross-purposes until Senator +Meiklejohn, when the bridge game was renewed and no further information +was likely to ooze out, went away from Mrs. Tower's house to nurse his +sickness. He recovered speedily. A note was sent to Rachel by special +messenger, and she, in turn, sought Fowle, whose mean face showed a +blotchy red when he learned that Winifred could be traced by watching +Carshaw. + +"I'll get her now, ma'am," he chuckled. "It'll be dead easy. I can make +up as a parson. Did that once before when--well, just to fool a bunch of +people. No one suspects a parson--see? I'll get her--sure!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A SUBTLE ATTACK + + +Voles was brought from Boston. Though Meiklejohn dreaded the man, +conditions might arise which would call for a bold and ruthless +rascality not quite practicable for a Senator. + +The lapse of time, too, had lulled the politician's suspicions of the +police. They seemed to have ceased prying. He ascertained, almost by +chance, that Clancy was hot on the trail of a gang of counterfeiters. +"The yacht mystery" had apparently become a mere memory in the Bureau. + +So Voles came, with him Mick the Wolf, carrying a left arm in splints, +and the Senator thought he was taking no risk in calling at the up-town +hotel where the pair occupied rooms the day after Carshaw blurted out +Winifred's name to Helen Tower. He meant paying another visit that day, +so was attired _de rigueur_, a fact at which Voles, pipe in mouth and +lounging in pajamas, promptly scoffed. + +"Gee!" he cried. "Here's the Senator mooching round again, dressed up to +the nines--dust coat, morning suit, boots shining, all the frills--but +visiting low companions all the same. Why doesn't the man turn over a +new leaf and become good?" + +"Oh, hold your tongue!" said William. "We've got the girl, Ralph!" + +"Got the girl, have we? Not the first girl you've said that about--is +it, my wily William?" + +"Listen, and drop that tone when you're speaking to me, or I'll cut you +out for good and all!" said Meiklejohn in deadly earnest. "If ever you +had need to be serious, it is now. I said we've got her, but that only +means that we are about to get her address; and the trouble will be to +get herself afterward." + +"Tosh! As to that, only tell me where she is, an' I'll go and grab her +by the neck." + +"Don't be such a fool. This is New York and not Mexico, though you +insist on confounding the two. Even if the girl were without friends, +you can't go and seize people in that fashion over here, and she has at +least one powerful friend, for the man who beat you hollow that night, +and carried her off under your very nose, is Rex Carshaw, a determined +youngster, and rich, though not so rich as he thinks he is. And there +must be no failure a second time, Ralph. Remember that! Just listen to +me carefully. This girl is thinking of going on the stage! Do you +realize what that means, if she ever gets there? You have yourself said +she is the living image of her mother. You know that her mother was well +known in society. Think, then, of her appearing before the public, and +of the certainty of her being recognized by some one, or by many, if she +does. Fall down this time, and the game's up!" + +"The thing seems to be, then, to let daylight into Carshaw," said Voles. + +"Oh, listen, man! Listen! What we have to do is to place her in a lonely +house--in the country--where, if she screams, her screams will not be +heard; and the only possibility of bringing her there is by ruse, not by +violence." + +"Well, and how get her there?" + +"That has to be carefully planned, and even more carefully executed. It +seems to me that the mere fact of her wishing to go on the stage may be +made a handle to serve our ends. If we can find a dramatic agent with +whom she is in treaty, we must obtain a sheet of his office paper, and +write her a letter in his name, making an appointment with her at an +empty house in the country, some little distance from New York. None of +the steps presents any great difficulty. In fact, all that part I +undertake myself. It will be for you, your friend Mick, and Rachel Craik +to receive her and keep her eternally when you once have her. You may +then be able so to work upon her as to persuade her to go quietly with +you to South America or England. In any case, we shall have shut her +away from the world, which is our object." + +"Poor stuff! How about this Carshaw? Suppose he goes with her to keep +the appointment, or learns from her beforehand of it? Carshaw must be +wiped out." + +"He must certainly be dealt with, yes," said Meiklejohn, "but in another +manner. I think--I think I see my way. Leave him to me. I want this girl +out of New York State in the first instance. Suppose you go to the +Oranges, in New Jersey, pick out a suitable house, and rent it? Go +to-day." + +Voles raised his shaggy eyebrows. + +"What's the rush?" he said amusedly. "After eighteen years--" + +"Will you never learn reason? Every hour, every minute, may bring +disaster." + +"Oh, have it your way! I'll fix Carshaw if he camps on my trail a second +time." + +Meiklejohn returned to his car with a care-seamed brow. He was bound now +for Mrs. Carshaw's apartment. + +If he was fortunate enough to find her in, and alone, he would take that +first step in "dealing with" her son which he had spoken of to Voles. He +made no prior appointment by phone. He meant catching her unawares, so +that Rex could have no notion of his presence. + +Mrs. Carshaw was a substantial lady of fifty, a society woman of the +type to whom the changing seasons supply the whole duty of man and +woman, and the world outside the orbit of the Four Hundred is a rumor of +no importance. + +She had met Senator Meiklejohn in so many places for so many years that +they might be called comrades in the task of dining and making New York +look elegant. She was pleased to see him. Their common fund of scandal +and epigram would carry them safely over a cheerful hour. + +"And as to the good old firm of Carshaw--prosperous as usual, I hope," +said Meiklejohn, balancing an egg-shell tea-cup. + +Mrs. Carshaw shrugged. + +"I don't know much about it," she said, "but I sometimes hear talk of +bad times and lack of capital. I suppose it is all right. Rex does not +seem concerned." + +"Ah! but the mischief may be just there," said Meiklejohn. "The rogue +may be throwing it all on the shoulders of his managers, and letting +things slide." + +"He may--he probably is. I see very little of him, really, especially +just lately." + +"Is it the same little influence at work upon him as some months ago?" +asked Meiklejohn, bending nearer, a real confidential crony. + +"Which same little influence?" asked the lady, agog with a sense of +secrecy, and genuinely anxious as to anything affecting her son. + +"Why, the girl, Winifred Bartlett." + +"Bartlett! As far as I know, I have never even heard her name." + +"Extraordinary! Why, it's the talk of the club." + +"Tell me. What is it all about?" + +"Ah, I must not be indiscreet. When I mentioned her, I took it for +granted that you knew all about it, or I should not have told tales out +of school." + +"Yes, but you and I are of a different generation than Rex. He belongs +to the spring, we belong to the autumn. There is no question of telling +tales out of school as between you and him. So now, please, you are +going to tell me _all_." + +"Well, the usual story: A girl of lower social class; a young man's head +turned by her wiles; the conventions more or less defied; business +yawned at; mother, friends, everything shelved for the time being, and +nothing important but the one thing. It's not serious, perhaps. So long +as business is not _too_ much neglected, and no financial consequences +follow, society thinks not a whit worse of a young man on that +account--on one condition, mark you! There must be no question of +marriage. But in this case there _is_ that question." + +"But this is merely ridiculous!" laughed Mrs. Carshaw shrilly. +"Marriage! Can a son of mine be so quixotic?" + +"It is commonly believed that he is about to marry her." + +"But how on earth has it happened that I never heard a whisper of this +preposterous thing?" + +"It _is_ extraordinary. Sometimes the one interested is the last to hear +what every one is talking about." + +"Well, I never was so--amused!" Yet Mrs. Carshaw's wintry smile was not +joyous. "Rex! I must laugh him out of it, if I meet him anywhere!" + +"That you will not succeed in doing, I think." + +"Well, then I'll frown him out of it. This is why--I see all now." + +"There you are hardly wise, to think of either laughing or frowning him +out of it," said Meiklejohn, offering her worldly wisdom. "No, in such +cases there is a better way, take my word for it." + +"And that is?" + +"Approach the girl. Avoid carefully saying one word to the young man, +but approach _the girl_. That does it, if the girl is at all decent, and +has any sensibility. Lay the facts plainly before her. Take her into +your confidence--this flatters her. Invoke her love for the young man +whom she is hurting by her intimacy with him--this puts her on her +honor. Urge her to fly from him--this makes her feel herself a martyr, +and turns her on the heroic tack. That is certainly what I should do if +I were you, and I should do it without delay." + +"You're right. I'll do it," said Mrs. Carshaw. "Do you happen to know +where this girl is to be found?" + +"No. I think I can tell, though, from whom you might get the +address--Helen Tower. I heard your son talking to her last night about +the girl. He was wanting to know whether Helen could put him in the way +of placing her on the stage." + +"What! Is she one of those scheming chorus-girls?" + +"It appears so." + +"But has he had the effrontery to mention her in this way to other +ladies? It is rather amusing! Why, it used to be said that Helen Tower +was his _belle amie_." + +"All the more reason, perhaps, why she may be willing to give you the +address, if she knows it." + +"I'll see her this very afternoon." + +"Then I must leave you at leisure now," said Meiklejohn sympathetically. + +An hour later Mrs. Carshaw was with Helen Tower, and the name of +Winifred Bartlett arose between them. + +"But he did not give me her address," said Mrs. Tower. "Do you want it +pressingly?" + +"Why, yes. Have you not heard that there is a question of marriage?" + +"Good gracious! Marriage?" + +The two women laid their heads nearer together, enjoying the awfulness +of the thing, though one was a mother and the other was pricked with +jealousy in some secret part of her nature. + +"Yes--marriage!" repeated the mother. Such an enormity was dreadful. + +"It sounds too far-fetched! What will you do?" + +"Senator Meiklejohn recommends me to approach the girl." + +"Well, perhaps that is the best. But how to get her address? Perhaps if +I asked Rex he would tell it, without suspecting anything. On the other +hand, he might take alarm." + +"Couldn't you say you had secured her a place on the stage, and make him +send her to you, to test her voice, or something? And then you could +send her on to me," said the elder woman. + +"Yes, that might be done," answered Helen Tower. "I'd like to see her, +too. She must be extraordinarily pretty to capture Rex. Some of those +common girls are, you know. It is a caprice of Providence. Anyway, I +shall find her out, or have her here somehow within the next few days, +and will let you know. First of all, I'll write Rex and ask him to come +for bridge to-night." + +She did this, but without effect, for Carshaw was engaged elsewhere, +having taken Winifred to a theater. + +However, Meiklejohn was again at the bridge party, and when he asked +whether Mrs. Carshaw had paid a visit that afternoon, and the address of +the girl had been given, Helen Tower answered: + +"I don't know it. I am now trying to find out." + +The Senator seemed to take thought. + +"I hate interfering," he said at last, "but I like young Carshaw, and +have known his mother many a year. It's a pity he should throw himself +away on some chit of a girl, merely because she has a fetching pair of +eyes or a slim ankle, or Heaven alone knows what else it is that first +turns a young man's mind to a young woman. I happen to have heard, +however, that Winifred Bartlett lives in a boarding-house kept by Miss +Goodman in East Twenty-seventh Street. Now, my name must not--" + +Helen Tower laughed in that dry way which often annoyed him. + +"Surely by this time you regard me as a trustworthy person," she said. + +So Fowle had proven himself a capable tracker, and Winifred's +persecutors were again closing in on her. But who would have imagined +that the worst and most deadly of them might be the mother of her Rex? +That, surely, was something akin to steeping in poison the assassin's +dagger. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE VISITOR + + +"Are you Miss Winifred Bartlett?" asked Mrs. Carshaw the next afternoon +in that remote part of East Twenty-seventh Street which for the first +time bore the rubber tires of her limousine. + +"Yes, madam," said Winifred, who stood rather pale before that large and +elegant presence. It was in the front room of the two which Winifred +occupied. + +"But--where have I seen you before?" asked Mrs. Carshaw suddenly, making +play with a pair of mounted eye-glasses. + +"I cannot say, madam. Will you be seated?" + +"What a pretty girl you are!" exclaimed the visitor, wholly unconscious +of the calm insolence which "society" uses to its inferiors. "I'm +certain I have seen you somewhere, for your face is perfectly familiar, +but for the life of me I cannot recall the occasion." + +Mrs. Carshaw was not mistaken. Some dim cell of memory was stirred by +the girl's likeness to her mother. For once Senator Meiklejohn's +scheming had brought him to the edge of the precipice. But the +dangerous moment passed. Rex's mother was thinking of other and more +immediate matters. Winifred stood silent, scared, with a foreboding of +the meaning of this tremendous visit. + +"Now, I am come to have a quiet chat with you," said Mrs. Carshaw, "and +I only hope that you will look on me as a friend, and be perfectly at +your ease. I am sorry the nature of my visit is not of a quite pleasant +nature, but no doubt we shall be able to understand each other, for you +look good and sweet. Where have I seen you before? You are a sweetly +pretty girl, do you know? I can't altogether blame poor Rex, for men +are not very rational creatures, are they? Come, now, and sit quite +near beside me on this chair, and let me talk to you." + +Winifred came and sat, with tremulous lip, not saying a word. + +"First, I wish to know something about yourself," said Mrs. Carshaw, +trying honestly to adopt a motherly tone. "Do you live here all alone? +Where are your parents?" + +"I have none--as far as I know. Yes, I live here alone, for the +present." + +"But no relatives?" + +"I have an aunt--a sort of aunt--but--" + +"You are mysterious--'a sort of aunt.' And is this 'sort of aunt' with +you here?" + +"No. I used to live with her, but within the last month we +have--separated." + +"Is that my son's doings?" + +"No--that is--no." + +"So you are quite alone?" + +"Yes." + +"And my son comes to see you?" + +"He comes--yes, he comes." + +"But that is rather defiant of everything, is it not?" + +A blush of almost intense carmine washed Winifred's face and neck. Mrs. +Carshaw knew how to strike hard. Every woman knows how to hurt another +woman. + +"Miss Goodman, my landlady, usually stays in here when he comes," said +she. + +"All the time?" + +"Most of the time." + +"Well, I must not catechise you. No one woman has the right to do that +to another, and you are sweet to have answered me at all. I think you +are good and true; and you will therefore find it all the easier to +sympathize with my motives, which have your own good at heart, as well +as my son's. First of all, do you understand that my son is very much in +love with you?" + +"I--you should not ask me--I may have thought that he liked me. +Has--he--told you so?" + +"He has never mentioned your name to me. I never knew of your existence +till yesterday. But it is so; he is fond of you, to such an unusual +extent, that quite a scandal has arisen in his social set--" + +"Not about me?" + +"Yes." + +"But there is nothing----" + +"Yes; it is reported that he intends to marry you." + +"And is that what the scandal is about? I thought the scandal was when +you did not marry, not when you did." + +Mrs. Carshaw permitted herself to be surprised. She had not looked for +such weapons in Winifred's armory. But she was there to carry out what +she deemed an almost sacred mission, and the righteous can be horribly +unjust. + +"Yes, in the middle classes, but not in the upper, which has its own +moral code--not a strictly Biblical one, perhaps," she retorted glibly. +"With us the scandal is not that you and my son are friends, but that he +should seriously think of marrying you, since you are on such different +levels. You see, I speak plainly." + +Winifred suddenly covered her face with her hands. For the first time +she measured the great gulf yawning between her and that dear hope +growing up in her heart. + +"That is how the matter stands before marriage," went on Mrs. Carshaw, +sure that she was kind in being merciless. "You can conceive how it +would be afterwards. And society is all nature--it never forgives; or, +if it forgives, it may condone sins, but never an indiscretion. Nor must +you think that your love would console my son for the great social loss +which his connection with you threatens to bring on him. It will console +him for a month, but a wife is not a world, nor, however beloved, does +she compensate for the loss of the world. If, therefore, you love my +son, as I take it that you do--do you?" + +Winifred's face was covered. She did not answer. + +"Tell me in confidence. I am a woman, too, and know--" + +A sob escaped from the poor bowed head. Mrs. Carshaw was moved. She had +not counted on so hard a task. She had even thought of money! + +"Poor thing! That will make your duty very hard. I wish--but there is no +use in wishing! Necessity knows no pity. Winifred, you must summon all +your strength of mind, and get out of this false position." + +"What am I to do? What can I do?" wailed Winifred. She was without means +or occupation, and could not fly from the house. + +"You can go away," said Mrs. Carshaw, "without letting him know whither +you have gone, and till you go you can throw cold water on his passion +by pretending dislike or indifference--" + +"But could I do such a thing, even if I tried?" came the despairing cry. + +"It will be hard, certainly, but a woman should be able to accomplish +everything for the man she loves. Remember for whose sake you will be +doing it, and promise me before I leave you." + +"Oh, you should give me time to think before I promise anything," sobbed +Winifred. "I believe I shall go mad. I am the most unfortunate girl that +ever lived. I did not seek him--he sought me; and now, when I--Have you +no pity?" + +"You see that I have--not only pity, but confidence. It is hard, but I +feel that you will rise to it. I, and you, are acting for Rex's sake, +and I hope, I believe, you will do your share in saving him. And now I +must go, leaving my sting behind me. I am so sorry! I never dreamed that +I should like you so well. I have seen you before somewhere--it seems to +me in an old dream. Good-by, good-by! It had to be done, and I have done +it, but not gladly. Heaven help us women, and especially all mothers!" + +Winifred could not answer. She was choked with sobs, so Mrs. Carshaw +took her departure in a kind of stealthy haste. She was far more +unhappy now than when she entered that quiet house. She came in +bristling with resolution. She went out, seemingly victorious, but +feeling small and mean. + +When she was gone Winifred threw herself on a couch with buried head, +and was still there an hour later when Miss Goodman brought up a letter. +It was from a dramatic agent whom she had often haunted for work--or +rather it was a letter on his office paper, making an appointment +between her and a "manager" at some high-sounding address in East +Orange, New Jersey, when, the writer said, "business might result." + +She had hardly read it when Rex Carshaw's tap came to the door. + +About that same time Steingall threw a note across his office table to +Clancy, who was there to announce that in a house in Brooklyn a fine +haul of coiners, dies, presses, and other illicit articles, human and +inanimate, had just been made. + +"Ralph V. Voles and his bad man from the West have come back to New York +again," said the chief. "You might give 'em an eye." + +"Why on earth doesn't Carshaw marry the girl?" said Clancy. + +"I dunno. He's straight, isn't he?" + +"Strikes me that way." + +"Me, too. Anyhow, let's pick up a few threads. I've a notion that +Senator Meiklejohn thinks he has side-stepped the Bureau." + +Clancy laughed. His mirth was grotesque as the grin of one of those +carved ivories of Japan, and to the effect of the crinkled features was +added a shrill cackle. The chief glanced up. + +"Don't do that," he said sharply. "You get my goat when you make that +beastly noise!" + +These two were beginning again to snap at each other about the Senator +and his affairs, and their official quarrels usually ended badly for the +other fellow. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +WINIFRED DRIFTS + + +Winifred, pale as death, rose to receive her lover, with that letter in +her hand which made an appointment with her at a house in East Orange; a +letter which she believed to have been written by a dramatic agent, but +which was actually inspired by Senator Meiklejohn. It was the bait of +the trap which should put her once more in the power of Meiklejohn and +his accomplices. + +During a few tense seconds the girl prayed for power to play the bitter +part which had been thrust upon her--to play it well for the sake of the +man who loved her, and whom she loved. The words of his mother were +still in her ears. She had to make him think that she did not care for +him. In the last resort she had to fly from him. She had tacitly +promised to do this woeful thing. + +Far enough from her innocent mind was it to dream that the visit of +Rex's mother had been brought about by her enemies in order to deprive +her of a protector and separate her from her lover at the very time +when he was most necessary to save her. + +Carshaw entered in high spirits. "Well, I have news--" he began. "But, +hello! What's the matter?" + +"With whom?" asked Winifred. + +"You look pale." + +"Do I? It is nothing." + +"You have been crying, surely." + +"Have I?" + +"Tell me. What is wrong?" + +"Why should I tell _you_, if anything is wrong?" + +He stood amazed at this speech. "Odd words," said he, looking at her in +a stupor of surprise, almost of anger. "Whom should you tell but me?" + +This touched Winifred, and, struggling with the lump in her throat, she +said, unsteadily: "I am not very well to-day; if you will leave me now, +and come perhaps some other time, you will oblige me." + +Carshaw strode nearer and caught her shoulder. + +"But what a tone to me! Have I done something wrong, I wonder? Winnie, +what is it?" + +"I have told you I am not very well. I do not desire your +company--to-day." + +"Whew! What majesty! It must be something outrageous. But what? Won't +you be dear and kind, and tell me?" + +"You have done nothing." + +"Yes, I have. I think I can guess. I spoke of Helen Tower yesterday as +of an old sweetheart--was that it? And it is all jealousy. Surely I +didn't say much. What on earth did I say? That she was like a +Gainsborough; that she was rather a beauty; that she was _elancée_ at +twenty-two. But I didn't mean any harm. Why, it's jealousy!" + +At this Winifred drew herself up to discharge a thunderbolt, and though +she winced at the Olympian effort, managed to say distinctly: + +"There can be no jealousy where there is no love." + +Carshaw stood silent, momentarily stunned, like one before whom a +thunderbolt has really exploded. At last, looking at the pattern of a +frayed carpet, he said humbly enough: + +"Well, then, I must be a very unfortunate sort of man, Winifred." + +"Don't believe me!" Winifred wished to cry out. But the words were +checked on her white lips. The thought arose in her, "He that putteth +his hand to the plow and looketh back--" + +"It is sudden, this truth that you tell me," went on Carshaw. "Is it a +truth?" + +"Yes." + +"You are not fond of me, Winnie?" + +"I have a liking for you." + +"That's all?" + +"That is all." + +"Don't say it, dear. I suffer." + +"Do you? No, don't suffer. I--can't help myself." + +"You are sorry for me, then?" + +"Oh, yes." + +"But how came I, then, to have the opposite impression so strongly? I +think--I can't help thinking--that it was your fault, dear. You made me +hope, perhaps without meaning me to, that--that life was to be happy for +me. When I entered that door just now no man in New York had a lighter +step than I, or a more careless heart. I shall go out of it--different, +dear. You should not have allowed me to think--what I did; and you +should not have told me the truth so--quite so--suddenly." + +"Sit down. You are not fair to me. I did not know you cared--" + +"You--you did not know that I cared? Come, that's not true, girl!" + +"Not so much, I mean--not quite so much. I thought that you were +flirting with me, as I--perhaps--was flirting with you." + +"Who is that I hear speaking? Is it Winifred? The very sound of her +voice seems different. Am I dreaming? She flirting with me? I don't +realize her--it is a different girl! Oh! this thing comes to me like a +falling steeple. It had no right to happen!" + +"You should sit down, or you should go; better go--better, better go," +and Winifred clutched wildly at her throat. "Let us part now, and let us +never meet!" + +"If you like, if you wish it," said Carshaw, still humbly, for he was +quite dazed. "It seems sudden. I am not sure if it is a dream or not. It +isn't a happy one, if it is. But have we no business to discuss before +you send me away in this fashion? Do you mean to throw off my help as +well as myself?" + +"I shall manage. I have an offer of work here in my hands. I shall soon +be at work, and will then send the amount of the debt which I owe you, +though you care nothing about that, and I know that I can never repay +you for all." + +"Yes, that is true, too, in a way. Am I, then, actually to go?" + +"Yes." + +"But you are not serious? Think of my living on, days and years, and not +seeing you any more. It seems a pitiable thing, too. Even you must be +sorry for me." + +"Yes, it seems a pitiable thing!" + +"So--what do you say?" + +"Good-by. Go--go!" + +"But you will at least let me know where you are? Don't be quite lost to +me." + +"I shall be here for some time. But you won't come. I mustn't see you. I +demand that much." + +"No, no. I won't come, you may be sure. And you, on your part, promise +that if you have need of money you will let me know? That is the least I +can expect of you." + +"I will; but go. I will have you in my--memory. Only go from me now, if +you--love--" + +"Good-by, then. I do not understand, but good-by. I am all in, Winnie; +but still, good-by. God bless you--" + +He kissed her hand and went. Her skin was cold to his lips, and, in a +numb way, he wondered why. A moment after he had disappeared she called +his name, but in an awful, hushed voice which he could not hear; and she +fell at her length on the couch. + +"Rex! My love! My dear love," she moaned, and yet he did not hear, for +the sky had dropped on him. + +There she lay a little while, yet it was not all pain with her. There is +one sweetest sweet to the heart, one drop of intensest honey, sweeter to +it than any wormwood is bitter, which consoled her--the consciousness of +self-sacrifice, of duty done, of love lost for love's sake. Mrs. Carshaw +had put the girl on what Senator Meiklejohn cynically called "the heroic +tack"; and, having gone on that tack, Winifred deeply understood that +there was a secret smile in it, and a surprising light. She lay catching +her breath till Miss Goodman brought up the tea-tray, expecting to find +the cheery Carshaw there as usual, for she had not heard him go out. + +Instead, she found Winifred sobbing on the couch, for Winifred's grief +was of that depth which ceases to care if it is witnessed by others. The +good landlady came, therefore, and knelt by Winifred's side, put her arm +about her, and began to console and question her. The consolation did no +good, but the questions did. For, if one is persistently questioned, one +must answer something sooner or later, and the mind's effort to answer +breaks the thread of grief, and so the commonplace acts as a medicine to +tragedy. + +In the end Winifred was obliged to sit up and go to the table where the +tea-things were. This was in itself a triumph; and her effort to secure +solitude and get rid of Miss Goodman was a further help toward throwing +off her mood of despair. By the time Miss Goodman was gone the storm was +somewhat calmed. + +During that sad evening, which she spent alone, she read once more the +letter making the appointment with her at East Orange. Now, reading it a +second time, she felt a twinge of doubt. Who could it be, she wondered, +whom she would have to see there? East Orange was some way off. A +meeting of this sort usually took place in New York, at an office. + +Her mind was not at all given to suspicions, but on reading over the +letter for the third time, she now noticed that the signature was not in +the handwriting of the agent. She knew his writing quite well, for he +had sent her other letters. This writing was, indeed, something like +his, but certainly not his. It might be a clerk's; the letter was typed +on his office paper. + +To say that she was actually disturbed by these little rills of doubt +would not be quite true. Still, they did arise in her mind, and left her +not perfectly at ease. The touch of uneasiness, however, made her ask +herself why she should now become a singer at all. It was Carshaw who +had pressed it upon her, because she had insisted on the vital necessity +of doing something quickly, and he had not wished her to work again with +her hands. In reality, he was scheming to gain time. + +Now that they were parted she saw no reason why she should not throw off +all this stage ambition, and toil like other girls as good as she. She +had done it. She was skilled in the bookbinding craft; she might do it +again. She counted her money and saw that she had enough to carry her +on a week, or even two, with economy. Therefore, she had time in which +to seek other work. + +Even if she did not find it she would have not the slightest hesitation +in "borrowing" from Rex; for, after all, all that he had was hers--she +knew it, and he knew it. Before she went to bed she decided to throw up +the singing ambition, not to go to the appointment at East Orange, but +to seek some other more modest occupation. + +About that same hour Rex Carshaw walked desolately to the apartment in +Madison Avenue. He threw himself into a chair and propped his head on a +hand, saying: "Well, mother!" for Mrs. Carshaw was in the room. + +His mother glanced anxiously at him, for though Winifred had promised to +keep secret the fact of her visit, she was in fear lest some hint of it +might have crept out; nor had she foreseen quite so deadly an effect on +her son as was now manifest. He looked care-worn and weary, and the +maternal heart throbbed. + +She came and stood over him. "Rex, you don't look well," said she. + +"No; perhaps I'm not very well, mother," said he listlessly. + +"Can I do anything?" + +"No; I'm rather afraid that the mischief is beyond you, mother." + +"Poor boy! It is some trouble, I know. Perhaps it would do you good to +tell me." + +"No; don't worry, mother. I'd rather be left alone, there's a dear." + +"Only tell me this. Is it very bad? Does it hurt--much?" + +"Where's the use of talking? What cannot be cured must be endured. Life +isn't all a smooth run on rubber tires." + +"But it will pass, whatever it is. Bear up and be brave." + +"Yes; I suppose it will pass--when I am dead." + +She tried to smile. + +"Only the young dream of death as a relief," she said. "But such wild +words hurt, Rex." + +"That's all right, only leave me alone; you can't help. Give me a kiss, +and then go." + +A tear wet his forehead when Mrs. Carshaw laid her lips there. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +ALL ROADS LEAD TO EAST ORANGE + + +The next day Winifred set about her new purpose of finding some other +occupation than that connected with the stage, though she rose from bed +that morning feeling ill, having hardly slept throughout the night. + +First, she read over once more the "agent's" letter, and was again +conscious of an extremely vague feeling of something queer in it when +she reflected on the lateness of the hour of the rendezvous--eight in +the evening. She decided to write, explaining her change of purpose, and +declining the interview with this nebulous "client." She did not write +at once. She thought that she would wait, and see first the result of +the day's search for other employment. + +Soon after breakfast she went out, heading for Brown's, her old +employers in Greenwich Village, who had turned her away after the yacht +affair and the arrest of her aunt. + +As she waited at the crossing where the cars pass, her eyes rested on a +man--a clergyman, apparently--standing on the opposite pavement. He was +not at the moment looking that way, and she took little notice of him, +though her subconsciousness may have recognized something familiar in +the lines of his body. + +It was Fowle in a saintly garb, Fowle in a shovel hat, Fowle interested +in the comings and goings of Winifred. Fowle, moreover, in those days, +floated on the high tide of ease, and had plenty of money in his pocket. +He not only looked, but felt like a person of importance, and when +Winifred entered a street-car, Fowle followed in a taxi. + +There was a new foreman at Brown's now, and he received the girl kindly. +She laid her case before him. She had been employed there and had given +satisfaction. Then, all at once, an event with which she had nothing +more to do than people in China, had caused her to be dismissed. Would +not the firm, now that the whole business had blown over, reinstate her? + +The man heard her attentively through and said: + +"Hold on. I'll have a talk with the boss." He left her, and was gone ten +minutes. Then he returned, with a shaking head. "No, Brown's never take +any one back," said he; "but here's a list of bookbinding firms which +he's written out for you, and he says he'll give you a recommendation if +any of 'em give you a job." + +With this list Winifred went out, and, determined to lose no time, +started on the round, taking the nearest first, one in Nineteenth +Street. She walked that way, and slowly behind her followed a clergyman. +The firm in Nineteenth Street wanted no new hand. Winifred got into a +Twenty-third Street cross-town car. After her sped a taxi. + +And now, when she stopped at the third bookbinder's, Fowle knew her +motive. She was seeking work at the old trade. He was puzzled, knowing +that she had wished to become a singer, and being aware, too, of the +appointment for the next night at East Orange. Had she, then, changed +her purpose? Perhaps she was seeking both kinds of employment, meaning +to accept the one which came first. If the bookbinding won out that +might be dangerous to the rendezvous. + +In any case, Fowle resolved to nip the project in the bud. He would go +later in the day to all the firms she had visited, ask if they had +engaged her, and, if so, drop a hint that she had been dismissed from +Brown's for being connected with the crime committed against Mr. Ronald +Tower. A bogus clergyman's word was good for something, anyhow. + +From Twenty-third Street, where there was no work, Winifred made her way +to Twenty-ninth Street, followed still by the taxi. Here things turned +out better for her. She was seen by a manager who told her that they +would be short-handed in three or four days, and that, if she could +really produce a reference from Brown's he would engage her permanently. +Winifred left him her address, so that he might write and tell her when +she could come. + +She lunched in a cheap restaurant and walked to her lodgings. Color +flooded her cheeks, but she was appalled by her loneliness, by the +emptiness of her life. To bind books and to live for binding books, that +was not living. She had peeped into Paradise, but the gate had been shut +in her face, and the bookbinding world seemed an intolerably flat and +stale rag-fair in comparison. + +How was she to live it through, she asked herself. When she went up to +her room the once snug and homely place disgusted her. How was she to +live through the vast void of that afternoon alone in that apartment? +How bridge the vast void of to-morrow? The salt had lost its savor; she +tasted ashes; life was all sand of the desert; she would not see him any +more. The resolution which had carried her through the interview with +Carshaw failed her now, and she blamed herself for the murder of +herself. + +"Oh, how could I have done such a thing!" she cried, bursting into +tears, with her hat still on and her head on the table. + +She had to write a letter to the "agent," telling him that she did not +mean to keep the rendezvous at East Orange, since she had obtained other +work, and with difficulty summoned the requisite energy. Every effort +was nauseous to her. Her whole nature was absorbed in digesting her one +great calamity. + +Next morning it was the same. Her arms hung listlessly by her side. She +evaded little domestic tasks. Though her clothes were new, a girl can +always find sewing and stitching. A certain shirtwaist needed slight +adjustment, but her fingers fumbled a simple task. She passed the time +somehow till half past four. At that hour there was a ring at the outer +door. In the absorption of her grief she did not hear it, though it was +"his" hour. A step sounded on the stairs, and this she heard; but she +thought it was Miss Goodman bringing tea. + +Then, brusquely, without any knock, the door opened, and she saw before +her Carshaw. + +"Oh!" she screamed, in an ecstasy of joy, and was in his arms. + +The rope which bound her had snapped thus suddenly for the simple reason +that Carshaw had promised never to come again, and was very strict, as +she knew, in keeping his pledged word. Therefore, until the moment when +her distraught eyes took in the fact of his presence, she had not the +faintest hope or thought of seeing him for many a day to come, if ever. + +Seeing him all at once in the midst of her desert of despair, her reason +swooned, all fixed principles capsized, and instinct swept her +triumphantly, as the whirlwind bears a feather, to his ready embrace. +He, for his part, had broken his promise because he could not help it. +He had to come--so he came. His dismissal had been too sudden to be +credible, to find room in his brain. It continued to have something of +the character of a dream, and he was here now to convince himself that +the dream was true. + +Moreover, in her manner of sending him away, in some of her words, there +had been something unreal and unconvincing, with broken hints of love, +even as she denied love, which haunted and puzzled his memory. If he had +made a thousand promises he would still have to return to her. + +"Well," said he, his face alight for joy as she moaned on his breast, +"what is it all about? You unreliable little half of a nerve, Winnie!" + +"I can't help it; kiss me--only once!" panted Winifred, with tears +streaming down her up-turned face. + +Carshaw needed no bidding. Kiss her once! Well, a man should smile. + +"What is it all about?" he demanded, when Winifred was quite breathless. +"Am I loved, then?" + +Her forehead was on his shoulder, and she did not answer. + +"It seems so," he whispered. "Silence is said to mean consent. But why, +then, was I not loved the day before yesterday?" + +Still Winifred dared not answer. The frenzy was passing, the moral +nature re-arising, stronger than ever, claiming its own. She had +promised and failed! What she did was not well for him. + +"Tell me," he urged, with a lover's eagerness. "You'll have to, some +time, you know." + +"You promised not to come. You promised definitely," said Winifred, +disengaging herself from him. + +"Could I help coming?" cried he. "I was in the greatest bewilderment and +misery!" + +"So you will always come, even if you promise not to?" + +"But I won't promise not to! Where is the need now? You love me, I love +you!" + +Winifred turned away from him, went to the window and looked out, seeing +nothing, for the eyes of the soul were busy. Her lips were now firmly +set, and during the minute that she stood there a rapid train of thought +and purpose passed through her mind. She had promised to give him up, +and she would go through with it. It was for him--and it was sweet, +though bitter, to be a martyr. But she recognized clearly that so long +as he knew where to find her the thing could never be done. She made up +her mind to be gone from those lodgings by that hour the next day, and +to be buried from him in some other part of the great city. She would +never in that case be able to ask him for help to keep going, without +giving her address, but in a few days she would have work at the new +bookbinder's. This well settled in her mind, she turned inward to him, +saying: + +"Miss Goodman will soon bring up tea. Come, let us be happy to-day. +You want to know if I love you? Well, the answer is yes, yes; so +now you know, and can never doubt. I want you to stay a long time +this afternoon, and I invite you to be my dear, dear guest on one +condition--that you don't ask me why I told you that awful fib the +day before yesterday, for I don't mean to tell you!" + +Of course Carshaw took her again in his arms, and, without breaking her +conditions, stayed with her till nearly six. She was sedately gay all +the time, but, on kissing him good-by, she wept quietly, and as quietly +she said to her landlady when he was gone: + +"Miss Goodman, I am going away to-morrow--for always, I'm afraid." + +Soon after this six o'clock struck. At ten minutes past the hour Miss +Goodman brought up two letters. + +Without looking at the handwriting on the envelopes, Winifred tore open +one, laying the other on a writing-desk, this latter being from the +agent in answer to the one she had written. She had told him that she +did not mean to keep the appointment at East Orange, and he now assured +her that he had certainly never made any appointment for her at East +Orange. The thing was some blunder. New York impresarios did not make +appointments in East Orange. He asked for an explanation. + +Pity that she did not open this letter before the other--or the other +was of a nature to drive the existence of the agent's letter--of any +letter--out of her head; for days afterward that all-important message +lay on the table unopened. + +The note which Winifred did read was from the bookbinding manager who +had all but engaged her that day. He now informed her that he would have +no use for her services. The clergyman in the taxi had followed very +effectively on Winifred's trail. + +She was stunned by this final blow. Her eyes gazed into vacancy. What +she was to do now she did not know. The next day she had to go away into +strange lodgings, with hardly any money, without any possibility of her +applying again to Rex, without support of any sort. She had never known +real poverty, for her "aunt" had always more or less been in funds; and +the prospect appalled her. She would face it, however, at all costs, +and, the bookbinding failing her, her mind naturally recurred, with a +gasp of hope, to the singing. + +There was the appointment at East Orange at eight. She looked at the +clock; she might have time, though it would mean an instant rush. She +would go. True, she had written the agent to say that she would not, and +he might have so advised his client. But perhaps he had not had time to +do this, since she had written him so late. In any case, there was a +chance that she should meet the person in question, and then she could +explain. Suddenly she leaped up, hurried on her hat and coat, and ran +out of the house. In a few minutes she was at the Hudson Tube, bound for +Hoboken and East Orange. + +Of course it was a mad thing to leave an unopened letter on the table, +but just then poor Winifred was nearly out of her mind. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE CRASH + + +When Carshaw came, with lightsome step and heart freed from care--for in +some respects he was irresponsible as any sane man could be--to visit +his beloved Winifred next day, he was met by a frightened and somewhat +incoherent Miss Goodman. + +"Not been home all night! Surely you can offer some explanation further +than that maddening statement?" cried he, when the shock of her news had +sent the color from his face and the joy from his eyes. + +"Oh, sir, I don't know what to say. Indeed, I am not to blame." + +Miss Goodman, kind-hearted soul, was more flurried now by Carshaw's +manner than by Winifred's inexplicable disappearance. + +"Blame, my good woman, who is imputing blame?" he blazed at her. "But +there's a hidden purpose, a convincing motive, in her going out and not +returning. Give me some clue, some reason. A clear thought now, the +right word from you, may save hours of useless search." + +"How can I give any clues?" cried the bewildered landlady. "The dear +young creature was crying all day fit to break her heart after the lady +called--" + +"The lady! What lady?" + +"Your mother, sir. Didn't she tell you? Mrs. Carshaw was here the day +before yesterday, and she must have spoken very cruelly to Winifred to +make her so downcast for hours. I was that sorry for her--" + +Now, Carshaw had the rare faculty--rare, that is, in men of a +happy-go-lucky temperament--of becoming a human iceberg in moments of +danger or difficulty. The blank absurdity of Miss Goodman's implied +assertion that Winifred had run away--though, indeed, running away was +uppermost in the girl's thoughts--had roused him to fiery wrath. + +But the haphazard mention of his mother's visit, the coincidence of +Winifred's unexpectedly strange behavior and equally unexpected +transition to a wildly declared love, revealed some of the hidden +sources of events, and over the volcano of his soul he imposed a layer +of ice. He even smiled pleasantly as he begged Miss Goodman to dry her +eyes and be seated. + +"We are at loggerheads, you see," he said, almost cheerfully. "Just let +us sit down and have a quiet talk. Tell me everything you know, and in +the order in which things happened. Tell me facts, and if you are +guessing at probabilities, tell me you are guessing. Then we shall soon +unravel the tangled threads." + +Thus reassured, Miss Goodman took him through the records of the past +forty-eight hours, so far as she knew them. After the first few words he +required no explanations of his mother's presence in that middle-class +section of Manhattan. She had gone there in her stately limousine to awe +and bewilder a poor little girl--to frighten an innocent out of loving +her son and thus endangering her own grandiose projects for his future. + +It was pardonable, perhaps, from a worldly woman's point of view. That +there were other aspects of it she should soon see, with a certain +definiteness, the cold outlines of which already made his mouth stern, +and sent little lines to wrinkle his forehead. He had spared her +hitherto--had hoped to keep on sparing her--yet she had not spared +Winifred! But who had prompted her to this heartless deed? He loved his +mother. Her faults were those of society, her virtues were her own. She +had lived too long in an atmosphere of artificiality not to have lost +much of the fine American womanliness that was her birthright. That +could be cured--he alone knew how. The puzzling query, for a little +while, was the identity of the cruel, calculating, ruthless enemy who +struck by her hand. + +There was less light shed on Winifred's own behavior. He recalled her +words: "You want to know if I love you--yes, yes--I want you to stay a +long time this afternoon--don't ask me why I told you that awful fib--" + +And then her confession to Miss Goodman: "I am going away to-morrow--for +always, I'm afraid." + +What did that portend? Ah, yes; she was going to some place where he +could not find her, to bury herself away from his love and because of +her love for him. It was no new idea in woman's heart, this. For long +ages in India sorrowing wives burned themselves to death on the funeral +pyres of their lords. Poor Winifred only reversed the method of the +sacrifice--its result would be the same. + +"But 'to-morrow'--to-day, that is. You are quite sure of her words?" he +persisted. + +"Oh, yes, sir; quite sure. Besides she has left her clothes and letters, +and little knick-knacks of jewelry. Would you care to see them?" + +For an instant he hesitated, for he was a man of refinement, and he +hated the necessity of prying into the little secrets of his dear one. +Then he agreed, and Miss Goodman took him from her own sitting-room to +that tenanted by Winifred. Her presence seemed to linger in the air. +His eyes traveled to the chair from which she rose with that glad +crooning cry when he came to her so few hours earlier. + +On the table lay her tiny writing-case. In it, unopened, and hidden by +the discouraging missive from the bookbinder's, rested the note from the +dramatic agent, with the thrice-important clue of its plain statement: +"I have made no appointment for you at any house near East Orange." + +But Miss Goodman had already thrown open the door which led to +Winifred's bedroom. + +"You can see for yourself, sir," she said, "the room was not occupied +last night. Nor that she could be in the house without me knowing +it, poor thing. There are her clothes in the wardrobe, and the +dressing-table is tidy. She's extraordinarily neat in her ways, is Miss +Bartlett--quite different from the empty-headed creatures girls mostly +are nowadays." + +Miss Goodman spoke bitterly. She was fifty, gray-haired, and a hopeless +old maid. This point of view sours the appearance of saucy eighteen with +the sun shining in its tresses. + +Carshaw swallowed something in his throat. The sanctity of this inner +room of Winifred's overwhelmed him. He turned away hastily. + +"All right, Miss Goodman," he said; "we can learn nothing here. Let us +go back to your apartment, and I'll tell you what I want you to do +now." + +Passing the writing-desk again he looked more carefully at its contents. +A small packet of bills caught his eye. There were the receipts for such +simple articles as Winifred had bought with his money. Somehow, the mere +act of examining such a list struck him with a sense of profanation. He +could not do it. + +His eyes glazed. Hardly knowing what the words meant, he glanced through +the typed document from the bookbinder. It was obviously a business +letter. He committed no breach of the etiquette governing private +correspondence by reading it. So great was his delicacy in this respect +that he did not even lift the letter from the table, but noted the +address and the curt phraseology. Here, then, was a little explanation. +He would inquire at that place. + +"I want you to telegraph me each morning and evening," he said to the +landlady. "Don't depend on the phone. If you have news, of course you +will give it, but if nothing happens say that there is no news. Here is +my address and a five-dollar bill for expenses. Did Miss Bartlett owe +you anything?" + +"No, sir. She paid me yesterday when she gave me notice." + +"Ah! Kindly retain her rooms. I don't wish any other person to occupy +them." + +"Do you think, sir, she will not come back to-day?" + +"I fear so. She is detained by force. She has been misled by some one. I +am going now to find out who that some one else is." + +He drove his car, now rejuvenated, with the preoccupied gaze of one who +seeks to pierce a dark and troubled future. From the garage he called up +the Long Island estate where his hacks and polo ponies were housed for +the winter. He gave some instructions which caused the man in charge to +blink with astonishment. + +"Selling everything, Mr. Carshaw!" he said. "D'ye really mean it?" + +"Does my voice sound as if I were joking, Bates?" + +"No-no, sir; I can't say it does. But--" + +"Start on the catalogue now, this evening. I'll look after you. Mr. Van +Hofen wants a good man. Stir yourself, and that place is yours." + +He found his mother at home. She glanced at him as he entered her +boudoir. She saw, with her ready tact, that questions as to his state of +worry would be useless. + +"Will you be dining at home, Rex?" she asked. + +"Yes. And you?" + +"I--have almost promised to dine _en famille_ with the Towers." + +"Better stop here. We have a lot of things to arrange." + +"Arrange! What sort of things?" + +"Business affairs for the most part." + +"Oh, business! Any discussion of--" + +"I said nothing about discussion, mother. For some years past I have +been rather careless in my ways. Now I am going to stop all that. A good +business maxim is to always choose the word that expresses one's meaning +exactly." + +"Rex, you speak queerly." + +"That shows I'm doing well. Your ears have so long been accustomed to +falsity, mother, that the truth sounds strangely." + +"My son, do not be so bitter with me. I have never in my life had other +than the best of motives in any thought or action that concerned you." + +He looked at her intently. He read in her words an admission and a +defense. + +"Let us avoid tragedy, mother, at least in words. Who sent you to +Winifred?" + +"Then she has told you?" + +"She has not told me. Women are either angels or fiends. This harmless +little angel has been driven out of her Paradise in the hope that her +butterfly wings may be soiled by the rain and mud of Manhattan. Who sent +you to her?" + +"Senator Meiklejohn," said Mrs. Carshaw defiantly. + +"What, that smug Pharisee! What was his excuse?" + +"He said you were the talk of the clubs--that Helen Tower--" + +"She, too! Thank you. I see the drift of things now. It was heartless of +you, mother. Did not Winifred's angel face, twisted into misery by your +lies, cause you one pang of remorse?" + +Mrs. Carshaw rose unsteadily. Her face was ghastly in its whiteness. + +"Rex, spare me, for Heaven's sake!" she faltered. "I did it for the +best. I have suffered more than you know." + +"I am glad to hear it. You have a good nature in its depths, but the +canker of society has almost destroyed it. That is why you and I are +about to talk business." + +"I am feeling faint. Let matters rest a few hours." + +He strode to the bell and summoned a servant. "Bring some brandy and two +glasses," he said when the man came. + +It was an unusual order at that hour. Silently the servant obeyed. +Carshaw looked out of the window, while his mother, true to her caste, +affected nonchalance before the domestic. + +"Now," said he when they were alone, "drink this. It will steady your +nerves." + +She was frightened at last. Her hand shook as it took the proffered +glass. + +"What has happened?" she asked, with quavering voice. She had never seen +her son like this before. There was a hint of inflexible purpose in him +that terrified her. When he spoke the new crispness in his voice shocked +her ears. + +"Mere business, I assure you. Not another word about Winifred. I shall +find her, sooner or later, and we shall be married then, at once. But, +by queer chance, I have been looking into affairs of late. The manager +of our Massachusetts mills tells me that trade is slack. We have been +running at a loss for some years. Our machinery is antiquated, and we +have not the accumulated reserves to replace it. We are in debt, and our +credit begins to be shaky. Think of that, mother--the name of Carshaw +pondered over by bank managers and discounters of trade bills!" + +"Senator Meiklejohn mentioned this vaguely," she admitted. + +"Dear me! What an interest he takes in us! I wonder why? But, as a +financial magnate, he understands things." + +"Your father always said, Rex, that trade had its cycles--fat years and +lean years, you know." + +"Yes. He built up our prosperity by hard work, by spending less than +half what he earned, not by living in a town house and gadding about in +society. Do you remember, mother, how he used to laugh at your pretty +little affectations? I think I own my share of the family brains, +though, so I shall act now as he would have acted." + +"Do you wish to goad me into hysteria? What are you driving at?" she +shrieked. + +"That is the way to reach the heart of the mystery--get at the facts, +eh? They're simple. The business needs three hundred thousand dollars to +give it solidity and staying power; then four or five years' good and +economical management will set it right. We have been living at the rate +of fifty thousand dollars a year. For some time we have been executing +small mortgages to obtain this annual income, expecting the business to +clear them. Now the estates must come to the help of the business." + +"In what way?" she gasped. + +"They must be mortgaged up to the hilt to pay off the small sums and +find the large one. It will take ten years of nursing to relieve them of +the burden. Not a penny must come from the mills." + +"How shall we live?" she demanded. + +"I have arranged that. Your marriage settlement of two thousand five +hundred dollars a year is secured; that is all. How big it seemed in +your eyes when you were a bride! How little now, though your real +needs are less! I shall take a sufficient salary as assistant manager +while I learn the business. It means two thousand dollars a year for +housekeeping, and I have calculated that the sale of all our goods will +pay our personal debts and leave you and me five thousand each to set up +small establishments." + +Mrs. Carshaw flounced into a chair. "You must be quite mad!" she cried. + +"No, mother, sane--quite sane--for the first time. Don't you believe me? +Go to your lawyers; the scheme is really theirs. They are good business +men, and congratulated me on taking a wise step. So you see, mother, I +really cannot afford a fashionable wife." + +"I am--choking!" she gasped. For the moment anger filled her soul. + +"Now, be reasonable, there's a good soul. Five thousand in the bank, +twenty-five hundred a year to live on. Why, when you get used to it you +will say you were never so happy. What about dinner? Shall we start +economizing at once? Let's pay off half a dozen servants before we sit +down to a chop! Eh, tears! Well, they'll help. Sometimes they're good +for women. Send for me when you are calmer!" + +With a look of real pity in his eyes he bent and kissed her forehead. +She would have kept him with her, but he went away. + +"No," he said, "no discussion, you remember; and I must fix a whole heap +of things before we dine!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +CLANCY EXPLAINS + + +Carshaw phoned the Bureau, asking for Clancy or the chief. Both were +out. + +"Mr. Steingall will be here to-morrow," said the official in charge. +"Mr. Clancy asked me to tell you, if you rang up, that he would be away +till Monday next." + +This was Wednesday evening. Carshaw felt that fate was using him ill, +for Clancy was the one man with whom he wanted to commune in that hour +of agony. He dined with his mother. She, deeming him crazy after a +severe attack of calf-love, humored his mood. She was calm now, +believing that a visit to the lawyers next day, and her own influence +with the mill-manager and the estate superintendent, would soon put a +different aspect on affairs. + +A telegram came late: "No news." + +He sought Senator Meiklejohn at his apartment, but the fox, scenting +hounds, had broken covert. + +"The Senator will be in Washington next week," said the discreet +Phillips. "At present, sir, he is not in town." + +Carshaw made no further inquiry; he knew it was useless. In the morning +another telegram: "No news!" + +He set his teeth, and smilingly agreed to accompany his mother to the +lawyers'. She came away in tears. Those serious men strongly approved of +her son's project. + +"Rex has all his father's grit," said the senior partner. "In a little +time you will be convinced that he is acting rightly." + +"I shall be dead!" she snapped. + +The lawyer lifted his hands with a deprecating smile. "You have no +secrets from me, Mrs. Carshaw," he said. "You are ten years my junior, +and insurance actuaries give women longer lives than men when they have +attained a certain age." + +Carshaw visited Helen Tower. She was fluttered. By note he had asked for +a _tête-à-tête_ interview. But his first words undeceived her. + +"Where is Meiklejohn?" he asked. + +"Do you mean Senator Meiklejohn?" she corrected him. + +"Yes; the man who acted in collusion with you in kidnapping my intended +wife." + +"How dare you--" + +"Sit down, Helen; no heroics, please. Or perhaps you would prefer that +Ronald should be present?" + +"This tone, Rex--to me!" She was crimson with surprise. + +"You are right: it is better that Tower should not be here. He might get +a worse _douche_ than his plunge into the river. Now, about Meiklejohn? +Why did he conspire with you and my mother to carry off Winifred +Bartlett?" + +"I--don't know." + +"Surely there was some motive?" + +"You are speaking in enigmas. I heard of the girl from you. I have never +seen her. If your mother interfered, it was for your good." + +He smiled cynically. The cold, far-away look in his eyes was bitter to +her soul, yet he had never looked so handsome, so distinguished, as in +this moment when he was ruthlessly telling her that another woman +absorbed him utterly. + +"What hold has Meiklejohn over you?" he went on. + +She simulated tears. "You have no right to address me in that manner," +she protested. + +"There is a guilty bond somewhere, and I shall find it out," he said +coldly. "My mother was your catspaw. You, Helen, may have been spiteful, +but Meiklejohn--that sleek and smug politician--I cannot understand him. +The story went that owing to an accidental likeness to Meiklejohn your +husband was nearly killed. His assailant was a man named Voles. Voles +was an associate of Rachel Craik, the woman who poses as Winifred's +aunt. That is the line of inquiry. Do you know anything about it?" + +"Not a syllable." + +"Then I must appeal to Ronald." + +"Do so. He is as much in the dark as I am." + +"I fancy you are speaking the truth, Helen." + +"Is it manly to come here and insult me?" + +"Was it womanly to place these hounds on the track of my poor Winifred? +I shall spare no one, Helen. Be warned in time. If you can help me, do +so. I may have pity on my friends, I shall have none for my enemies." + +He was gone. Mrs. Tower, biting her lips and clenching her hands in +sheer rage, rushed to an escritoire and unlocked it. A letter lay there, +a letter from Meiklejohn. It was dated from the Marlborough-Blenheim +Hotel, Atlantic City. + + "Dear Mrs. Tower," it ran, "the Costa Rica cotton concession is + almost secure. The President will sign it any day now. But + secrecy is more than ever important. Tell none but Jacob. The + market must be kept in the dark. He can begin operations + quietly. The shares should be at par within a week, and at five + in a month. Wire me the one word 'settled' when Jacob says he + is ready." + +"At five in a month!" + +Mrs. Tower was promised ten thousand of those shares. Their nominal +value was one dollar. To-day they stood at a few cents. Fifty thousand +dollars! What a relief it would be! Threatening dressmakers, impudent +racing agents asking for unpaid bets, sneering friends who held her +I. O. U.'s for bridge losses, and spoke of asking her husband to settle; +all these paid triumphantly, and plenty in hand to battle in the +whirlpool for years--it was a stake worth fighting for. + +And Meiklejohn? As the price of his help in gaining a concession granted +by a new competitor among the cotton-producing States, he would be given +five shares to her one. Why did he dread this girl? That was a fruitful +affair to probe. But he must be warned. Her lost lover might be +troublesome at a critical stage in the affairs of the cotton market. + +She wrote a telegram: "Settled, but await letter." In the letter she +gave him some details--not all--of Carshaw's visit. No woman will ever +reveal that she has been discarded by a man whom she boasted was tied to +her hat-strings. + +Carshaw sought the detective bureau, but Steingall was away now, as well +as Clancy. "You'll be hearing from one of them" was the enigmatic +message he was given. + +Eating his heart out in misery, he arranged his affairs, received those +two daily telegrams from Miss Goodman with their dreadful words, "No +news," and haunted the bookbinder's, and Meiklejohn's door hoping to see +some of the crew of Winifred's persecutors. At the bookbinder's he +learned of the visit of the supposed clergyman, whose name, however, did +not appear in the lists of any denomination. + +At last arrived a telegram from Burlington, Vermont. "Come and see me. +Clancy." Grown wary by experience, Carshaw ascertained first that Clancy +was really at Burlington. Then he instructed Miss Goodman to telegraph +to him in the north, and quitted New York by the night train. + +In the sporting columns of an evening paper he read of the sale of his +polo ponies. The scribe regretted the suggested disappearance from the +game of "one of the best Number Ones" he had ever seen. The Long Island +estate was let already, and Mrs. Carshaw would leave her expensive flat +when the lease expired. + +Early next day he was greeted by Clancy. + +"Glad to see you, Mr. Carshaw," said the little man. "Been here before? +No? Charming town. None of the infernal racket of New York about life in +Burlington. Any one who got bitten by that bug here would be afflicted +like the Gadarene swine and rush into Lake Champlain. Walk to the hotel? +It's a fine morning, and you'll get some bully views of the Adirondacks +as you climb the hill." + +"Winifred is gone. Hasn't the Bureau kept you informed?" + +Clancy sighed. + +"I've had Winifred on my mind for days," he said irritably. "Can't you +forget her for half an hour?" + +"She's gone, I tell you. Spirited away the very day I asked her to marry +me." + +"Well, well. Why didn't you ask her sooner?" + +"I had to arrange my affairs. I am poor now. How could I marry Winifred +under false pretenses?" + +"What, then? Did she love you for your supposed wealth?" + +"Mr. Clancy, I am tortured. Why have you brought me here?" + +"To stop you from playing Meiklejohn's game. I hear that you camp +outside his apartment-house. You and I are going back to New York this +very day, and the Bureau will soon find your Winifred. By the way, how +did you happen onto the Senator's connection with the affair?" + +Taking hope, Carshaw told his story. Clancy listened while they +breakfasted. Then he unfolded a record of local events. + +"The Bureau has known for some time that Senator Meiklejohn's past +offered some rather remarkable problems," he said, dropping his +bantering air and speaking seriously. "We have never ceased making +guarded inquiries. I am here now for that very purpose. Some thirty +years ago, on the death of his father, he and his brother, Ralph Vane +Meiklejohn, inherited an old-established banking business in Vermont. +Ralph was a bit of a rake, but local opinion regarded William as a +steady-going, domesticated man who would uphold the family traditions. +There was no ink on the blotter during upward of ten years, and William +was already a candidate for Congress when Ralph was involved in a +scandal which caused some talk at the time. The name of a governess in a +local house was associated with his, and her name was Bartlett." + +Carshaw glanced at the detective with a quick uneasiness, which Clancy +pretended not to notice. + +"I have no proof, but absolutely no doubt," he continued, "that this +woman is now known as Rachel Craik. She fell into Ralph Meiklejohn's +clutches then, and has remained his slave ever since. Two years later +there was a terrific sensation here. A man named Marchbanks was found +lying dead in a lakeside quarry, having fallen or been thrown into it. +This quarry was situated near the Meiklejohn house. Mrs. Marchbanks, a +ward of Meiklejohn's father, died in childbirth as the result of shock +when she heard of her husband's death, and inquiry showed that all her +money had been swallowed up in loans to her husband for Stock Exchange +speculation. Mrs Marchbanks was a noted beauty, and her fortune was +estimated at nearly half a million dollars. It was all the more amazing +that her husband should have lost such a great sum in reckless gambling, +seeing that those who remember him say he was a nice-mannered gentleman +of the old type, devoted to his wife, and with a passion for cultivating +orchids. Again, why should Mrs. Marchbanks's bankers and guardians allow +her to be ruined by a thoughtless fool?" + +Clancy seemed to be asking himself these questions; but Carshaw, so far +from New York, and with a mind ever dwelling on Winifred, said +impatiently: + +"You didn't bring me here to tell me about some long-forgotten mystery?" + +"Ah, quit that hair-trigger business!" snapped Clancy. "You just listen, +an' maybe you'll hear something interesting. Ralph Vane Meiklejohn left +Vermont soon afterward. Twelve years ago a certain Ralph Voles was +sentenced to five years in a penitentiary for swindling. Mrs. +Marchbanks's child lived. It was a girl, and baptized as Winifred. She +was looked after as a matter of charity by William Meiklejohn, and +entrusted to the care of Miss Bartlett, the ex-governess." + +Carshaw was certainly "interested" now. + +"Winifred! My Winifred!" he cried, grasping the detective's shoulder in +his excitement. + +"Tut, tut!" grinned Clancy. "Guess the story's beginning to grip. Yes. +Winifred is 'the image of her mother,' said Voles. She must be 'taken +away from New York.' Why? Why did this same Ralph vanish from Vermont +after her father's death 'by accident'? Why does a wealthy and +influential Senator join in the plot against her, invoking the aid of +your mother and of Mrs. Tower? These are questions to be asked, but not +yet. First, you must get back your Winifred, Carshaw, and take care that +you keep her when you get her." + +"But how? Tell me how to find her!" came the fierce demand. + +"If you jump at me like that I'll make you stop here another week," said +Clancy. "Man alive, I hate humbug as much as any man; but don't you see +that the Bureau must make sure of its case before it acts? We can't go +before a judge until we have better evidence than the vague hearsay of +twenty years ago. But, for goodness' sake, next time you grab Winifred, +rush her to the nearest clergyman and make her Mrs. Carshaw, Jr. +That'll help a lot. Leave me to get the Senator and the rest of the +bunch. Now, if you'll be good, I'll show you the house where your +Winifred was born!" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +IN THE TOILS + + +East Orange seemed to be a long way from New York when Winifred hastened +to the appointment at "Gateway House," traveling thither by way of the +Tube and the Lackawanna Railway. + +More and more did it seem strange that a theatrical agent should fix on +such a rendezvous, until a plausible reason suggested itself: possibly, +some noted impresario had chosen this secluded retreat, and the agent +had arranged a meeting there between his client and the great man whose +Olympian nod gave success or failure to aspirants for the stage. + +The letter itself was reassuringly explicit as to the route she should +follow. + +"On leaving the station," it said, "turn to the right and walk a mile +along the only road that presents itself until you see, on the left, a +large green gate bearing the name 'Gateway House.' Walk in. The house +itself is hidden by trees, and stands in spacious grounds. If you follow +these directions, you will have no need to ask the way." + +The description of the place betokened that it was of some local +importance, and hope revived somewhat in her sorrowing heart at the +impression that perhaps, after all, it was better she had failed in +finding work at the bindery. + +Notwithstanding the charming simplicity of her nature, Winifred would +not be a woman if she did not know she was good-looking. The stage +offered a career; work in the factory only yielded existence. Recent +events had added a certain strength of character to her sweet face; and +Miss Goodman, who happened to be an expert dressmaker, had used the +girl's leisure in her lodgings to turn her nimble fingers to account. +Hence, Winifred was dressed with neat elegance, and the touch of winter +keenness in the air gave her a splendid color as she hurried out of the +station many minutes late for her appointment. + +Would she be asked to sing, she wondered? She had no music with her, and +had never touched a piano since her music-master's anxiety to train her +voice had been so suddenly frustrated by Rachel Craik. But she knew many +of the solos from "Faust," "Rigoletto," and "Carmen"; surely, among +musical people, there would be some appreciation of her skill if tested +by this class of composition, as compared with the latest rag-time +melody or gushing cabaret ballad. + +Busy with such thoughts, she hastened along the road, until she awoke +with a start to the knowledge that she was opposite Gateway House. +Certainly the retreat was admirable from the point of view of a man +surfeited with life on the Great White Way. Indeed, it looked very like +a private lunatic asylum or home for inebriates, with its lofty walls +studded with broken glass, and its solid gate crowned with iron spikes. + +Winifred tried the door. It opened readily. She was surprised that so +pretentious an abode had no lodge-keeper's cottage. There were signs of +few vehicles passing over the weed-grown gravel drive, and such marks as +existed were quite recent. + +She was so late, however, that her confused mind did not trouble about +these things, and she sped on gracefully, soon coming in full view of +the house itself. It was now almost dark, and the grounds seemed very +lonely; but the presence of lights in the secluded mansion gave earnest +of some one awaiting her there. She fancied she heard a noise, like the +snapping of a latch or lock behind her. She turned her head, but saw no +one. Fowle, hiding among the evergreens, had run with nimble feet and +sardonic smile to bolt the gate as soon as she was out of sight. + +And now Winifred was at the front door, timidly pulling a bell. A man +strolled with a marked limp around the house from a conservatory. He was +a tall, strongly built person, and something in the dimly seen outline +sent a thrill of apprehension through her. + +But the door opened. + +"I have come--" she began. + +The words died away in sheer affright. Glowering at her, with a queer +look of gratified menace, was Rachel Craik! + +"So I see," was the grim retort. "Come in, Winnie, by all means. Where +have you been all these weeks?" + +"There is some mistake," she faltered, white with sudden terror and +nameless suspicions. "My agent told me to come here--" + +"Quite right. Be quick, or you'll miss the last train home," growled the +voice of Voles behind her. + +Roughly, though not violently, he pushed her inside, and the door +closed. + +He snapped at Rachel: "She'd be yelling for help in another second, and +you never know who may be passing." + +Now, Winifred was not of the order of women who faint in the presence of +danger. Her love had given her a great strength; her suffering had +deepened her fine nature; and her very soul rebelled against the cruel +subterfuge which had been practised to separate her from her lover. She +saw, with the magic intuition of her sex, that the very essence of a +deep-laid plot was that Rex and she should be kept apart. + +The visit of Mrs. Carshaw, then, was only a part of the same determined +scheme? Rex's mother had been a puppet in the hands of those who carried +her to Connecticut, who strove so determinedly to take her away when +Carshaw put in an appearance, and who had tricked her into keeping this +bogus appointment. She would defy them, face death itself rather than +yield. + +In the America of to-day, nothing short of desperate crime could long +keep her from Rex's arms. What a weak, silly, romantic girl she had been +not to trust in him absolutely! The knowledge nerved her to a fine +scorn. + +"What right have you to treat me in this way?" she cried vehemently. +"You have lied to me; brought me here by a forged letter. Let me go +instantly, and perhaps my just indignation may not lead me to tell my +agent how you have dared to use his name with false pretense." + +"Ho, ho!" sang out Voles. "The little bird pipes an angry note. Be +pacified, my sweet linnet. You were getting into bad company. It was the +duty of your relatives to rescue you." + +"My relatives! Who are they who claim kinship? I see here one who posed +as my aunt for many years--" + +"Posed, Winnie?" + +Miss Craik affected a croak of regretful protest. + +Winifred's eyes shot lightnings. + +"Yes. I am sure you are not my aunt. Many things I can recall prove it +to me. Why do you never mention my father and mother? What wrong have I +done to any living soul that, ever since you were mixed up in the attack +on Mr. Ronald Tower, you should deal with me as if I were a criminal or +a lunatic, and seek to part me from those who would befriend me?" + +"Hush, little girl," interposed Voles, with mock severity. "You don't +know what you're saying. You are hurting your dear aunt's feelings. She +is your aunt. I ought to know, considering that you are my daughter!" + +"Your daughter!" + +Now, indeed, she felt ready to dare dragons. This coarse, brutal giant +of a man her father! Her gorge rose at the suggestion. Almost fiercely +she resolved to hold her own against these persecutors who scrupled not +to use any lying device that would suit their purpose. + +"Yes," he cried truculently. "Don't I come up to your expectations?" + +"If you are my father," she said, with a strange self-possession that +came to her aid in this trying moment, "where is my mother?" + +"Sorry to say she died long since." + +"Did you murder her as you tried to murder Mr. Tower?" + +The chance shot went home, though it hit her callous hearer in a way she +could not then appreciate. He swore violently. + +"You're my daughter, I tell you," he vociferated, "and the first thing +you have to learn is obedience. Your head has been turned, young lady, +by your pretty Rex and his nice ways. I'll have to teach you not to +address me in that fashion. Take her to her room, Rachel." + +Driven to frenzy by a dreadful and wholly unexpected predicament, +Winifred cast off the hand her "aunt" laid on her shoulder. + +"Let me go!" she screamed. "I will not accompany you. I do not believe a +word you say. If you touch me, I shall defend myself." + +"Spit-fire, eh?" she heard Voles say. There was something of a struggle. +She never knew exactly what happened. She found herself clasped in his +giant arms and heard his half jesting protest: + +"Now, my butterfly, don't beat your little wings so furiously, or you'll +hurt yourself." + +He carried her, screaming, up-stairs, and pushed her into a large room. +Rachel Craik followed, with set face and angry words. + +"Ungrateful girl!" was her cry. "After all I've done for you!" + +"You stole me from my mother," sobbed Winifred despairingly. "I am sure +you did. You are afraid now lest some one should recognize me. I am 'the +image of my mother' that horrible man said, and I am to be taken away +because I resemble her. It is you who are frightened, not I. I defy you. +Even Mrs. Carshaw knew my face. I scorn you, I say, and if you think +your devices can deceive me or keep Rex from me, you are mistaken. +Before it is too late, let me go!" + +Rachel Craik was, indeed, alarmed by the girl's hysterical outpouring. +But Winifred's taunts worked harm in one way. They revealed most surely +that the danger dreaded by both Voles and Meiklejohn did truly exist. +From that instant Rachel Craik, who felt beneath her rough exterior some +real tenderness for the girl she had reared, became her implacable foe. + +"You had better calm yourself," she said quietly. "If you care to eat, +food will soon be brought for you and Mr. Grey. He is your +fellow-boarder for a few days!" + +Then Winifred saw, for the first time, that the spacious room held +another occupant. Reclining in a big chair, and scowling at her, was +Mick the Wolf, whose arm Carshaw had broken recently. + +"Yes," growled that worthy, "I'm not the most cheerful company, missy, +but my other arm is strong enough to put that fellow of yours out o' +gear if he butts in on me ag'in. So just cool your pretty lil head, will +you? I'm boss here, and if you rile me it'll be sort o' awkward for +you." + +How Winifred passed the next few hours she could scarcely remember +afterward. She noted, in dull agony, that the windows of the +sitting-room she shared with Mick the Wolf were barred with iron. +So, too, was the window of her bedroom. The key and handle of the +bedroom lock had been taken away. Rachel Craik was her jailer, a +maimed scoundrel her companion and assistant-warder. + +But, when the first paroxysms of helpless pain and rage had passed, her +faith returned. She prayed long and earnestly, and help was vouchsafed. +Appeal to her captors was vain, she knew, so she sought the consolation +that is never denied to all who are afflicted. + +Neither Rachel Craik, nor the sullen bandit, nor the loud-voiced rascal +who had dared to say he was her father, could understand the cheerful +patience with which she met them next day. + +"She's a puzzle," said Voles in the privacy of the apartment beneath. "I +must dope out some way of fixin' things. She'll never come to heel +again, Rachel. That fool Carshaw has turned her head." + +He tramped to and fro impatiently. His ankle had not yet forgotten the +wrench it received on the Boston Post Road. Suddenly he banged a huge +fist on a sideboard. + +"Gee!" he cried, "that should turn the trick! I'll marry her off to +Fowle. If it wasn't for other considerations I'd be almost tempted--" + +He paused. Even his fierce spirit quailed at the venom that gleamed from +Rachel Craik's eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +MOTHER AND SON + + +A telegram reached Carshaw before he left Burlington with Clancy. He +hoped it contained news of Winifred, but it was of a nature that imposed +one more difficulty in his path. + +"Not later than the twentieth," wired the manager of the Carshaw Mills +in Massachusetts. Carshaw himself had inquired the latest date on which +he would be expected to start work. + +The offer was his own, and he could not in honor begin the new era by +breaking his pledge. The day was Saturday, November 11. On the following +Monday week he must begin to learn the rudiments of cotton-spinning. + +"What's up?" demanded Clancy, eying the telegram, for Carshaw's face had +hardened at the thought that, perhaps, in the limited time at his +disposal his quest might fail. He passed the typed slip to the +detective. + +"Meaning?" said the latter, after a quick glance. + +Carshaw explained. "I'll find her," he added, with a catch of the +breath. "I must find her. God in Heaven, man, I'll go mad if I don't!" + +"Cut out the stage stuff," said Clancy. "By this day week the Bureau +will find a bunch of girls who're not lost yet--only planning it." + +Touched by the misery in Carshaw's eyes, he added: + +"What you really want is a marriage license. The minute you set eyes on +Winifred rush her to the City Hall." + +"Once we meet we'll not part again," came the earnest vow. Somehow, the +pert little man's overweening egotism was soothing, and Carshaw allowed +his mind to dwell on the happiness of holding Winifred in his arms once +more rather than the uncertain prospect of attaining such bliss. + +Indeed, he was almost surprised by the ardor of his love for her. When +he could see her each day, and amuse himself by playing at the pretense +that she was to earn her own living, there was a definite satisfaction +in the thought that soon they would be married, when all this pleasant +make-believe would vanish. But now that she was lost to him, and +probably enduring no common misery, the complacency of life had suddenly +given place to a fierce longing for a glimpse of her, for the sound of +her voice, for the shy glance of her beautiful eyes. + +"Now, let's play ball," said Clancy when they were in a train speeding +south. "Has any complete search of Winifred's rooms been made?" + +"How do you mean?" + +"Did you look in every hole and corner for a torn envelope, a twisted +scrap of paper, a car transfer, any mortal thing that might reveal why +she went out and did not return?" + +"I told you of the bookbinder's note--" + +"You sure did," broke in Clancy. "You also went to the bookbinder s'teen +times. Are you certain there was nothing else?" + +"No--I didn't like--how could I peer and pry--" + +"You'd make a bum detective. Imagine that poor girl crying her eyes out +in a cold dark cell all because you were too squeamish to give her +belongings the once over!" + +Carshaw was not misled by Clancy's manner. He knew that his friend was +only consumed by impatience to be on the trail. + +"You've fired plenty of questions at me," he said quietly. "Now it's my +turn. I understand why you came to Burlington, but where is Steingall +all this time?" + +"That big stiff! How do I know?" + +In a word, Clancy was uncommunicative during a whole hour. When the mood +passed he spoke of other things, but, although it was ten at night when +they reached New York, he raced Carshaw straight to East Twenty-seventh +Street and Miss Goodman. + +There, in a few seconds, he was reading the agent's genuine note to +Winifred--that containing the assurance that no appointment had been +made for "East Orange." + +The letter concluded: + + "At first I assumed that a message intended for some other + correspondent had been sent to me by error. Now, on reperusal, + I am almost convinced that you wrote me under some + misapprehension. Will you kindly explain how it arose?" + +Clancy, great as ever on such occasions, refrained from saying: "I told +you so." + +"We'll call up the agent Monday, just for the sake of thoroughness," he +said. "Meanwhile, be ready to come with me to East Orange to-morrow at 8 +A.M." + +"Why not to-night?" urged Carshaw, afire with a rage to be up and doing. + +"What? To sleep there? Young man, you don't know East Orange. Run away +home to your ma!" + + * * * * * + +"Where have you been?" inquired Mrs. Carshaw when her son entered. Her +air was subdued. She had suffered a good deal these later days. + +"To Vermont." + +"Still pursuing that girl?" + +"Yes, mother." + +"Have you found her?" + +"No, mother." + +"Rex, have you driven me wholly from your heart?" + +"No; that would be impossible. Winifred would not wish it, callous as +you were to her." + +"Do not be too hard on me. I am sore wounded. It is a great deal for a +woman to be cast into the outer darkness." + +"Nonsense, mother, you are emerging into light. If your friends are so +ready to drop you because you are poor--with the exceeding poverty of +twenty-five hundred a year--of what value were they as friends? When you +know Winifred you will be glad. You will feel as Dante felt when he +emerged from the Inferno." + +"So you are determined to marry her?" + +"Unquestionably. And mark you, mother, when the clouds pass, and we are +rich again, you will be proud of your daughter-in-law. She will bear all +your skill in dressing. Gad! how the women of your set will envy her +complexion." + +Mrs. Carshaw smiled wanly at that. She knew her "set," as Rex termed the +Four Hundred. + +"Why is she called Bartlett?" she inquired after a pause, and Rex looked +at her in surprise. "I have a reason," she continued. "Is that her real +name?" + +"Now," he cried, "I admit you are showing some of your wonted +cleverness." + +"Ah! Then I am right. I have been thinking. Cessation from society +duties is at least restful. Last night, lying awake and wondering where +you were, my thoughts reverted to that girl. I remembered her face. All +at once a long-forgotten chord of memory hummed its note. Twenty years +ago, when you were a little boy, Rex, I met a Mrs. Marchbanks. She was a +sweet singer. Does your Winifred sing?" + +Carshaw drew his chair closer to his mother and placed an arm around her +shoulder. + +"Yes," he said. + +"Rex," she murmured brokenly, hiding her face, "do you forgive me?" + +"Mother, I ask you to forgive me if I said harsh things." + +There was silence for a while. Then she raised her eyes. They were wet, +but smiling. + +"This Mrs. Marchbanks," she went on bravely, "had your Winifred's face. +She was wealthy and altogether charming. Her husband, too, was a +gentleman. She was a ward of the elder Meiklejohn, the present Senator's +father. My recollection of events is vague, but there was some scandal +in Burlington." + +"I know all, or nearly all, about it. That is why I was called to +Vermont. Mother, in future, you will work with me, not against me?" + +"I will--indeed I will," she sobbed. + +"Then you must not drop your car. I have money to pay for that. Keep in +with Helen Tower, and find out what hold she has on Meiklejohn. You are +good at that, you know. You understand your quarry. You will be worth +twenty detectives. First, discover where Meiklejohn is. He has bolted, +or shut himself up." + +"You must trust me fully, or I shall not see the pitfalls. Tell me +everything." + +He obeyed. Before he had ended, Mrs. Carshaw was weeping again, but this +time it was out of sympathy with Winifred. Next morning, although it was +Sunday, her smart limousine took her to the Tower's house. Mrs. Tower +was at home. + +"I have heard dreadful things about you, Sarah," she purred. "What on +earth is the matter? Why have you given up your place on Long Island?" + +"A whim of Rex's, my dear. He is still infatuated over that girl." + +"She must have played her cards well." + +"Yes, indeed. One does not look for such skill in the lower orders. And +how she deceived me! I went to see her, and she promised better +behavior. Now I find she has gone again, and Rex will not tell me where +she is. Do you know?" + +"I? The creature never enters my mind." + +"Of course not. She does not interest you, but I am the boy's mother, +and you cannot imagine, Helen, how this affair worries me." + +"My poor Sarah! It is too bad." + +"Such a misfortune could not have happened had his father lived. We +women are of no use where a headstrong man is concerned. I am thinking +of consulting Senator Meiklejohn. He is discreet and experienced." + +"But he is not in town." + +"What a calamity! Do tell me where I can find him." + +"I have reason to know that Rex would not brook any interference from +him." + +"Oh, no, of course not. It would never do to permit his influence to +appear. I was thinking that the Senator might act with the girl, this +wonderful Winifred. He might frighten her, or bribe her, or something of +the sort." + +Now, Helen Tower was not in Meiklejohn's confidence. He was compelled to +trust her in the matter of the Costa Rica concession, but he was far too +wise to let her into any secret where Winifred was concerned. Anxious to +stab with another's hand, she thought that Mrs. Carshaw might be used to +punish her wayward son. + +"I'm not sure--" She paused doubtfully. "I do happen to know Mr. +Meiklejohn's whereabouts, but it is most important he should not be +troubled." + +"Helen, you used to like Rex more than a little. With an effort, I can +save him still." + +"But he may suspect you, have you watched, your movements tracked." + +Mrs. Carshaw laughed. "My dear, he is far too much taken up with his +Winifred." + +"Has he found her, then?" + +"Does he not see her daily?" + +Here were cross purposes. Mrs. Tower was puzzled. + +"If I tell you where the Senator is, you are sure Rex will not follow +you?" + +"Quite certain." + +"His address is the Marlborough-Blenheim, Atlantic City." + +"Helen, you're a dear! I shall go there to-morrow, if necessary. But it +will be best to write him first." + +"Don't say I told you." + +"Above all things, Helen, I am discreet." + +"I fear he cannot do much. Your son is so wilful." + +"Don't you understand? Rex is quite unmanageable. I depend wholly on the +girl--and Senator Meiklejohn is just the man to deal with her." + +They kissed farewell--alas, those Judas kisses of women! Both were +satisfied, each believing she had hoodwinked the other. Mrs. Carshaw +returned to her flat to await her son's arrival. If the trail at East +Orange proved difficult he promised to be home for dinner. + +"There will be a row if Rex meets Meiklejohn," she communed. "Helen will +be furious with me. What do I care? I have won back my son's love. I +have not many years to live. What else have I to work for if not for his +happiness?" + +So one woman in New York that night was fairly well _content_. There may +be, as the Chinese proverb has it, thirty-six different kinds of +mothers-in-law, but there is only one mother. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE HUNT + + +Steingall, not Clancy, presented his bulk at Carshaw's apartment next +morning. He contrived to have a few minutes' private talk with Mrs. +Carshaw while her son was dressing. Early as it was, he lighted a second +cigar as he stepped into the automobile, for Carshaw thought it an +economy to retain a car. + +"Surprised to see me?" he began. "Well, it's this way. We may drop in +for a rough-house to-day. Between them, Voles and 'Mick the Wolf,' own +three sound legs and three strong arms. I can't risk Clancy. He's too +precious. He kicked like a mule, of course, but I made it an order." + +"What of the local police?" said Carshaw. + +"Nix on the cops," laughed the chief. "You share the popular delusion +that a policeman can arrest any one at sight. He can do nothing of the +sort, unless he and his superior officers care to face a whacking demand +for damages. And what charge can we bring against Voles and company? +Winifred bolted of her own accord. We must tread lightly, Mr. Carshaw. +Really, I shouldn't be here at all. I came only to help, to put you on +the right trail, to see that Winifred is not detained by force if she +wishes to accompany you. Do you get me?" + +"I believe there is good authority for the statement that the law is an +ass," grumbled the other. + +"Not the law. Personal liberty has to be safeguarded by the law. +Millions of men have died to uphold that principle. Remember, too, that +I may have to explain in court why I did so-and-so. Strange as it may +sound, I've been taught wisdom by legal adversity. Now, let's talk of +the business in hand. It's an odd thing, but people who wish to do evil +deeds often select secluded country places to live in. I don't mind +betting a box of cigars that 'East Orange' means a quiet, old-fashioned +locality where there isn't a crime once in a generation." + +"Some spot one would never suspect, eh?" + +"Yes, in a sense. But if ever I set up as a crook--which is unlikely, as +my pension is due in eighteen months--I'll live in a Broadway flat." + +"I thought the city police kept a very close eye on evil-doers." + +"Yes, when we know them. But your real expert is not known; once held +he's done for. Of course he tries again, but he is a marked man--he has +lost his confidence. Nevertheless, he will always try to be with the +crowd. There is safety in numbers." + +"Do you mean that East Orange is a place favorable to our search?" + +"Of course it is. The police, the letter-carriers, and the storekeepers, +know everybody. They can tell us at once of several hundred people +who certainly had nothing to do with the abduction of a young lady. +There will remain a few dozens who might possibly be concerned in +such an affair. Inquiry will soon whittle them down to three or four +individuals. What a different job it would be if we had to search a New +York precinct, which, I take it, is about as populous as East Orange." + +This was a new point of view to Carshaw, and it cheered him +proportionately. He stepped on the gas, and a traffic policeman at +Forty-second Street and Seventh Avenue cocked an eye at him. + +"Steady," laughed Steingall. "It would be a sad blow for mother if we +were held for furious driving. These blessed machines jump from twelve +to forty miles an hour before you can wink twice." + +Carshaw abated his ardor. Nevertheless, they were in East Orange forty +minutes after crossing the ferry. + +Unhappily, from that hour, the pace slackened. Gateway House had been +rented from a New York agent for "Mr. and Mrs. Forest," Westerners who +wished to reside in New Jersey a year or so. + +Its occupants had driven thither from New York. Rachel Craik, heavily +veiled and quietly attired, did her shopping in the nearest suburb, and +had choice of more than one line of rail. So East Orange knew them not, +nor had it even seen them. + +In nowise discouraged, the man from the Bureau set about his inquiry +methodically. He interviewed policemen, railway officials, postmen, and +cabmen. Although the day was Sunday, he tracked men to their homes and +led them to talk. Empty houses, recently let houses, houses tenanted by +people who were "not particular" as to their means of getting a living, +divided his attention with persons who answered to the description of +Voles, Fowle, Rachel, or even the broken-armed Mick the Wolf; while he +plied every man with a minutely accurate picture of Winifred. + +Hither and thither darted the motor till East Orange was scoured and +noted, and among twenty habitations jotted in the detective's notebook +the name of Gateway House figured. It was slow work, this task of +elimination, but they persisted, meeting rebuff after rebuff, especially +in the one or two instances where a couple of sharp-looking strangers +in a car were distinctly not welcome. They had luncheon at a local +hotel, and, by idle chance, were not pleased by the way in which the +meal was served. + +So, when hungry again, and perhaps a trifle dispirited as the day waned +to darkness with no result, they went to another inn to procure a meal. +This time they were better looked after. Instead of a jaded German +waiter they were served by the landlord's daughter, a neat, befrilled +young damsel, who cheered them by her smile; though, to be candid, she +was anxious to get out for a walk with her young man. + +"Have you traveled far?" she asked, by way of talk while laying the +table. + +"From New York," said Steingall. + +"At this hour--in a car?" + +"Yes. Is that a remarkable thing here?" + +"Not the car; but people in motors either whizz through of a morning +going away down the coast, or whizz back again of an evening returning +to New York." + +"Ah!" put in Carshaw, "here is a pretty head which holds brains. It goes +in for ratiocinative reasoning. Now, I'll be bound to say that this +pretty head, which thinks, can help us." + +A good deal of this was lost on the girl, but she caught the compliment +and smiled. + +"It all depends on what you want to know," she said. + +"I really want to find a private prison of some sort," he said. "The +sort of place where a nice-looking young lady like you might be kept in +against her will by nasty, ill-disposed people." + +"There is only one house of that kind in the town, and that is out of +it, as an Irishman might say." + +"And where is it?" + +"It's called Gateway House--about a mile along the road from the depot." + +Steingall, inclined at first to doubt the expediency of gossip with the +girl, now pricked up his ears. + +"Who lives in Gateway House?" he asked. + +"No one that I know of at the moment," she answered. "It used to belong +to a mad doctor. I don't mean a doctor who was mad, but----" + +"No matter about his sanity. Is he dead?" + +"No, in prison. There was a trial two years ago." + +"Oh! I remember the affair. A patient was beaten to death. So the house +is empty?" + +"It is, unless some one has rented it recently. I was taken through the +place months ago. The rooms are all right, and it has beautiful +grounds, but the windows frightened me. They were closely barred with +iron, and the doors were covered with locks and chains. There were some +old beds there, too, with straps on them. Oh, I quite shivered!" + +"After we have eaten will you let us drive you in that direction in my +car?" said Carshaw. + +She simpered and blushed slightly. "I've an appointment with a friend," +she admitted, wondering whether the swain would protest too strongly if +she accepted the invitation. + +"Bring him also," said Carshaw. "I assume it's a 'he.'" + +"Oh, that'll be all right!" she cried. + +So in the deepening gloom the automobile flared with fierce eyes along +the quiet road to Gateway House, and in its seat of honor sat the hotel +maid and her young man. + +"That is the place," she said, after the, to her, all too brief run. + +"Is this the only entrance?" demanded the chief, as he stepped out to +try the gate. + +"Yes. The high wall runs right round the property. It's quite a big +place." + +"Locked!" he announced. "Probably empty, too." + +He tried squinting through the keyhole to catch a gleam of interior +light. + +"No use in doin' that," announced the young man. "The house stands way +back, an' is hidden by trees." + +"I mean having a look at it, wall or no wall," insisted Carshaw. + +"But the gate is spiked and the wall covered with broken glass," said +the girl. + +"Such obstacles can be surmounted by ladders and folded tarpaulins, or +even thick overcoats," observed Steingall. + +"I'm a plumber," said the East Orange man. "If you care to run back to +my place, I c'n give you a telescope ladder and a tarpaulin. But perhaps +we may butt into trouble?" + +"For shame, Jim! I thought you'd do a little thing like that to help a +girl in distress." + +"First I've heard of any girl." + +"My name is Carshaw," came the prompt assurance. "Here's my card; read +it by the lamp there. I'll guarantee you against consequences, pay any +damages, and reward you if our search yields results." + +"Jim--" commenced the girl reproachfully, but he stayed her with a +squeeze. + +"Cut it out, Polly," he said. "You don't wish me to start housebreaking, +do you? But if there's a lady to be helped, an' Mr. Carshaw says it's +O.K., I'm on. A fellow who was with Funston in the Philippines won't +sidestep a little job of that sort." + +Polly, appeased and delighted with the adventure, giggled. "I'd think +not, indeed." + +"It is lawbreaking, but I am inclined to back you up," confided +Steingall to Carshaw when the car was humming back to East Orange. "At +the worst you can only be charged with trespass, as my evidence will be +taken that you had no unlawful intent." + +"Won't you come with me?" + +"Better not. You see, I am only helping you. You have an excuse; I, as +an official, have none--if a row springs up and doors have to be kicked +open, for instance. Moreover, this is the State of New Jersey and +outside my bailiwick." + +"Perhaps the joker behind us may be useful." + +"He will be, or his girl will know the reason why. He may have fought in +every battle in the Spanish War, but she has more pep in her." + +The soldierly plumber was as good as his word. He produced the ladder +and the tarpaulin, and a steel wrench as well. + +"If you do a thing at all do it thoroughly. That's what Funston taught +us," he grinned. + +Carshaw thanked him, and in a few minutes they were again looking at the +tall gate and the dark masses of the garden trees silhouetted against +the sky. They had not encountered many wayfarers during their three +journeys. The presence of a car at the entrance to such a pretentious +place would not attract attention, and the scaling of the wall was only +a matter of half a minute. + +"No use in raising the dust by knocking. Go over," counseled Steingall. +"Try to open the gate. Then you can return the ladder and tarpaulin at +once. Otherwise, leave them in position. If satisfied that the house is +inhabited by those with whom you have no concern, come away unnoticed, +if possible." + +Carshaw climbed the ladder, sat on the tarpaulin, and dropped the ladder +on the inner side of the wall. They heard him shaking the gate. His head +reappeared over the wall. + +"Locked," he said, "and the key gone. I'll come back and report +quickly." + +Jim, who had been nudged earnestly several times by his companion, cried +quickly: + +"Isn't your friend goin' along, too, mister?" + +"No. I may as well tell you that I am a detective," put in Steingall. + +"Gee whizz! Why didn't you cough it up earlier? Hol' on, there! Lower +that ladder. I'm with you." + +"Good old U. S. Army!" said Steingall, and Polly glowed with pride. + +Jim climbed rapidly to Carshaw's side, the latter being astride the +wall. Then they vanished. + +For a long time the two in the car listened intently. A couple of +cyclists passed, and a small boy, prowling about, took an interest in +the car, but was sternly warned off by Steingall. At last they caught +the faint but easily discerned sound of heavy blows and broken woodwork. + +"Things are happening," cried Steingall. "I wish I had gone with them." + +"Oh, I hope my Jim won't get hurt," said Polly, somewhat pale now. + +They heard more furious blows and the crash of glass. + +"Confound it!" growled Steingall. "Why didn't I go?" + +"If I stood on the back of the car against the gate, and you climbed +onto my shoulders, you might manage to stand between the spikes and jump +down," cried Polly desperately. + +"Great Scott, but you're the right sort of girl. The wall is too high, +but the gate is possible. I'll try it," he answered. + +With difficulty, having only slight knowledge of heavy cars, he backed +the machine against the gate. Then the girl caught the top with her +hands, standing on the back cushions. + +Steingall was no light weight for her soft shoulders, but she uttered no +word until she heard him drop heavily on the gravel drive within. + +"Thank goodness!" she whispered. "There are three of them now. I only +wish I was there, too!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +"HE WHO FIGHTS AND RUNS AWAY--" + + +"I don't like the proposition, an' that's a fact," muttered Fowle, +lifting a glass of whisky and glancing furtively at Voles, when the +domineering eyes of the superior scoundrel were averted for a moment. + +"Whether you like it or not, you've got to lump it," was the ready +answer. + +"I don't see that. I agreed to help you up to a certain point----" + +Voles swung around at him furiously, as a mastiff might turn on a +wretched mongrel. + +"Say, listen! If I'm up to the neck in this business, you're in it over +your ears. You can't duck now, you white-livered cur! The cops know you. +They had you in their hands once, and warned you to leave this girl +alone. If I stand in the dock you'll stand there, too, and I'm not the +man to say the word that'll save you." + +"But she's with her aunt. She's under age. Her aunt is her legal +guardian. I know a bit about the law, you see. This notion of yours is +a bird of another color. Sham weddings are no joke. It will mean ten +years." + +"Who wants you to go in for a sham wedding, you swab?" + +"You do, or I haven't got the hang of things." + +Voles looked as though he would like to hammer his argument into Fowle +with his fists. He forebore. There was too much at stake to allow a +sudden access of bad temper to defeat his ends. + +He was tired of vagabondage. It was true, as he told his brother long +before, that he hungered for the flesh-pots of Egypt, for the life and +ease and gayety of New York. An unexpected vista had opened up before +him. When he came back to the East his intention was to squeeze funds +out of Meiklejohn wherewith to plunge again into the outer wilderness. +Now events had conspired to give him some chance of earning a fortune +quickly, had not the irony of fate raised the winsome face and figure of +Winifred as a bogey from the grave to bar his path. + +So he choked back his wrath, and shoved the decanter of spirits across +the table to his morose companion. They were sitting in the hall of +Gateway House, about the hour that Carshaw and the detective, tired by +their weary hunt through East Orange, sought the inn. + +"Now look here, Fowle," he said, "don't be a poor dub, and don't kick at +my way of speaking. _Por Dios!_ man, I've lived too long in the sage +country to scrape my tongue to a smooth spiel like my--my friend, the +Senator. Let's look squarely at the facts. You admire the girl?" + +"Who wouldn't? A pippin, every inch of her." + +"You're broke?" + +"Well--er--" + +"You were fired from your last job. You're in wrong with the police. You +adopted a disguise and told lies about Winifred to those who would +employ her. What chance have you of getting back into your trade, even +if you'd be satisfied with it after having lived like a plute for +weeks?" + +"That goes," said Fowle, waving his pipe. + +"You'd like to hand one to that fellow Carshaw?" + +"Wouldn't I!" + +"Yet you kick like a steer when I offer you the girl, a soft, well-paid +job, and the worst revenge you can take on Carshaw." + +"Yes, all damn fine. But the risk--the infernal risk!" + +"That's where I don't agree with you. You go away with her and her +father--" + +"Father! You're not her father!" + +"You should be the first to believe it. Her aunt will swear it to you or +to any judge in the country. Once out of the United States, she will be +only too glad to avail herself of the protection matrimony is supposed +to offer. What are you afraid of?" + +"You talked of puttin' up some guy to pretend to marry us." + +"Forget it. We can't keep her insensible or dumb for days. But, in the +company of her loving father and her devoted husband, what can she do? +Who will believe her? Depend on me to have the right sort of boys on the +ship. They'll just grin at her. By the time she reaches Costa Rica +she'll be howling for a missionary to come aboard in order to satisfy +her scruples. You can suggest it yourself." + +"I believe she'd die sooner." + +"What matter? You only lose a pretty wife. There's lots more of the same +sort when your wad is thick enough. Why, man, it means a three-months' +trip and a fortune for life, however things turn out. You're tossing +against luck with an eagle on both sides of the quarter." + +Fowle hesitated. The other suppressed a smile. He knew his man. + +"Don't decide in a minute," he said seriously. "But, once settled, there +must be no shirking. Make up your mind either to go straight ahead by my +orders or clear out to-night. I'll give you a ten-spot to begin life +again. After that don't come near me." + +"I'll do it," said Fowle, and they shook hands on their compact. + + * * * * * + +It was not in Winifred's nature to remain long in a state of active +resentment with any human being. A prisoner, watched diligently during +the day, locked into her room at night, she met Rachel Craik's grim +espionage and Mick the Wolf's evil temper with an equable cheerfulness +that exasperated the one while mollifying the other. + +She wondered greatly what they meant to do with her. It was impossible +to believe that in the State of New Jersey, within a few miles of New +York, they could keep her indefinitely in close confinement. She knew +that her Rex would move heaven and earth to rescue her. She knew that +the authorities, in the person of Mr. Steingall, would take up the hunt +with unwearying diligence, and she reasoned, acutely enough, that a plot +which embraced in its scope so many different individuals could not long +defy the efforts made to elucidate it. + +How thankful she was now that she had at last written and posted that +long-deferred letter to the agent. Here, surely, was a clue to be +followed--she had quite forgotten, in the first whirlwind of her +distress, the second letter which reached her in the Twenty-seventh +Street lodgings, but pinned her faith to the fact that her own note +concerning the appointment "near East Orange" was in existence. + +Perhaps her sweetheart was already rushing over every road in the place +and making exhaustive inquiries about her. It was possible that he had +passed Gateway House more than once. He might have seen amid the trees +the tall chimneys of the very jail against whose iron bars her spirit +was fluttering in fearful hope. Oh, why was she not endowed with that +power she had read of, whose fortunate possessors could leap time and +space in their astral subconsciousness and make known their thoughts and +wishes to those dear to them? + +She even smiled at the conceit that a true wireless telegraphy did exist +between Carshaw and herself. Daily, nightly, she thought of him and he +of her. But their alphabet was lacking; they could utter only the +thrilling language of love, which is not bound by such earthly things as +signs and symbols. + +Yet was she utterly confident, and her demeanor rendered Rachel Craik +more and more suspicious. Since the girl had scornfully disowned her +kinship, the elder woman had not made further protest on that score. She +frankly behaved as a wardress in a prison, and Winifred as frankly +accepted the rôle of prisoner. There remained Mick the Wolf. Under the +circumstances, no doctor or professional nurse could be brought to +attend his injured arm. The broken limb had of course been properly set +after the accident, but it required skilled dressing daily, and this +Winifred undertook. She had no real knowledge of the subject, but her +willingness to help, joined to the instruction given by the man himself, +achieved her object. + +It was well-nigh impossible for this rough, callous rogue, brought in +contact with such a girl for the first time in his life, to resist her +influence. She did not know it, but gradually she was winning him to her +side. He swore at her as the cause of his suffering, yet found himself +regretting even the passive part he was taking in her imprisonment. + +On the very Sunday evening that Voles and Fowle were concocting their +vile and mysterious scheme, Mick the Wolf, their trusted associate, +partner of Voles in many a desperate enterprise in other lands, was +sitting in an armchair up-stairs listening to Winifred reading from a +book she had found in her bedroom. It was some simple story of love and +adventure, and certainly its author had never dreamed that his exciting +situations would be perused under conditions as dramatic as any pictured +in the novel. + +"It's a queer thing," said the man after a pause, when Winifred stopped +to light a lamp, "but nobody pipin' us just now 'ud think we was what we +are." + +She laughed at the involved sentence. "I don't think you are half so bad +as you think you are, Mr. Grey," she said softly. "For my part, I am +happy in the belief that my friends will not desert me." + +"Lookut here," he said with gruff sympathy, "why don't you pull with +your people instead of ag'in' 'em. I know what I'm talkin' about. This +yer Voles--but, steady! Mebbe I best shut up." + +Winifred's heart bounded. If this man would speak he might tell her +something of great value to her lover and Mr. Steingall when they came +to reckon up accounts with her persecutors. + +"Anything you tell me, Mr. Grey, shall not be repeated," she said. + +He glanced toward the door. She understood his thought. Rachel Craik was +preparing their evening meal. She might enter the room at any moment, +and it was not advisable that she should suspect them of amicable +relations. Assuredly, up to that hour, Mick the Wolf's manner admitted +of no doubt on the point. He had been intractable as the animal which +supplied his oddly appropriate nickname. + +"It's this way," he went on in a lower tone. "Voles an' Meiklejohn are +brothers born. Meiklejohn, bein' a Senator, an' well in with some of the +top-notchers, has a cotton concession in Costa Rica which means a pile +of money. Voles is cute as a pet fox. He winded the turkey, an' has +forced his brother to make him manager, with a whackin' salary and an +interest. I'm in on the deal, too. Bless your little heart, you just +stan' pat, an' you kin make a dress outer dollar bills." + +"But what have I to do with all this? Why cannot you settle your +business without pursuing me?" was the mournful question, for Winifred +never guessed how greatly the man's information affected her. + +"I can't rightly say, but you're either with us or ag'in' us. If you're +on our side it'll be a joy-ride. If you stick to that guy, Carshaw--" + +To their ears, as to the ears of those waiting in the car at the gate, +came the sound of violent blows and the wrenching open of the door. In +that large house--in a room situated, too, on the side removed from the +road--they could not catch Carshaw's exulting cry after a peep through +the window: + +"I have them! Voles and Fowle! There they are! Now you, who fought with +Funston, fight for a year's pay to be earned in a minute. Here! use this +wrench. You understand it. Use it on the head of any one who resists +you. These scoundrels must be taken red-handed." + +Voles at the first alarm sprang to his feet and whipped out a revolver. +He knew that a vigorous assault was being made on the stout door. +Running to the blind of the nearest window, he saw Carshaw pull out an +iron bar by sheer strength and use it as a lever to pry open a sash. +Tempted though he was to shoot, he dared not. There might be police +outside. Murder would shatter his dreams of wealth and luxury. He must +outwit his pursuers. + +Rachel Craik came running from the kitchen, alarmed by the sudden +hubbub. + +"Fowle," he said to his amazed confederate, "stand them off for a minute +or two. You, Rachel, can help. You know where to find me when the coast +is clear. They cannot touch you. Remember that. They're breaking into +this house without a warrant. Bluff hard, and they cannot even frame a +charge against you if the girl is secured--and she will be if you give +me time." + +Trusting more to Rachel than to vacillating Fowle, he raced up-stairs, +though his injured leg made rapid progress difficult. He ran into a room +and grabbed a small bag which lay in readiness. Then he rushed toward +the room in which Winifred and Mick the Wolf were listening with mixed +feelings to the row which had sprung up beneath. + +He tried the door. It was locked. Rachel had the key in her pocket. A +trifle of that nature did not deter a man like Voles. With his shoulder +he burst the lock, coming face to face with his partner in crime, who +had grasped a poker in his serviceable hand. + +"Atta-boy!" he yelled. "Down-stairs, and floor 'em as they come. You've +one sound arm. Go for 'em--they can't lay a finger on you." + +Now, it was one thing to sympathize with a helpless and gentle girl, but +another to resist the call of the wild. The dominant note in Mick the +Wolf was brutality, and the fighting instinct conquered even his pain. +With an oath he made his way to the hall, and it needed all of +Steingall's great strength to overpower him, wounded though he was. + +It took Carshaw and Jim a couple of minutes to force their way in. There +was a lively fight, in which the detective lent a hand. When Mick the +Wolf was down, groaning and cursing because his fractured arm was broken +again; when Fowle was held to the floor, with Rachel Craik, struggling +and screaming, pinned beneath him by the valiant Jim, Carshaw sped to +the first floor. + +Soon, after using hand-cuffs on the man and woman, and leaving Jim in +charge of them and Mick the Wolf, Steingall joined him. But, search as +they might, they could not find either Winifred or Voles. Almost beside +himself with rage, Carshaw rushed back to the grim-visaged Rachel. + +"Where is she?" he cried. "What have you done with her? By Heaven, I'll +kill you--" + +Her face lit up with a malignant joy. "A nice thing!" she screamed. +"Respectable folk to be treated in this way! What have we done, I'd like +to know? Breaking into our house and assaulting us!" + +"No good talking to her," said the chief. "She's a deep one--tough as +they make 'em. Let's search the grounds." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +IN FULL CRY + + +Polly, the maid from the inn, waiting breathlessly intent in the car +outside the gate, listened for sounds which should guide her as to the +progress of events within. + +Steingall left her standing on the upholstered back of the car, with her +hands clutching the top of the gate. She did not descend immediately. In +that position she could best hear approaching footsteps, as she could +follow the running of the detective nearly all the way to the house. + +Great was her surprise, therefore, to find some one unlocking the gate +without receiving any preliminary warning of his advent. She was just in +time to spring back into the tonneau when one-half of the ponderous door +swung open and a man appeared, carrying in his arms the seemingly +lifeless body of a woman. + +It will be remembered that the lamps of the car spread their beams in +the opposite direction. In the gloom, not only of the night but of the +high wall and the trees, Polly could not distinguish features. + +She thought, however, the man was a stranger. Naturally, as the rescuers +had just gone toward the point whence the newcomer came, she believed +that he had been directed to carry the young lady to the waiting car. +Her quick sympathy was aroused. + +"The poor dear!" she cried. "Oh, don't tell me those horrid people have +hurt her." + +Voles who had choked Winifred into insensibility with a mixture of +alcohol, chloroform, and ether--a scientific anesthetic used by all +surgeons, rapid in achieving its purpose and quite harmless in its +effects--was far more surprised than Polly. He never expected to be +greeted in this way, but rather to be met by some helper of Carshaw's +posed there, and he was prepared to fight or trick his adversary as +occasion demanded. + +He had carried Winifred down a servants' stairs and made his way out of +the house by a back door. The exit was unguarded. In this, as in many +other country mansions, the drive followed a circuitous sweep, but a +path through the trees led directly toward the gate. Hence, his passage +had neither been observed from the hall nor overheard by Polly. + +It was in precisely such a situation as that which faced him now that +Voles was really superb. He was an adroit man, with ready judgment and +nerves of steel. + +"Not much hurt," he said quietly. "She has fainted from shock, I think." + +Though he spoke so glibly, his brain was on fire with question and +answer. His eyes glowered at the car and its occupant, and swept the +open road on either hand. + +To Polly's nostrils was wafted a strange odor, carrying reminiscences of +so-called "painless" dentistry. Winifred, reviving in the open air when +that hateful sponge was removed from mouth and nose, struggled +spasmodically in the arms of her captor. Polly knew that women in a +faint lie deathlike. That never-to-be-forgotten scent, too, caused a +wave of alarm, of suspicion, to creep through her with each heart-beat. + +"Where are the others?" she said, leaning over, and striving to see +Voles's face. + +"Just behind," he answered. "Let me place Miss Bartlett in the car." + +That sounded reasonable. + +"Lift her in here, poor thing," said Polly, making way for the almost +inanimate form. + +"No; on the front seat." + +"But why? This is the best place--oh, help, _help_!" + +For Voles, having placed Winifred beside the steering-pillar, seized +Polly and flung her headlong onto the grass beneath the wall. In the +same instant he started the car with a quick turn of the wrist, for the +engine had been stopped to avoid noise, and there was no time to +experiment with self-starters. He jumped in, released the brakes, +applied the first speed, and was away in the direction to New York. +Polly, angry and frightened, ran after him, screaming at the top of her +voice. + +Voles was in such a desperate hurry that he did not pay heed to his +steering, and nearly ran over a motor-cyclist coming in hot haste to +East Orange. The rider, a young man, pulled up and used language. He +heard Polly, panting and shrieking, running toward him. + +"Good gracious, Miss Barnard, what's the matter?" he cried, for Polly +was pretty enough to hold many an eye. + +"Is that you, Mr. Petch? Thank goodness! There's been murder done in +Gateway House. That villain is carrying off the young lady he has +killed. He has escaped from the police. They're in there now. Oh, catch +him!" + +Mr. Petch, who had dismounted, began to hop back New York-ward, while +the engine emulated a machine-gun. + +"It's a big car--goes fast--I'll do my best--" Polly heard him say, and +he, too, was gone. She met Carshaw and the chief half-way up the drive. +To them, in gasps, she told her story. + +"Cool hand, Voles!" said Steingall. + +"The whole thing was bungled!" cried Carshaw in a white heat. "If Clancy +had been here this couldn't have happened." + +Steingall took the implied taunt coolly. + +"It would have been better had I followed my original plan and not +helped you," he said. "You or our East Orange friend might have been +killed, it is true, but Voles could not have carried the girl off so +easily." + +Carshaw promptly regretted his bitter comment. "I'm sorry," he said, +"but you cannot realize what all this means to me, Steingall." + +"I think I can. Cheer up; your car is easily recognizable. We have a +cyclist known to this young lady in close pursuit. Even if he fails to +catch up with Voles, he will at least give us some definite direction +for a search. At present there is nothing for us to do but lodge these +people in the local prison, telephone the ferries and main towns, and go +back to New York. The police here will let us know what happens to the +cyclist; he may even call at the Bureau. I can act best in New York." + +"Do you mean now to arrest those in the house?" + +"Yes, sure. That is, I'll get the New Jersey police to hold them." + +"On what charge?" + +"Conspiracy. At last we have clear evidence against them. Miss Polly +here has actually seen Voles carrying off Miss Bartlett, who had +previously been rendered insensible. If I am not mistaken in my man, +Fowle will turn State's evidence when he chews on the proposition for a +few hours in a cell." + +"Pah--the wretch! I don't want these reptiles to be crushed; what I want +is to recover Miss Bartlett. Would it not be best to leave them their +liberty and watch them?" + +"I've always found a seven days' remand very helpful," mused the +detective. + +"In ordinary crime, yes. But here we have Rachel Craik, who would suffer +martyrdom rather than speak; Fowle, a mere tool, who knows nothing +except what little he is told; and a thick-headed brute named Mick the +Wolf, who does what his master bids him. Don't you see that in prison +they are useless. At liberty they may help by trying to communicate with +Voles." + +"I'm half inclined to agree with you. Now to frighten them. Keep your +face and tongue under control; I'll try a dodge that seldom fails." + +They re-entered the house. Jim was doing sentry-go in the hall. The +prisoners were sitting mute, save that Mick the Wolf uttered an +occasional growl of pain; his wounded arm was hurting him sorely. + +"We're not going to worry any more about you," said Steingall +contemptuously as he unlocked the hand-cuffs with which he had been +compelled to secure Rachel and Fowle. + +"Yes, you will," was the woman's defiant cry. "Your outrageous +conduct--" + +"Oh, pull that stuff on some one likely to be impressed by it. It comes +a trifle late in the day when Miss Winifred Marchbanks is in the hands +of her friends and Voles on his way to prison. I don't even want you, +Rachel Bartlett, unless the State attorney decides that you ought to be +prosecuted." + +The woman's eyes gleamed like those of a spiteful cat. The detective's +cool use of Winifred's right name, and of the name by which Rachel Craik +herself ought to be known, was positively demoralizing. Fowle, too, was +greatly alarmed. The police-officer said nothing about not wanting him. +With Voles's superior will withdrawn, he began to quake again. But +Rachel was a dour New Englander, of different metal to a man from the +East Side. + +"If you're speaking of my niece," she said, "you have been misled by the +hussy, and by that man of hers there. Mr. Voles is her father. I have +every proof of my words. You can bring none of yours." + +Steingall, eying Fowle, laughed. "You will be able to tell us all about +it in the witness-box, Rachel Bartlett," he said. + +"How dare you call me by that name?" + +"Because it's your right one. Craik was your mother's name. If friend +Voles had only kept his hands clean, or even treated you honorably, you +might now be Mrs. Ralph Meiklejohn, eh?" + +He was playing with her with the affable gambols of a cat toying with a +doomed mouse. Each instant Fowle was becoming more perturbed. He did not +like the way in which the detective ignored him. Was he to be swallowed +at a gulp when his turn came? + +Even Rachel Craik was silenced by this last shot. She wrung her hands; +this stern, implacable woman seemed to be on the point of bursting into +tears. All the plotting and devices of years had failed her suddenly. An +edifice of deception, which had lasted half a generation, had crumbled +into nothingness. This man had callously exposed her secret and her +shame. At that moment her heart was bitter against Voles. + +The detective, skilled in the phases of criminal thought, knew exactly +what was passing through the minds of both Rachel and Fowle. Revenge in +the one case, safety in the other, was operating quickly, and a crisis +was at hand. + +But just then the angry voice of the East Orange plumber reached him: +"Just imagine Petch turnin' up; him, of all men in the world! An' of +course you talked nicey-nicey, an' he's such an obligin' feller that he +beats it after the car! Petch, indeed!" + +There was a snort of jealous fury. Polly's voice was raised in protest. + +"Jim, don't be stupid. How could I tell who it was?" + +"I'll back you against any girl in East Orange to find another string to +your bow wherever you may happen to be," was the enraged retort. + +The detective hastened to stop this lovers' quarrel, which had broken +out after a whispered colloquy. He was too late. Miss Polly was on her +dignity. + +"Well, Mr. Petch is a real man, anyhow," came her stinging answer. "He's +after them now, and he won't let them slip through his fingers like you +did." + +The sheer injustice of this statement rendered Jim incoherent. Petch was +an old rival. When next they met, gore would flow in East Orange. But +the detective's angry whisper restored the senses of both. + +"Can't you two shut up?" he hissed. "Your miserable quarrel has warned +our prisoners. They were on the very point of confessing everything when +you blurted out that the chief rascal had escaped. I'm ashamed of you, +especially after you had behaved so well." + +His rebuke was merited; they were abashed into silence--too late. When +he returned to the pair in the corner of the room he saw Rachel Craik's +sour smile and Fowle's downcast look of calculation. + +"A lost opportunity!" he muttered, but faced the situation quite +pleasantly. + +"You may as well remain here," he said. "I may want you, and you should +realize without giving further trouble that you cannot hide from the +police. Come, Mr. Carshaw, we have work before us in East Orange. Miss +Winifred should be all right by this time." + +Rachel Craik actually laughed. She wondered why she had lost faith in +Voles for an instant. + +"I'll send a doctor," went on Steingall composedly. "Your friend there +needs one, I guess." + +"I'd sooner have a six-shooter," roared Mick the Wolf. + +"Doctors are even more deadly sometimes." + +So the detective took his defeat cheerfully, and that is the worst thing +a man can do--in his opponent's interests. He was rather silent as he +trudged with Carshaw and the others back to the train, however. + +He was asking himself what new gibe Clancy would spring on him when the +story of the night's fiasco came out. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +FLANK ATTACKS + + +Somewhat tired, having ridden that day to Poughkeepsie and back, Petch, +nevertheless, put up a great race after the fleeing motor-car. + +His muscles were rejuvenated by Polly Barnard's exciting news and no +less by admiration for the girl herself. Little thinking that Jim, the +plumber, was performing deeds of derring-do in the hall of Gateway +House, he congratulated himself on the lucky chance which enabled him to +oblige the fair Polly. He dashed into the road to Hoboken, and found, to +his joy, that the dust raised by the passage of the car gave an +unfailing clue to its route. Now, a well-regulated motor-cycle can run +rings round any other form of automobile, no matter how many horses may +be pent in the cylinders, if on an ordinary road and subjected to the +exigencies of traffic. + +Voles, break-neck driver though he was, dared not disregard the traffic +regulations and risk a smash-up. He got the best out of the engine, but +was compelled to go steadily through clusters of houses and around +tree-shaded corners. To his great amazement, as he was tearing through +the last habitations before crossing the New Jersey flats, he was hailed +loudly from behind: + +"Hi, you--pull up!" + +He glanced over his shoulder. A motor-cyclist, white with dust, was +riding after him with tremendous energy. + +"Hola!" cried Voles, snatching another look. "What's the matter?" + +Petch should have temporized, done one of a hundred things he thought of +too late; but he was so breathless after the terrific sprint in which he +overtook Voles that he blurted out: + +"I know you--you can't escape--there's the girl herself--I see her!" + +"Hell!" + +Voles urged on the car by foot and finger. After him pelted Petch, with +set teeth and straining eyes. The magnificent car, superb in its +energies, swept through the night like the fiery dragon of song and +fable, but with a speed never attained by dragon yet, else there would +be room on earth for nothing save dragons. And the motor-cycle leaped +and bounded close behind, stuttering its resolve to conquer the monster +in front. + +The pair created a great commotion as they whirred past scattered houses +and emerged into the keen, cold air of the marshland. A few cars met en +route actually slowed up, and heads were thrust out to peer in wonder. +Women in them were scared, and enjoined drivers to be careful, while men +explained laughingly that a couple of joy-riders were being chased by a +motor "cop." + +It was neck or nothing now for Voles, and when these alternatives +offered, he never hesitated as to which should be chosen. He knew he was +in desperate case. + +The pace; the extraordinary appearance of a hatless man and a girl with +her hair streaming wild--for Winifred's abundant tresses had soon shed +all restraint of pins and twists before the tearing wind of their +transit--would create a tumult in Hoboken. Something must be done. He +must stop the car and shoot that pestiferous cyclist, who had sprung out +of the ground as though one of Medusa's teeth had lain buried there +throughout the ages, and become a panoplied warrior at a woman's cry. + +He looked ahead. There was no car in sight. He peered over his shoulder. +There was no cyclist! Petch had not counted on this frenzied race, and +his petrol-tank was empty. He had pulled up disconsolately half a mile +away, and was now borrowing a gallon of gas from an Orange-bound car, +explaining excitedly that he was "after" a murderer! + +Voles laughed. The fiend's luck, which seldom fails the fiend's +votaries, had come to his aid in a highly critical moment. There +remained Winifred. She, too, must be dealt with. Now, all who have +experienced the effect of an anesthetic will understand that after the +merely stupefying power of the gas has waned there follows a long period +of semi-hysteria, when actual existence is dreamlike, and impressions of +events are evanescent. Winifred, therefore, hardly appreciated what was +taking place until the car stopped abruptly, and the stupor of cold +passed almost simultaneously with the stupor of anesthesia. + +But Voles had his larger plan now. With coolness and daring he might +achieve it. All depended on the discretion of those left behind in +Gateway House. It was impossible to keep Winifred always in durance, or +to prevent her everlastingly from obtaining help. That fool of a +cyclist, for instance, had he contented himself with riding quietly +behind until he reached the ferry, would have wrecked the exploit beyond +repair. + +There remained one last move, but it was a perfect one in most ways. +Would Fowle keep his mouth shut? Voles cursed Fowle in his thought. Were +it not for Fowle there would have been no difficulty. Carshaw would +never have met Winifred, and the girl would have been as wax in the +hands of Rachel Craik. He caught hold of Winifred's arm. + +"If you scream I'll choke you!" he said fiercely. + +Shaken by the chloroform mixture, benumbed as the outcome of an +unprotected drive, the girl was physically as well as mentally unable to +resist. He coiled her hair into a knot, gagged her dexterously with a +silk handkerchief--Voles knew all about gags--and tied her hands behind +her back with a shoe-lace. Then he adjusted the hood and side-screens. + +He did these things hurriedly, but without fumbling. He was losing +precious minutes, for the telephone-wire might yet throttle him; but the +periods of waiting at the ferry and while crossing the Hudson must be +circumvented in some way or other. His last act before starting the car +was to show Winifred the revolver he never lacked. + +"See this!" he growled into her ear. "I'm not going to be held by any +cop. At the least sign of a move by you to attract attention I'll put +the first bullet through the cop, the second through you, and the third +through myself, if I can't make my get-away. Better believe that. I mean +it." + +He asked for no token of understanding on her part. He was stating only +the plain facts. In a word, Voles was born to be a great man, and an +unhappy fate had made him a scoundrel. But fortune still befriended him. +Rain fell as he drove through Hoboken. The ferry was almost deserted, +and the car was wedged in between two huge mail-vans on board the boat. + +Hardened rascal though he was, Voles breathed a sigh of relief as he +drove unchallenged past a uniformed policeman on arriving at Christopher +Street. He guessed his escape was only a matter of minutes. In reality, +he was gone some ten seconds when the policeman was called to the phone. +As for Petch, that valorous knight-errant crossed on the next boat, and +the Hoboken police were already on the _qui vive_. + +Every road into and out of New York was soon watched by sharp eyes on +the lookout for a car bearing a license numbered in the tens of +thousands, and tenanted by a hatless man and a girl in indoor costume. +Quickly the circles lessened in concentric rings through the agencies of +telephone-boxes and roundsmen. + +At half past nine a patrolman found a car answering the description +standing outside an up-town saloon on the East Side. Examining the +register number he saw at once that blacking had been smeared over the +first and last figures. Then he knew. But there was no trace of the +driver. Voles and Winifred had vanished into thin air. + +Mrs. Carshaw, breakfasting with a haggard and weary son, revealed that +Senator Meiklejohn was at Atlantic City. He kissed her for the news. + +"Meiklejohn must wait, mother," he said. "Winifred is somewhere in New +York. I cannot tear myself away to Atlantic City to-day. When I have +found her, I shall deal with Meiklejohn." + +Then came Steingall, and he and Mrs. Carshaw exchanged a glance which +the younger man missed. + +Mrs. Carshaw, sitting a while in deep thought after the others had gone, +rang up a railway company. Atlantic City is four hours distant from New +York. By hurrying over certain inquiries she wished to make, she might +catch a train at midday. + +She drove to her lawyers. At her request a smart clerk was lent to her +for a couple of hours. They consulted various records. The clerk made +many notes on foolscap sheets in a large, round hand, and Mrs. Carshaw, +seated in the train, read them many times through her gold-mounted +lorgnette. + +It was five o'clock when a taxi brought her to the Marlborough-Blenheim +Hotel, and Senator Meiklejohn was the most astonished man on the Jersey +coast at the moment when she entered unannounced, for Mrs. Carshaw had +simply said to the elevator-boy: "Take me to Senator Meiklejohn's +sitting-room." + +Undeniably he was startled; but playing desperately for high stakes had +steadied him somewhat. Perhaps the example of his stronger brother had +some value, too, for he rose with sufficient affability. + +"What a pleasant _rencontré_, Mrs. Carshaw," he said. "I had no notion +you were within a hundred miles of the Board Walk." + +"That is not surprising," she answered, sinking into a comfortable +chair. "I have just arrived. Order me some sandwiches and a cup of tea. +I'm famished." + +He obeyed. + +"I take it you have come to see me?" he said, quietly enough, though +aware of a queer fluttering about the region of his heart. + +"Yes. I am so worried about Rex." + +"Dear me! The girl?" + +"It is always a woman. How you men must loathe us in your sane moments, +if you ever have any." + +"I flatter myself that I am sane, yet how could I say that I loathe +_your_ sex, Mrs. Carshaw?" + +"I wonder if your flattery will bear analysis. But there! No serious +talk until I am refreshed. Do ring for some biscuits; sandwiches are apt +to be slow in the cutting." + +Thus by pretext she kept him from direct converse until a tea-tray, with +a film of _paté de fois_ coyly hidden in thin bread and butter, formed, +as it were, a rampart between them. + +"How did you happen on my address?" he asked smilingly. + +It was the first shell of real warfare, and she answered in kind: "That +was quite easy. The people at the detective bureau know it." + +The words hit him like a bullet. + +"The Bureau!" he cried. + +"Yes. The officials there are interested in the affairs of Winifred +Marchbanks." + +He went ashen-gray, but essayed, nevertheless, to turn emotion into mere +amazement. He was far too clever a man to pretend a blank negation. The +situation was too strenuous for any species of ostrich device. + +"I seem to remember that name," he said slowly, moistening his lips with +his tongue. + +"Of course you do. You have never forgotten it. Let us have a friendly +chat about her, Senator. My son is going to marry her. That is why I am +here." + +She munched her sandwiches and sipped her tea. This experienced woman of +the world, now boldly declared on the side of romance, was far too +astute to force the man to desperation unless it was necessary. He must +be given breathing-time, permitted to collect his wits. She was sure of +her ground. Her case was not legally strong. Meiklejohn would discover +that defect, and, indeed, it was not her object to act legally. If +others could plot and scheme, she would have a finger in the pie--that +was all. And behind her was the clear brain of Steingall, who had camped +for days near the Senator in Atlantic City, and had advised the mother +how to act for her son. + +There was a long silence. She ate steadily. + +"Perhaps you will be good enough to state explicitly why you are here, +Mrs. Carshaw," said Meiklejohn at last. + +She caught the ring of defiance in his tone. She smiled. There was to be +verbal sword-play, and she was armed _cap-à-pie_. + +"Just another cup of tea," she pleaded, and he wriggled uneasily in his +chair. The delay was torturing him. She unrolled her big sheets of +notes. He looked over at them with well-simulated indifference. + +"I have an engagement--" he began, looking at his watch. + +"You must put it off," she said, with sudden heat. "The most important +engagement of your life is here, now, in this room, William Meiklejohn. +I mentioned the detective bureau when I entered. Which do you prefer to +encounter--me or an emissary of the police?" + +He paled again. Evidently this society lady had claws, and would use +them if annoyed. + +"I do not think that I have said anything to warrant such language to +me," he murmured, striving to smile deprecatingly. He succeeded but +poorly. + +"You sent me to drive out into the world the girl whom my son loved," +was the retort. "You made a grave mistake in that. I recognized her, +after a little while. I knew her mother. Now, am I to go into details?" + +"I--really--I--" + +"Very well. Eighteen years ago your brother, Ralph Vane Meiklejohn, +murdered a man named Marchbanks, who had discovered that you and your +brother were defrauding his wife of funds held by your bank as her +trustees. I have here the records of the crime. I do not say that your +brother, who has since been a convict and is now assisting you under the +name of Ralph Voles, could be charged with that crime. Maybe 'murderer' +is too strong a word for him where Marchbanks was concerned; but I do +say that any clever lawyer could send you and him to the penitentiary +for robbing a dead woman and her daughter, the girl whom you and he have +kidnapped within the last week." + +Here was a broadside with a vengeance. Meiklejohn could not have endured +a keener agony were he facing a judge and jury. It was one thing to +have borne this terrible secret gnawing at his vitals during long years, +but it was another to find it pitilessly laid bare by a woman belonging +to that very society for which he had dared so much in order to retain +his footing. + +He bent his head between his hands. For a few seconds thoughts of +another crime danced in his surcharged brain. But Mrs. Carshaw's +well-bred syllables brought him back to sanity with chill +deliberateness. + +"Shall I go on?" she said. "Shall I tell you of Rachel Bartlett; of the +scandal to be raised about your ears, not only by this falsified trust, +but by the outrageous attack on Ronald Tower?" + +He raised his pallid face. He was a proud man, and resented her +merciless taunts. + +"Of course," he muttered, "I deny everything you have said. But, if it +were true, you must have some ulterior motive in approaching me. What is +it?" + +"I am glad you see that. I am here to offer terms." + +"Name them." + +"You must place this girl, Winifred Marchbanks, under my care--where she +will remain until my son marries her--and make restitution of her +mother's property." + +"No doubt you have a definite sum in your mind?" + +"Most certainly. My lawyers tell me you ought to refund the interest as +well, but Winifred may content herself with the principal. You must hand +her half a million dollars!" + +He sprang to his feet, livid. "Woman," he yelled, "you are crazy!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE BITER BIT + + +Mrs. Carshaw focused him again through her gold-rimmed eye-glasses. +"Crazy?" she questioned calmly. "Not a bit of it--merely an old woman +bargaining for her son. Rex would not have done it. After thrashing you +he would have left you to the law, and, were the law to step in, you +would surely be ruined. I, on the other hand, do not scruple to compound +a felony--that is what my lawyers call it. My extravagance and +carelessness have contributed to encumber Rex's estates with a heavy +mortgage. If I provide his wife with a dowry which pays off the mortgage +and leaves her a nice sum as pin-money, I shall have done well." + +"Half a million! I--I repudiate your statements. Even if I did not, I +have no such sum at command." + +"Yes, you have, or will have, which is the same thing. Shall I give you +details of the Costa Rica cotton concession, arranged between you, and +Jacob, and Helen Tower? They're here. As for repudiation, perhaps I have +hurried matters. Permit me to go through my story at some length, +quoting chapter and verse." + +She spread open her papers again, after having folded them. + +"Stop this wretched farce," he almost screamed, for her coolness broke +up his never too powerful nervous system. "If--I agree--what guarantee +is there--" + +"Ah! now you're talking reasonably. I can ensure the acceptance of my +terms. First, where is Winifred?" + +He hesitated. Here was the very verge of the gulf. Any admission implied +the truth of Mrs. Carshaw's words. She did not help him. He must take +the plunge without any further impulsion. But the Senator's nerve was +broken. They both knew it. + +"At Gateway House, East Orange," he said sullenly. "I must tell you that +my--my brother is a dare-devil. Better leave me to----" + +"I am glad you have told the truth," she interrupted. "She is not at +Gateway House now. Rex and a detective were there last night. There was +a fight. Your brother, a resourceful scoundrel evidently, carried her +off. You must find him and her. A train leaves for New York in half an +hour. Come back with me and help look for her. It will count toward your +regeneration." + +He glanced at his watch abstractedly. He even smiled in a sickly way as +he said: + +"You timed your visit well." + +"Yes. A woman has intuition, you know. It takes the place of brains. I +shall await you in the hall. Now, don't be stupid, and think of +revolvers, and poisons, and things. You will end by blessing me for my +interference. Will you be ready in five minutes?" + +She sat in the lounge, and soon saw some baggage descending. Then +Meiklejohn joined her. She went to the office and asked for a telegraph +form. The Senator had followed. + +"What are you going to do?" he asked suspiciously. + +"I'm wiring Rex to say that you and I are traveling to New York +together, and advising him to suspend operations until we arrive. That +will be helpful. You will not be tempted to act foolishly, and he will +not do anything to prejudice your future actions." + +He gave her a wrathful glance. Mrs. Carshaw missed no point. A man +driven to desperation might be tempted to bring about an "accident" if +he fancied he could save himself in that way. But, clever as a mother +scheming for her son's welfare proved herself, there was one thing she +could not do. Neither she nor any other human being can prevent the +unexpected from happening occasionally. Sound judgment and astute +planning will often gain a repute for divination; yet the prophet is +decried at times. Steingall had discovered this, and Mrs. Carshaw +experienced it now. + +It chanced that Mick the Wolf, lying in Gateway House on a bed of pain, +his injuries aggravated by the struggle with the detective, and his +temper soured by Rachel Craik's ungracious ministrations, found his +thoughts dwelling on the gentle girl who had forgotten her own sorrows +and tended him, her enemy. + +Such moments come to every man, no matter how vile he may be, and this +lorn wolf was a social castaway from whom, during many years, all +decent-minded people had averted their faces. His slow-moving mind was +apt to be dominated by a single idea. He understood enough of the Costa +Rican project to grasp the essential fact that there was money in it for +all concerned, and money honestly earned, if honesty be measured by the +ethics of the stock manipulator. + +He realized, too, that neither Voles nor Rachel Craik could be moved by +argument, and he rightly estimated Fowle as a weak-minded nonentity. So +he slowly hammered out a conclusion, and, having appraised it in his +narrow circle of thought, determined to put it into effect. + +An East Orange doctor, who had received his instructions from the +police, paid a second visit to Mick the Wolf shortly before the hour of +Mrs. Carshaw's arrival in Atlantic City. + +"Well, how is the arm feeling now?" he said pleasantly, when he entered +the patient's bedroom. + +The answer was an oath. + +"That will never do," laughed the doctor. "Cheerfulness is the most +important factor in healing. Ill-temper causes jerky movements and +careless--" + +"Oh, shucks," came the growl. "Say, listen, boss! I've been broke up +twice over a slip of a girl. I've had enough of it. The whole darn thing +is a mistake. I want to end it, an' I don't give a hoorah in Hades who +knows. Just tell her friends that if they look for her on board the +steamer _Wild Duck_, loadin' at Smith's Pier in the East River, they'll +either find her or strike her trail. That's all. Now fix these bandages, +for my arm's on fire." + +The doctor wisely put no further questions. He dressed the wounded limb +and took his departure. A policeman in plain clothes, hiding in a +neighboring barn, saw him depart and hailed him: "Any news, Doc?" + +"Yes," was the reply. "If my information is correct you'll not be kept +there much longer." + +He motored quickly to the police-station. Within the hour Carshaw, with +frowning face and dreams of wreaking physical vengeance on the burly +frame of Voles, was speeding across New York with Steingall in his +recovered car. He simply hungered for a personal combat with the man who +had inflicted such sufferings on his beloved Winifred. + +The story told by Polly Barnard, and supplemented by Petch, revealed +very clearly the dastardly trick practised by Voles the previous +evening, while the dodge of smearing out two of the figures on the +automobile's license plate explained the success attained in traversing +the streets unnoticed by the police. + +Steingall was inclined to theorize. + +"The finding of the car puzzled me at first, I admit," he said. "Now, +assuming that Mick the Wolf has not sent us off on a wild-goose chase, +the locality of the steamer explains it. Voles drove all the way to the +East Side, quitted the car in the neighborhood of the pier, deposited +Miss Bartlett on board the vessel under some plausible pretext, and +actually risked the return journey into the only part of New York where +the missing auto might not be noticed at once. He's a bold rogue, and no +mistake." + +But Carshaw answered not. The chief glanced at him sideways, and smiled. +There was a lowering fire in his companion's eyes that told its own +story. Thenceforward, the run was taken in silence. But Steingall had +decided on his next move. When they neared Smith's Pier Carshaw wished +to drive straight there. + +"Nothing of the sort," was the sharp official command. "We have failed +once. Perhaps it was my fault. This time there shall be no mistakes. +Turn along the next street to the right. The precinct station is three +blocks down." + +Somewhat surprised by Steingall's tone, the other obeyed. At the +station-house a policeman, called from the men's quarters, where he was +quietly reading and smoking, stated that he was on duty in the +neighborhood between eight o'clock the previous evening and four o'clock +that morning. He remembered seeing a car, similar to the one standing +outside, pass about 9.15 P.M. It contained two people, he believed, but +could not be sure, as the screens were raised owing to the rain. He did +not see the car again; some drunken sailors required attention during +the small hours. + +The local police captain and several men in plain clothes were asked to +assemble quietly on Smith's Pier. A message was sent to the river +police, and a launch requisitioned to patrol near the _Wild Duck_. + +Finally, Steingall, who was a born strategist, and whose long experience +of cross-examining counsel rendered him wary before he took irrevocable +steps in cases such as this, where a charge might fail on unforeseen +grounds, made inquiries from a local ship's chandler as to the _Wild +Duck_, her cargo, and her destination. + +There was no secret about her. She was loading with stores for Costa +Rica. The consignees were a syndicate, and both Carshaw and Steingall +recognized its name as that of the venture in which Senator Meiklejohn +was interested. + +"Do you happen to know if there is any one on board looking after the +interests of the syndicate?" asked the detective. + +"Yes. A big fellow has been down here once or twice. He's going out as +the manager, I guess. His name was--let me see now--" + +"Voles?" suggested Steingall. + +"No, that wasn't it. Oh, I've got it--Vane, it was." + +Carshaw, dreadfully impatient, failed to understand all this preliminary +survey; but the detective had no warrant, and ship's captains become +crusty if their vessels are boarded in a peremptory manner without +justification. Moreover, Steingall quite emphatically ordered Carshaw to +remain on the wharf while he and others went on board. + +"You want to strangle Voles, if possible," he said. "From what I've +heard of him he would meet the attempt squarely, and you two might do +each other serious injury. I simply refuse to permit any such thing. You +have a much more pleasant task awaiting you when you meet the young +lady. No one will say a word if you hug her as hard as you like." + +Carshaw, agreeing to aught but delay, promised ruefully not to +interfere. When the river police were at hand a nod brought several +powerfully built officers closing in on the main gangway of the _Wild +Duck_. The police-captain, in uniform, accompanied Steingall on board. + +A deck hand hailed them and asked their business. + +"I want to see the captain," said the detective. + +"There he is, boss, lookin' at you from the chart-house now." + +They glanced up toward a red-faced, hectoring sort of person who +regarded them with evident disfavor. Some ships, loading for Central +American ports at out-of-the-way wharves, do not want uniformed police +on their decks. + +The two climbed an iron ladder. Men at work in the forehold ceased +operations and looked up at them. Their progress was followed by many +interested eyes from the wharf. The captain glared angrily. He, too, had +noted the presence of the stalwart contingent near the gangway, nor had +he missed the police boat. + +"What the--" he commenced; but the detective's stern question stopped an +outburst. + +"Have you a man named Voles or Vane on board?" + +"Mr. Vane--yes." + +"Did he bring a young woman to this ship late last night?" + +"I don't see--" + +"Let me explain, captain. I'm from the detective bureau. The man I am +inquiring for is wanted on several charges." + +The steady official tone caused the skipper to think. Here was no +cringing foreigner or laborer to be brow-beaten at pleasure. + +"Well, I'm--" he growled. "Here, you," roaring at a man beneath, "go aft +and tell Mr. Vane he's wanted on the bridge." + +The messenger vanished. + +"I assume there _is_ a young lady on board?" went on Steingall. + +"I'm told so. I haven't seen her." + +"Surely you know every one who has a right to be on the ship?" + +"Guess that's so, mister, an' who has more right than the daughter of +the man who puts up the dough for the trip? Strikes me you're makin' a +hash of things. But here's Mr. Vane. He'll soon put you where you +belong." + +Advancing from the after state-rooms came Voles. He was looking at +the bridge, but the police-captain was hidden momentarily by the +chart-room. He gazed at Steingall with bold curiosity. He had a foot +on the companion ladder when he heard a sudden commotion on the wharf. +Turning, he saw Fowle, livid with terror, writhing in Carshaw's grasp. + +Then Voles stood still. The shades of night were drawing in, but he had +seen enough to give him pause. Perhaps, too, other less palpable shadows +darkened his soul at that moment. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +THE SETTLEMENT + + +The chief disliked melodrama in official affairs. Any man, even a crook, +ought to know when he is beaten, and take his punishment with a stiff +upper lip. But Voles's face was white, and in one of his temperament, +that was as ominous a sign as the bloodshot eyes of a wild boar. +Steingall had hoped that Voles would walk quietly into the chart-room, +and, seeing the folly of resistance, yield to the law without a +struggle. Perhaps, under other conditions, he might have done so. It was +the coming of Fowle that had complicated matters. + +The strategic position was simple enough. Voles had the whole of the +after-deck to himself. In the river, unknown to him, was the police +launch. On the wharf, plain in view, were several policemen, whose +clothes in nowise concealed their character. On the bridge, visible now, +was the uniformed police-captain. Above all, there was Fowle, wriggling +in Carshaw's grasp, and pointing frantically at him, Voles. + +"Come right along, Mr. Vane," said Steingall encouragingly; "we'd like a +word with you." + +The planets must have been hostile to the Meiklejohn family in that +hour. Brother William was being badly handled by Mrs. Carshaw in +Atlantic City, and Brother Ralph was receiving a polite request to come +up-stairs and be cuffed. + +But Ralph Vane Meiklejohn faced the odds creditably. People said +afterward it was a pity he was such a fire-eater. Matters might have +been arranged much more smoothly. As it was, he looked back, perhaps, +through a long vista of misspent years, and the glance was not +encouraging. Of late, his mind had dwelt with somewhat unpleasant +frequency on the finding of a dead body in the quarry near his Vermont +home. + +His first great crime had found him out when he was beginning to forget +it. He had walked that moment from the presence of a girl whose +sorrowful, frightened face reminded him of another long-buried victim of +that quarry tragedy. He knew, too, that this girl had been defrauded by +him and his brother of a vast sum of money, and a guilty conscience made +the prospect blacker than it really was. And then, he was a man of +fierce impulses, of ungovernable rage, a very tiger when his baleful +passions were stirred. A wave of madness swept through him now. He saw +the bright prospect of an easily-earned fortune ruthlessly replaced by a +more palpable vision of prison walls and silent, whitewashed corridors. +Perhaps the chair of death itself loomed through the red mist before his +eyes. + +Yet he retained his senses sufficiently to note the police-captain's +slight signal to his men to come on board, and again he heard +Steingall's voice: + +"Don't make any trouble, Voles. It'll be all the worse for you in the +end." + +The detective's warning was not given without good cause. He knew the +faces of men, and in the blazing eyes of this man he read a maniacal +fury. + +Voles glanced toward the river. It was nearly night. He could swim like +an otter. In the sure confusion he might--Then, for the first time, he +noticed the police launch. His right hand dropped to his hip. + +"Ah, don't be a fool, Voles!" came the cry from the bridge. "You're only +making matters worse." + +A bitter smile creased the lips of the man who felt the world slipping +away beneath him. His hand was thrust forward, not toward the occupants +of the bridge, but toward the wharf. Fowle saw him and yelled. A report +and the yell merged into a scream of agony. Voles was sure that Fowle +had betrayed him, and took vengeance. There was a deadly certainty in +his aim. + +Steingall, utterly fearless when action was called for, swung himself +down by the railings. He was too late. A second report, and Voles +crumpled up. + +His bold spirit had not yielded nor his hand failed him in the last +moment of his need. A bullet was lodged in his brain. He was dead ere +the huge body thudded on the deck. + +When Carshaw found Winifred in a cabin--to open the door they had to +obtain the key from Voles's pocket--the girl was sobbing pitifully. She +heard the revolver shots, and knew not what they betokened. She was so +utterly shaken by these last dreadful hours that she could only cling to +her lover and cry in a frightened way that went to his heart: + +"Oh, take me away, Rex! It was all my fault. Why did I not trust you? +Please, take me away!" + +He fondled her hair and endeavored to kiss the tears from her eyes. + +"Don't cry, little one!" he whispered. "All your troubles have ended +now." + +It was a simple formula, but effective. When repeated often enough, +with sufficiently convincing caresses, she became calmer. When he +brought her on deck all signs of the terrible scene enacted there had +been removed. She asked what had caused the firing, and he told her that +Voles was arrested. It was sufficient. So sensitive was she that the +mere sound of the dead bully's name made her tremble. + +"I remember now," she whispered. "I was sure he had killed you. I knew +you would follow me, Rex. When I saw you I forgot all else in the joy of +it. Are you sure you are not injured?" + +At another time he would have laughed, but her worn condition demanded +the utmost forbearance. + +"No, dearest," he assured her. "He did not even try to hurt me. Now let +me take you to my mother." + +The captain, thoroughly scared by the events he had witnessed, came +forward with profuse apologies and offers of the ship's hospitality. +Carshaw felt that the man was not to blame, but the _Wild Duck_ held no +attractions for him. He hurried Winifred ashore. + +Steingall came with them. The district police would make the official +inquiries as a preliminary to the inquest which would be held next day. +Carshaw must attend, but Winifred would probably be excused by the +authorities. He conveyed this information in scraps of innuendo. +Winifred did not know of Voles's death or the shooting of Fowle till +many days had passed. + +Fowle did not die. He recovered, after an operation and some months in a +hospital. Then Carshaw befriended him, obtained a situation for him, and +gave him money to start life in an honest way once more. + +There was another scene when Mrs. Carshaw brought Meiklejohn to her +apartment and found Rex and Winifred awaiting them. Winifred, of course, +had never seen the Senator, and there was nothing terrifying to her in +the sight of a haggard, weary-looking, elderly gentleman. She was far +more fluttered by meeting Rex's mother, who figured in her mind as a +domineering, cruel, old lady, elegantly merciless, and gifted with a +certain skill in torture by words. + +Mrs. Carshaw began to dispel that impression promptly. + +"My poor child!" she cried, with a break in her voice, "what you have +undergone! Can you ever forgive me?" + +Carshaw, ignoring Meiklejohn, whispered to his mother that Winifred +should be sent to bed. She was utterly worn out. One of the maids should +sleep in her room in case she awoke in fright during the night. + +When left alone with Meiklejohn he intended to scarify the man's soul. +But he was disarmed at the outset. The Senator's spirit was broken. He +admitted everything; said nought in palliation. He could have taken no +better line. When Mrs. Carshaw hastened back, fearing lest her plans +might be upset, she found her son giving Winifred's chief persecutor a +stiff dose of brandy. + +The tragedy of Smith's Pier was allowed to sink into the obscurity of an +ordinary occurrence. Fowle's unhappily-timed appearance was explained by +Rachel Craik when her frenzy at the news of Voles's death had subsided. + +A chuckling remark by Mick the Wolf that "There'd been a darned sight +too much fuss about that slip of a girl, an' he had fixed it," alarmed +her. + +She sent Fowle at top speed to Smith's Pier to warn Voles. He arrived in +time to be shot for his pains. + +Carshaw and Winifred were married quietly. Their honeymoon consisted +of the trip to Massachusetts when he began work in the cotton mill. +Meiklejohn fulfilled his promise. When the Costa Rica cotton concession +reached its zenith he sold out, resigned his seat in the Senate and +transferred to Winifred railway cash and gilt-edged bonds to the total +value of a half a million dollars. So the young bride enriched her +husband, but Carshaw refused to desert his business. He will die a +millionaire, but he hopes to live like one for a long time. + +Petch and Jim fought over Polly. There was talk about it in East Orange, +and Polly threw both over; the latest gossip is that she is going to +marry a police-inspector. + +Mrs. Carshaw, Sr., still visits her "dear friend," Helen Tower. Both of +them speak highly of Meiklejohn, who lives in strict seclusion. He is +very wealthy; since he ceased to strive for gold it has poured in on +him. + +Winifred secured an allowance for Rachel Craik sufficient to live on, +and Mick the Wolf, whose arm was never really sound again, was given a +job on the Long Island estate as a watcher. + +Quite recently, when the young couple came in to New York for a +week-end's shopping--rendered necessary by the establishment of day and +night nurseries--they entertained Steingall and Clancy at dinner in the +Biltmore. Naturally, at one stage of a pleasant meal, the talk turned on +those eventful months, October and November, 1913. As usual, Clancy +waxed sarcastic at his chief's expense. + +"He's as vain as a star actor in the movies," he cackled. "Hogs all the +camera stuff. Wouldn't give me even a flash when the big scene was put +on." + +Steingall pointed a fat cigar at him. + +"Do you know what happened to a frog when he tried to emulate a bull?" +he said. + +"I know what happened to a bull one night in East Orange," came the +ready retort. + +"The solitary slip in an otherwise unblemished career," sighed the +chief. "Make the most of it, little man. If I allowed myself to dwell on +your many blunders I'd lie down and die." + +Winifred never really understood these two. She thought their bickering +was genuine. + +"Why," she cried, "you are wonderful, both of you! From the very +beginning you peered into the souls of those evil men. You, Mr. Clancy, +seemed to sense a great mystery the moment you heard Rachel Craik speak +to the Senator outside the club that night. As for you, Mr. Steingall, +do you know what the lawyers told Rex and me soon after our marriage?" + +"No, ma'am," said Steingall. + +"They said that if you hadn't sent Rex's mother to Atlantic City we +might never have recovered a cent of the stolen money. Sheer bluff, they +called it. We would have had the greatest difficulty in establishing a +legal case." + +Steingall weighed the point for a moment. + +"Sometimes I'm inclined to think that the police know more about human +nature than any other set of men," he said, at last, evidently choosing +his words with care. "Perhaps I might except doctors. They, too, see us +as we are. But the dry legal mind does not allow sufficiently for what +is called in every-day speech a guilty conscience. In this case these +people knew they had done you and your father and mother a great wrong, +and that knowledge was never absent from their thoughts. It colored +every word they uttered, governed every action. That's a heavy handicap, +ma'am. It's the deciding factor in the never-ending struggle between the +police and the criminal classes. The most callous crook walking Broadway +in freedom to-night--a man who would scoff at the notion that he is +bothered by any conscience at all--never passes a policeman without an +instinctive sense of danger. And that is what beats him in the long run. +Crime may be a form of lunacy--indeed, I look on it in that light +myself--but, luckily for mankind, crime cannot stifle conscience." + +The chief's tone had become serious; he appeared to awake to its gravity +when he found the young wife's eyes fixed on his with a certain awe. He +broke off the lecture suddenly. + +"Why," he cried, smiling broadly, and jerking the cigar toward Clancy, +"why, ma'am, if we cops hadn't some sort of a pull, what chance would a +shrimp like him have against any one of real intelligence?" + +"That's what he regards as handing me a lemon for my Orange," grinned +Clancy. + +Winifred laughed. The curtain can drop on the last act of her adventures +to the mirthful music of her happiness. + + +THE END + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: + +Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, +every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and +intent. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bartlett Mystery, by Louis Tracy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BARTLETT MYSTERY *** + +***** This file should be named 31949-8.txt or 31949-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/9/4/31949/ + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/31949-8.zip b/31949-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fdab9b9 --- /dev/null +++ b/31949-8.zip diff --git a/31949-h.zip b/31949-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b93bf78 --- /dev/null +++ b/31949-h.zip diff --git a/31949-h/31949-h.htm b/31949-h/31949-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a36dae6 --- /dev/null +++ b/31949-h/31949-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8699 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Bartlett Mystery, by Louis Tracy. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + + td.bottom {vertical-align: bottom;} + td.top {vertical-align: top;} + + hr.large {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.medium {width: 45%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.tiny {width: 15%; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.full {width: 100%; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; color: black;} + + div.centered {text-align:center;} /*work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */ + div.centered table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; text-align:left;} /* work around for IE problem part 2 */ + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + .centerbox {width: 18em; /* heading box */ + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center;} + .n {text-indent:0%;} + .gap {margin-top: 1.25em;} + .smgap {margin-top: -0.05em;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bartlett Mystery, by Louis Tracy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Bartlett Mystery + +Author: Louis Tracy + +Release Date: April 11, 2010 [EBook #31949] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BARTLETT MYSTERY *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>THE<br /> +BARTLETT MYSTERY</h1> + +<p class="gap"> </p> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>LOUIS TRACY</h2> + +<p class="center">Author of<br /> +“The Wings of the Morning,” “Number Seventeen,”<br /> +etc., etc.</p> + +<p class="gap"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 63px;"> +<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="63" height="100" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="gap"> </p> + +<h3>NEW YORK</h3> + +<h2>EDWARD J. CLODE</h2> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1919, by</span><br /> +EDWARD J. CLODE</p> + +<hr class="tiny" /> + +<p class="center">All rights reserved</p> + +<p class="gap"> </p> + +<p class="center">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<p class="smgap"> </p> + +<h3><i>By</i> LOUIS TRACY</h3> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE WINGS OF THE MORNING</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE WHEEL O’ FORTUNE</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A SON OF THE IMMORTALS</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">CYNTHIA’S CHAUFFEUR</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE MESSAGE</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE STOWAWAY</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE PILLAR OF LIGHT</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE SILENT BARRIER</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE “MIND THE PAINT” GIRL</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">ONE WONDERFUL NIGHT</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE TERMS OF SURRENDER</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">FLOWER OF THE GORSE</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE RED YEAR</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE GREAT MOGUL</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">MIRABEL’S ISLAND</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE DAY OF WRATH</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">HIS UNKNOWN WIFE</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE POSTMASTER’S DAUGHTER</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE REVELLERS</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">DIANA OF THE MOORLAND</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">NUMBER SEVENTEEN</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">THE BARTLETT MYSTERY</span><br /> +<span class="smgap"> </span></p></div> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="70%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="1" summary="CONTENTS"> + +<tr> +<td align="right"><span style="margin-right: 0.75em;"><small>CHAPTER</small></span></td> +<td align="center"> </td> +<td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">I.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Gathering at a Club</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#THE_BARTLETT_MYSTERY">1</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">II.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Daring Crime</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">III.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Winifred Bartlett Hears Something</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">IV.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Further Surprises</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">V.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Persecutors</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">VI.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Brother Ralph</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">VII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Still Mere Mystery</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">VIII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Dream Face</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">IX.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Flight</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">X.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Carshaw Takes Up the Chase</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XI.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Two Cars</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Pursuit</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XIII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The New Link</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XIV.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Subtle Attack</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XV.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Visitor</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XVI.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Winifred Drifts</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XVII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">All Roads Lead to East Orange</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XVIII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Crash</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XIX.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Clancy Explains</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XX.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">In the Toils</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXI.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Mother and Son</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Hunt</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right" class="top">XXIII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">“He Who Fights and Runs</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><span class="smcap">Away—</span></span>”</td> +<td align="right" class="bottom"><a href="#Page_257">257</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXIV.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">In Full Cry</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_269">269</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXV.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Flank Attacks</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXVI.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Biter Bit</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_293">293</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XXVII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Settlement</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_304">304</a></td></tr> + +</table></div> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_BARTLETT_MYSTERY" id="THE_BARTLETT_MYSTERY"></a>THE BARTLETT MYSTERY</h2> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>A GATHERING AT A CLUB</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>hat story of love and crime which figures in the records of the New +York Detective Bureau as “The Yacht Mystery” has little to do with +yachts and is no longer a mystery. It is concerned far more intimately +with the troubles and trials of pretty Winifred Bartlett than with +the vagaries of the restless sea; the alert, well-groomed figure of +Winifred’s true lover, Rex Carshaw, fills its pages to the almost total +exclusion of the portly millionaire who owned the <i>Sans Souci</i>. Yet, +such is the singular dominance exercised by the trivial things of life +over the truly important ones, some hundreds of thousands of people in +the great city on the three rivers will recall many episodes of the nine +days’ wonder known to them as “The Yacht Mystery” though they may never +have heard of either Winifred or Rex.</p> + +<p>It began simply, as all major events do begin, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>and, of course, at the +outset, neither of these two young people seemed to have the remotest +connection with it.</p> + +<p>On the evening of October 5, 1913—that is the date when the first entry +appears in the diary of Mr. James Steingall, chief of the Bureau—the +stream of traffic in Fifth Avenue was interrupted to an unusual degree +at a corner near Forty-second Street. The homeward-bound throng going +up-town and the equally dense crowd coming down-town to restaurants and +theater-land merely chafed at a delay which they did not understand, but +the traffic policeman knew exactly what was going on, and kept his head +and his temper.</p> + +<p>A few doors down the north side of the cross street a famous club was +ablaze with lights. Especially did three great windows on the first +floor send forth hospitable beams, for the spacious room within was the +scene of an amusing revel. Mr. William Pierpont Van Hofen, ex-commodore +of the New York Yacht Club, owner of the <i>Sans Souci</i>, and +multi-millionaire, had just astonished his friends by one of the +eccentric jests for which he was famous.</p> + +<p>The <i>Sans Souci</i>, notable the world over for its size, speed, and +fittings, was going out of commission for the winter. Van Hofen had +marked the occasion by widespread invitations to a dinner at his club, +“to be followed by a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>surprise party,” and the nature of the “surprise” +was becoming known. Each lady had drawn by lot the name of her dinner +partner, and each couple was then presented with a sealed envelope +containing tickets for one or other of the many theaters in New York. +Thus, not only were husbands, wives, eligible bachelors, and smart +débutantes inextricably mixed up, but none knew whither the oddly +assorted pairs were bound, since the envelopes were not to be opened +until the meal reached the coffee and cigarette stage.</p> + +<p>There existed, too, a secret within a secret. Seven men were bidden +privately to come on board the <i>Sans Souci</i>, moored in the Hudson +off the Eighty-sixth Street landing-stage, and there enjoy a quiet +session of auction bridge.</p> + +<p>“We’ll duck before the trouble gets fairly started,” explained Van Hofen +to his cronies. “You’ll see how the bunch is sorted out at dinner, but +the tangle then will be just one cent in the dollar to the pandemonium +when they find out where they’re going.”</p> + +<p>Of course, everybody was acquainted with everybody else, or the joke +might have been in bad taste. Moreover, as the gathering was confined +exclusively to the elect of New York society, the host had notified the +Detective Bureau, and requested the presence of one of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>their best men +outside the club shortly before eight o’clock. None realized better than +he that where the carcass is there the vultures gather, and he wanted no +untoward incident to happen during the confusion which must attend the +departure of so many richly bejeweled ladies accompanied by unexpected +cavaliers.</p> + +<p>Thus it befell that Detective-Inspector Clancy was detailed for the job. +Steingall and he were the “inseparables” of the Bureau, yet no two +members of a marvelously efficient service were more unlike, physically +and mentally. Steingall was big, blond, muscular, a genial giant whose +qualities rendered him almost popular among the very criminals he +hunted, whereas those same desperadoes feared the diminutive Clancy, +the little, slight, dark-haired sleuth of French-Irish descent. He, +they were aware instinctively, read their very souls before Steingall’s +huge paw clutched their quaking bodies.</p> + +<p>Idle chance alone decided that Clancy should undertake the half-hour’s +vigil at the up-town club that evening. All unknowing, he became thereby +the controlling influence in many lives.</p> + +<p>At eight o’clock an elderly man emerged from the building and edged his +way through the cheery, laughing people already grouped about the +doorway and awaiting automobiles. Mr. William Meiklejohn might have been +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>branded with the word “Senator,” so typical was he of the upper house +at Washington. The very cut of his clothes, the style of his shoes, the +glossiness of his hat, even the wide expanse of pearl-studded white +linen marked him as a person of consequence.</p> + +<p>A uniformed policeman, striving to keep the pavement clear of loiterers, +recognized and saluted him. The salute was returned, though its +recipient’s face seemed to be gloomy, preoccupied, almost disturbed. +Therefore he did not notice a gaunt, angular-jawed woman—one whose +carriage and attire suggested better days long since passed—who had +been peering eagerly at the revellers pouring out of the club, and now +stepped forward impetuously as if to intercept him.</p> + +<p>She failed. The policeman barred her progress quietly but effectually, +and the woman, if bent on achieving her purpose, must have either called +after the absorbed Meiklejohn or entered into a heated altercation with +the policeman when accident came to her aid.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ronald Tower, strikingly handsome, richly gowned and cloaked, with +an elaborate coiffure that outvied nature’s best efforts, was crossing +the pavement to enter a waiting car when she stopped and drew her hand +from her escort’s arm.</p> + +<p>“Senator Meiklejohn!” she cried.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p><p>The elderly man halted. He doffed his hat with a flourish.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Helen,” he said smilingly. “Whither bound?”</p> + +<p>“To see Belasco’s latest. Isn’t that lucky? The very thing I wanted. +Poor Ronald! I don’t know what has become of him, or into what net he +may have fallen.”</p> + +<p>The Senator beamed. He knew that Ronald Tower was one of the eight +bridge-players, but was pledged to secrecy.</p> + +<p>“I only hailed you to jog your memory about that luncheon to-morrow,” +went on Mrs. Tower.</p> + +<p>“How could I forget?” he retorted gallantly. “Only two hours ago I +postponed a business appointment on account of it.”</p> + +<p>“So good of you, Senator,” and Mrs. Tower’s smile lent a tinge of +sarcasm to the words. “I’m awfully anxious that you should meet Mr. +Jacob. I’m deeply interested, you know.”</p> + +<p>Meiklejohn glanced rather sharply at the lady’s companion, who, however, +was merely a vacuous man about town. It struck Clancy that the Senator +resented this incautious using of names. The shabby-genteel woman, +hovering behind the policeman, was following the scene with hawklike +eyes, and Clancy kept her, too, under close observation.</p> + +<p>The Senator coughed, and lowered his voice.</p> + +<p>“I shall be most pleased to discuss matters <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>with him,” he said. “It +will be a pleasure to render him a service if you ask it.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tower laughed lightly. “One o’clock,” she said. “Don’t be late! +Come along, Mr. Forrest. Your car is blocking the way.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Meiklejohn flourished his hat again. He turned and found himself +face to face with the hard-featured woman who had been waiting and +watching for this very opportunity. She barred his further +progress—even caught his arm.</p> + +<p>Had the Senator been assaulted by the blue-coated guardian of law and +order he could not have displayed more bewilderment.</p> + +<p>“You, Rachel?” he gasped.</p> + +<p>The policeman was about to intervene, but it was the Senator, not the +shabbily dressed woman, who prevented him.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right, officer,” he stammered vexedly. “I know this lady. She +is an old friend.”</p> + +<p>The man saluted again and drew aside. Clancy moved a trifle nearer. No +one would take notice of such an insignificant little man. Though he had +his back to this strangely assorted pair, he heard nearly every syllable +they uttered.</p> + +<p>“He is here,” snapped the woman without other preamble. “You must see +him.”</p> + +<p>“It is quite impossible,” was the answer, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>and, though the words were +frigid and unyielding, Clancy felt certain that Senator Meiklejohn had +to exercise an iron self-control to keep a tremor out of his utterance.</p> + +<p>“You dare not refuse,” persisted the woman.</p> + +<p>The Senator glanced around in a scared way. Clancy thought for an +instant that he meant to dart back into the security of the club. After +an irresolute pause, however, he moved somewhat apart from the crowd of +sightseers. The two stood together on the curb, and clear of the flood +of light pouring through the open doors. Clancy edged after them. He +gathered a good deal, not all, of what they said, as both voices were +harsh and tinged with excitement.</p> + +<p>“This very night,” the woman was saying. “Bring at least five hundred +dollars—If the police.... Says he will confess everything.... Do you +get me? This thing can’t wait.”</p> + +<p>The Senator did not even try now to conceal his agitation. He looked at +the gaping mob, but it was wholly absorbed in the stream of fashionable +people pouring out of the club, while the snorting of scores of +automobiles created a din which meant comparative safety.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” he muttered. “I understand. I’ll do anything in reason. I’ll +give <i>you</i> the money, and you——”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p><p>“No. He means seeing you. You need not be afraid. He says you are going +to Mr. Van Hofen’s yacht at nine o’clock——”</p> + +<p>“Good Lord!” broke in Meiklejohn, “how can he possibly know that?” Again +he peered at the press of onlookers. A dapper little man who stood near +was raised on tiptoe and craning his neck to catch a glimpse of a noted +beauty who had just appeared.</p> + +<p>“Oh, pull yourself together!” and there was a touch of scorn in the +woman’s manner as she reassured this powerfully built man. “Isn’t he +clever and fertile in device? Haven’t the newspapers announced your +presence on the <i>Sans Souci</i>? And who will stop a steward’s tongue +from wagging? At any rate, he knows. He will be on the Hudson in a small +boat, with one other man. At nine o’clock he will come close to the +landing-stage at Eighty-sixth Street. There is a lawn north of the +clubhouse, he says. Walk to the end of it and you will find him. You +can have a brief talk. Bring the money in an envelope.”</p> + +<p>“On the lawn—at nine!” repeated the Senator in a dazed way.</p> + +<p>“Yes. What better place could he choose? You see, he is willing to play +fair and be discreet. But, quick! I must have your answer. Time is +passing. Do you agree?”</p> + +<p>“What is the alternative?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p><p>“Capture, and a mad rage. Then others will share in his downfall.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. I’ll be there. I’ll not fail him, or you.”</p> + +<p>“He says it’s his last request. He has some scheme——”</p> + +<p>“Ah, his schemes! If only I could hope that this will be the end!”</p> + +<p>“That is his promise.”</p> + +<p>The woman dropped the conversation abruptly. She darted through the +line of cars and made off in the direction of Sixth Avenue. Senator +Meiklejohn gazed after her dubiously, but her tall figure was soon lost +in the traffic. Then, with bent head, and evidently a prey to harassing +thoughts, he crossed Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>Clancy sauntered after him, and saw him enter a block of residential +flats in a side street. Then the detective strolled back to the club.</p> + +<p>Most of Van Hofen’s guests had gone. The policeman grinned and muttered +in Clancy’s ear:</p> + +<p>“The Senator’s a giddy guy. Two of ’em at wanst. Mrs. Tower’s a +good-looker, but I didn’t think much of the other wan.”</p> + +<p>Clancy nodded. His black and beady eyes had just clashed with those of a +notorious crook, who suddenly remembered an urgent appointment +elsewhere.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p><p>Fifteen minutes later Senator Meiklejohn returned. He entered the club +without being waylaid a second time. Clancy consulted his watch.</p> + +<p>“Keep a sharp lookout here, Mac,” he said, <i>sotto voce</i>. “While I was +away just now Broadway Jim showed up. He’s got cold feet, and there’ll +be nothing more doing to-night, I think. Anyhow, I’m going up-town.”</p> + +<p>In Fifth Avenue he boarded a Riverside Drive bus. The weather was mild, +and he mounted to the roof.</p> + +<p>“Now, who in the world will Senator Meiklejohn meet on the +landing-stage?” he mused. “Seems to me the chief may be interested. Five +hundred dollars, too! I wonder!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>A DARING CRIME</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>t was no part of Detective Clancy’s business to pry into the private +affairs of Senator Meiklejohn. Senators are awkward fish to handle, +being somewhat similar to whales caught in nets designed to capture +mackerel. But the Bureau is no respecter of persons. Men much higher up +in politics and finance than William Meiklejohn would be disagreeably +surprised if they could read certain details entered opposite their +names in the <i>dossiers</i> kept by the police department. Still, it +behooved Clancy to tread warily.</p> + +<p>As it happened, he was just the man for this self-imposed duty. Two +Celtic strains mingled in his blood, while American birth and training +had not only quickened his intelligence but imparted a quality of +wide-eyed shrewdness to a daring initiative. When he and the bluff +Steingall worked together the malefactor on whose heels they pressed had +a woeful time. As one blood-stained rascal put it in a bitter moment +before the electric chair claimed him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>for the expiation of his last and +worst crime:</p> + +<p>“Them two guys give a reg’lar fellow no chanst. When they’re trailin’ +you every road leads straight to Sing Sing. The big guy has a punch like +Jess Willard, an’ the lil ’un a nose like a Montana wolf.”</p> + +<p>It was Clancy’s nose for the more subtle elements in crime which brought +him to the small châlet on the private pier at the foot of Eighty-sixth +Street that night. He could not guess what game he might flush, but he +was keen as a bloodhound in the chase.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Senator Meiklejohn encountered Ronald Tower the moment he +re-entered the palatial club. By this time he seemed to have regained +his customary air of geniality, being one of those rather uncommon men +whose apparent characteristics are never so marked as when they are +acting a part.</p> + +<p>“H’lo, Ronnie,” he cried affably, “I met Helen as she left for the +theater. She has an inquiring mind, but I headed her off. By the way, +will you be at this luncheon to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>“Not I,” laughed Tower. “I’m barred. She says I have no head for +business, and some deep-laid plan for filling the family coffers is +in hand.”</p> + +<p>The Senator obviously disliked these outspoken references to +money-making. He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>squirmed, but smiled as though Tower had made an +excellent joke.</p> + +<p>“Try and get the ukase lifted,” he urged. “I want you to be there.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing doing,” and the other grinned. “Helen says I resemble you in +everything but brain power, Senator. I’m a good-looker as a husband, but +a poor mutt in Wall Street.”</p> + +<p>They laughed at the conceit. The two men were curiously alike in face +and figure, though a close observer like Clancy would have classed them +as opposite as the poles in character and temperament. Meiklejohn’s +features were cast in the stronger mold. They showed lines which Ronald +Tower’s placid existence would never produce. The Senator was suave, +too. He seldom pressed a point to the limit.</p> + +<p>“Helen’s good opinion is doubly flattering,” he said. “She is a bright +woman, and knows how to command her friends.”</p> + +<p>Tower glanced at a clock in the hall.</p> + +<p>“Time we were off,” he announced. “Come with me. I’m taking Johnny Bell, +I think.”</p> + +<p>“Sorry. I have an important letter to write. But I’ll join before the +crowd cuts in.”</p> + +<p>The Senator hurried up-stairs. He must take the journey alone, and +snatch an opportunity to attend that mysterious rendezvous while the +<i>Sans Souci’s</i> gig was ferrying some of the bridge-players to the yacht.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p><p>Owing to a slight misunderstanding Tower missed the other man, and +traveled alone in his car. On that trivial circumstance hinged events +which not only affected many lives but disturbed New York society more +than any other incident within a decade.</p> + +<p>Few among the thousands of summer promenaders who enjoy the magnificent +panorama of the North River from the wooded heights of the Drive know of +the pier at Eighty-sixth Street. For one thing, the clubhouse itself is +an unpretentious structure; for another, the narrow and winding stairway +leading down the side of the cliff gives no indication of its specific +purpose. Moreover, a light foot-bridge across the tracks is hardly +noticeable through the screen of trees and shrubs above, and the +water-front lies yet fifty yards farther on.</p> + +<p>At night the approach is not well lighted. In fact, no portion of the +beautiful and precipitous riparian park is more secluded than the short +stretch between the landing-stage and the busy thoroughfare on the +crest.</p> + +<p>That evening, as has been seen, Mr. Van Hofen was taking no risks for +himself or his guests. A patrolman from the local precinct was stationed +at the iron-barred gate on the landward end of the foot-bridge.</p> + +<p>Clancy, on descending from the bus, stood for a few seconds and surveyed +the scene. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>night was dark and the sky overcast, but the myriad +lights on the New Jersey shore were reflected in the swift current of +the Hudson. The superb <i>Sans Souci</i> was easily distinguishable. All her +ports were a-glow; lamps twinkled beneath the awnings on her after deck, +and a boarding light indicated the lowered gangway.</p> + +<p>The yacht was moored about three hundred feet from the landing-stage. +Her graceful outlines were clearly discernible against the black, moving +plain of the river. Just in that spot shone her radiance, lending a +sense of opulence and security. For the rest, that part of New York’s +great waterway was dim and impalpable.</p> + +<p>Try as he might, the detective could see no small craft afloat. The +yacht’s gig, waiting at the clubhouse, was hidden from view. He sped +rapidly down the steps, and found the patrolman.</p> + +<p>“That you, Nolan?” he said.</p> + +<p>The man peered at him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Clancy, is it?” he replied.</p> + +<p>“You know Senator Meiklejohn by sight?”</p> + +<p>“Sure I do.”</p> + +<p>“When he comes along hail him. Say ‘Good evening, Senator.’ I’ll hear +you.”</p> + +<p>Clancy promptly moved off along the path which runs parallel with the +railway. Nolan, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>though puzzled, put no questions, being well aware he +would be told nothing more.</p> + +<p>Three gentlemen came down the cliff, and crossed the bridge. One was Van +Hofen himself. Now, the fates had willed that Ronald Tower should come +next, and alone. He was hurrying. He had seen figures entering the club, +and wanted to join them in the gig.</p> + +<p>The policeman made the same mistake as many others.</p> + +<p>“Good evenin’, Senator,” he said.</p> + +<p>Tower nodded and laughed. He had no time to correct the harmless +blunder. Even so, he was too late for the boat, which was already well +away from the stage when he reached it. He lighted a cigarette, and +strolled along the narrow terrace between river and lawn.</p> + +<p>Clancy, on receiving his cue, followed Tower. An attendant challenged +him at the iron gate, but Nolan certified that this diminutive stranger +was “all right.”</p> + +<p>It was on the tip of the detective’s tongue to ask if Mr. Meiklejohn had +gone into the clubhouse when he saw, as he imagined, the Senator’s tall +form silhouetted against the vague carpet of the river; so he passed on, +and this minor incident contributed its quota to a tragic occurrence. He +heard some one behind him on the bridge, but paid no heed, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>his wits +being bent on noting anything that took place in the semi-obscurity of +the river’s edge.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the patrolman, encountering a double of Senator Meiklejohn, +was dumbfounded momentarily. He sought enlightenment from the attendant.</p> + +<p>“An’, for the love of Mike, who was the first wan?” he demanded, when +assured that the latest arrival was really the Senator.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Ronald Tower,” said the man. “They’re like as two peas in a pod, +ain’t they?”</p> + +<p>Nolan muttered something. He, too, crossed the bridge, meaning to find +Clancy and explain his error. Thus, the four men were not widely +separated, but Tower led by half a minute—long enough, in fact, to be +at the north end of the terrace before Meiklejohn passed the gate.</p> + +<p>There, greatly to his surprise, he looked down into a small motor-boat, +with two occupants, keeping close to the sloping wall. The craft and its +crew could have no reasonable business there. They suggested something +sinister and furtive. The engine was stopped, and one of the men, +huddled up in the bows, was holding the boat against the pull of the +tide by using a boathook as a punting pole.</p> + +<p>Tower, though good-natured and unsuspicious, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>was naturally puzzled by +this apparition. He bent forward to examine it more definitely, and +rested his hands on a low railing. Then he was seen by those below.</p> + +<p>“That you?” growled the second man, standing up suddenly.</p> + +<p>“It is,” said Tower, speaking with strict accuracy, and marveling now +who on earth could have arranged a meeting at such a place and in such +bizarre conditions.</p> + +<p>“Well, here I am,” came the gruff announcement. “The cops are after me. +Some one must have tipped them off. If it was you I’ll get to know and +even things up, P. D. Q. Chew on that during the night’s festivities, I +advise you. Brought that wad?”</p> + +<p>Tower was the last man breathing to handle this queer situation +discreetly. He ought to have temporized, but he loathed anything in the +nature of vulgar or criminal intrigue. Being quick-tempered withal, if +deliberately insulted, he resented this fellow’s crude speech.</p> + +<p>“No,” he cried hotly. “What you really want is a policeman, and there’s +one close at hand—Hi! Officer!” he shouted: “Come here at once. There +are two rascals in a boat—”</p> + +<p>Something swirled through the darkness, and his next word was choked in +a cry of mortal fear, for a lasso had fallen on his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>shoulders and was +drawn taut. Before he could as much as lift his hands he was dragged +bodily over the railing and headlong into the river.</p> + +<p>Clancy, forced by circumstances to remain at a distance, could only +overhear Tower’s share in the brief conversation. The tones in the voice +perplexed him, but the preconcerted element in the affair seemed to +offer proof positive that Senator Meiklejohn had kept his appointment. +He was just in time to see Tower’s legs disappearing, and a loud splash +told what had happened. He was not armed. He never carried a revolver +unless the quest of the hour threatened danger or called for a display +of force. In a word, he was utterly powerless.</p> + +<p>Senator Meiklejohn, alive to the vital fact that some one on the terrace +had discovered the boat, hung back dismayed. He was joined by Nolan, who +could not understand the sudden commotion.</p> + +<p>“What’s up?” Nolan asked. “Didn’t some wan shout?”</p> + +<p>Clancy, in all his experience of crime and criminals, had never before +encountered such an amazing combination of unforeseen conditions. The +boat’s motor was already chugging breathlessly, and the small craft was +curving out into the gloom. He saw a man hauling in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>a rope from the +stern, and well did he know why the cord seemed to be attached to a +heavy weight. Not far away he made out the yacht’s gig returning to the +stage.</p> + +<p>“<i>Sans Souci</i> ahoy!” he almost screamed. “Head off that launch! +There’s murder done!”</p> + +<p>It was a hopeless effort, of course, though the sailors obeyed +instantly, and bent to their oars. Soon they, too, vanished in the murk, +but, finding they were completely outpaced, came back seeking for +instructions which could not be given. The detective thought he was +bewitched when he ran into Senator Meiklejohn, pallid and trembling, +standing on the terrace with Nolan.</p> + +<p>“You?” he shrieked in a shrill falsetto. “Then, in heaven’s name, who is +the man who has just been pulled into the river?”</p> + +<p>“Tower!” gasped the Senator. “Mr. Ronald Tower. They mistook him for +me.”</p> + +<p>“Faith, an’ I did that same,” muttered the patrolman, whose slow-moving +wits could assimilate only one thing at a time.</p> + +<p>Clancy, afire with rage and a sense of inexplicable failure, realized +that Meiklejohn’s admission and its now compulsory explanation could +wait a calmer moment. The club attendant, attracted by the hubbub, raced +to the lawn, and the detective tackled him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p><p>“Isn’t there a motor launch on the yacht?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, but it’ll be all sheeted up on deck.”</p> + +<p>“Have you a megaphone?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>The man ran and grabbed the instrument from its hook, so Clancy bellowed +the alarming news to Mr. Van Hofen and the others already on board the +<i>Sans Souci</i> that Ronald Tower had been dragged into the river and +probably murdered. But what could they do? The speedy rescue of Tower, +dead or alive, was simply impossible.</p> + +<p>The gig arrived. Clancy stormed by telephone at a police station-house +and at the up-river station of the harbor police, but such vain efforts +were the mere necessities of officialdom. None knew better than he that +an extraordinary crime had been carried through under his very eyes, yet +its daring perpetrators had escaped, and he could supply no description +of their appearance to the men who would watch the neighboring ferries +and wharves.</p> + +<p>Van Hofen and his friends, startled and grieved, came ashore in the gig, +and Clancy was striving to give them some account of the tragedy without +revealing its inner significance when his roving glance missed +Meiklejohn from the distraught group of men.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p><p>“Where is the Senator?” he cried, turning on the gaping Nolan.</p> + +<p>“Gee, he’s knocked out,” said the policeman. “He axed me to tell you +he’d gone down-town. Ye see, some wan has to find Mrs. Tower.”</p> + +<p>Clancy’s black eyes glittered with fury, yet he spoke no word. A blank +silence fell on the rest. They had not thought of the bereaved wife, but +Meiklejohn had remembered. That was kind of him. The Senator always did +the right thing. And how he must be suffering! The Towers were his +closest friends!</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>WINIFRED BARTLETT HEARS SOMETHING</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">E</span>arly next morning a girl attired in a neat but inexpensive costume +entered Central Park by the One Hundred and Second Street gate, and +walked swiftly by a winding path to the exit on the west side at One +Hundredth Street.</p> + +<p>She moved with the easy swing of one to whom walking was a pleasure. +Without hurry or apparent effort her even, rapid strides brought her +along at a pace of fully four miles an hour. And an hour was exactly the +time Winifred Bartlett needed if she would carry out her daily program, +which, when conditions permitted, involved a four-mile detour by way of +Riverside Drive and Seventy-second Street to the Ninth Avenue “L.” This +morning she had actually ten minutes in hand, and promised herself an +added treat in making little pauses at her favorite view-points on the +Hudson.</p> + +<p>To gain this hour’s freedom Winifred had to practise some harmless +duplicity, as shall be seen. She was obliged to rise long before the +rest of her fellow-workers in the bookbinding <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>factory of Messrs. Brown, +Son & Brown, an establishment located in the least inviting part of +Greenwich Village.</p> + +<p>But she went early to bed, and the beams of the morning sun drew her +forth as a linnet from its nest. Unless the weather was absolutely +prohibitive she took the walk every day, for she revelled in the +ever-changing tints of the trees, the music of the songbirds, and the +gambols of the squirrels in the park, while the broad highway of the +river, leading to and from she hardly knew what enchanted lands, brought +vague dreams of some delightful future where daily toil would not claim +her and she might be as those other girls of the outer world to whom +existence seemed such a joyous thing.</p> + +<p>Winifred was not discontented with her lot—the ichor of youth and good +health flowed too strongly in her veins. But at times she was bewildered +by a sense of aloofness from the rest of humanity.</p> + +<p>Above all did she suffer from the girls she met in the warehouse. +Some were coarse, nearly every one was frivolous. Their talk, their +thinly-veiled allusions to a night life in which she bore no part, +puzzled and disturbed her. True, the wild revels of which they boasted +did not sound either marvelous or attractive when analyzed. A couple of +hours <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>at the movies, a frolic in a dance hall, a quarrel about some +youthful gallant, violent fluctuations from arm-laced friendship to +sparkling-eyed hatred and back again to tears and kisses—these joys +and cankers formed the limited gamut of their emotions.</p> + +<p>For all that, Winifred could not help asking herself with ever +increasing insistence why she alone, among a crude, noisy sisterhood of +a hundred young women of her own age, should be with them yet not of +them. She realized that her education fitted her for a higher place in +the army of New York workers than a bookbinder’s bench. She could soon +have acquired proficiency as a stenographer. Pleasant, well-paid +situations abounded in the stores and wholesale houses. There was even +some alluring profession called “the stage,” where a girl might actually +earn a living by singing and dancing, and Winifred could certainly sing +and was certain she could dance if taught.</p> + +<p>What queer trick of fate, then, had brought her to Brown, Son & Brown’s +in the spring of that year, and kept her there? She could not tell. She +could not even guess why she dwelt so far up-town, while every other +girl in the establishment had a home either in or near Greenwich +Village.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p><p>Heigho! Life was a riddle. Surely some day she would solve it.</p> + +<p>Her mind ran on this problem more strongly than usual that morning. +Still pondering it, she diverged for a moment at the Soldiers’ and +Sailors’ Monument, and stood on the stone terrace which commands such a +magnificent stretch of the silvery Hudson, with the green heights of the +New Jersey shore directly opposite, and the Palisades rearing their +lofty crests away to the north.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she became aware that a small group of men had gathered there, +and were displaying a lively interest in two motor boats on the river. +Something out of the common had stirred them; voices were loud and +gestures animated.</p> + +<p>“Look!” said one, “they’ve gotten that boat!”</p> + +<p>“You can’t be sure,” doubted another, though his manner showed that he +wanted only to be convinced.</p> + +<p>“D’ye think a police launch ’ud be foolin’ around with a tow at this +time o’ day if it wasn’t something special?” persisted the first +speaker. “Can’t yer see it’s empty? There’s a cop pointin’ now to the +clubhouse.”</p> + +<p>“Good for you,” pronounced the doubtful one. The pointing cop had +clinched the argument.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p><p>“An’ they’re headin’ that way,” came the cry.</p> + +<p>Off raced the men. Winifred found that people on top of motor-omnibuses +scurrying down-town were also watching the two craft. Opposite the end +of Eighty-sixth Street such a crowd assembled as though by magic that +she could not see over the railings. She could not imagine why people +should be so worked up by the mere finding of an empty boat. She heard +allusions to names, but they evoked no echo in her mind. At last, +approaching a girl among the sightseers, she put a timid question:</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me what is the matter?” she said.</p> + +<p>“They’ve found the boat,” came the ready answer.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but what boat? Why any boat?”</p> + +<p>“Haven’t you read about the murder last night. Mr. Van Hofen, who owns +that yacht there, the <i>San Sowsy</i>, had a party of friends on board, an’ +one of ’em was dragged into the river an’ drowned. Nice goin’s on. <i>San +Sowsy</i>—it’s a good name for the whole bunch, I guess.”</p> + +<p>Winifred did not understand why the girl laughed.</p> + +<p>“What a terrible thing!” she said. “Perhaps <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>it was only an accident; +and sad enough at that if some poor man lost his life.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no. It’s a murder right enough. The papers are full of it. I was +walkin’ here at nine o’clock with a fellow. It might ha’ been done under +me very nose. What d’ye know about that?”</p> + +<p>“It’s very sad,” repeated Winifred. “Such dreadful things seem to be +almost impossible under this blue sky and in bright sunshine. Even the +river does not look cruel.”</p> + +<p>She went on, having no time for further dawdling. Her informant glanced +after her curiously, for Winifred’s cheap clothing and worn shoes were +oddly at variance with her voice and manner.</p> + +<p>At Seventy-second Street Winifred bought a newspaper, which she read +instead of the tiny volume of Browning’s poems carried in her hand-bag. +She always contrived to have a book or periodical for the train +journeys, since men had a way of catching her eye when she glanced +around thoughtlessly, and such incidents were annoying. She soon learned +the main details of “The Yacht Mystery.” The account of Ronald Tower’s +dramatic end was substantially accurate. It contained, of course, no +allusion to Senator Meiklejohn’s singular connection with the affair, +but Clancy had taken care that a disturbing paragraph <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>should appear +with the rest of a lurid write-up.</p> + +<p>“Sinister rumors are current in clubland,” read Winifred. “These warrant +the belief that others beside the thugs in the boat are implicated in +the tragedy. Indeed, it is whispered that a man high in the political +world can, if he chooses, throw light on what is, at this writing, an +inexplicable crime, a crime which would be incredible if it had not +actually taken place.”</p> + +<p>The reporter did not know, and Clancy did not tell him, just what this +innuendo meant. The detective was anxious that Senator Meiklejohn should +realize the folly of refusing all information to the authorities, and +this thinly-veiled threat of publicity was one way of bringing him to +his senses.</p> + +<p>Winifred had never before come into touch, so to speak, with any deed of +criminal violence. She was so absorbed in the story of the junketing at +a fashionable club, with its astounding sequel in a locality familiar to +her eyes, that she hardly noticed a delay on the line.</p> + +<p>She did not even know that she would be ten minutes late until she saw +a clock at Fourteenth Street. Then she raced to the door of a big, +many-storied building. A timekeeper shook his head at her, but, punctual +as a rule, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>on wet mornings she was invariably the first to arrive, so +the watch-dog compromised on the give-and-take principle. When she +emerged from the elevator at the ninth floor her cheeks were still +suffused with color, her eyes were alight, her lips parted under the +spell of excitement and haste. In a word, she looked positively +bewitching.</p> + +<p>Two people evidently took this view of her as she advanced into the +workroom after hanging up her hat and coat.</p> + +<p>“You’re late again, Bartlett,” snapped Miss Agatha Sugg, a forewoman, +whose initials suggested an obvious nickname among the set of flippant +girls she ruled with a severity that was also ungracious. “I’ll not +speak to you any more on the matter. Next time you’ll be fired. See?”</p> + +<p>Winifred’s high color fled before this dire threat. Even the few dollars +a week she earned by binding books was essential to the up-keep of her +home. At any rate this fact was dinned into her ears constantly, and +formed a ready argument against any change of employment.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry, Miss Sugg,” she stammered. “I didn’t think I had lost any +time. Indeed, I started out earlier than usual.”</p> + +<p>“Rubbish!” snorted Miss Sugg. “What’re givin’ me? It’s a fine day.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p><p>“Yes,” said Winifred timidly, “but unfortunately I stopped a while on +Riverside Drive to watch the police bringing in the boat from which Mr. +Tower was mur—pulled into the river last night.”</p> + +<p>“Riverside Drive!” snapped the forewoman. “Your address is East One +Hundred and Twelfth Street, ain’t it? What were you doing on Riverside +Drive?”</p> + +<p>“I walk that way every morning unless it is raining.”</p> + +<p>Miss Sugg looked incredulous, but felt that she was traveling outside +her own territory.</p> + +<p>“Anyhow,” she said, “that’s your affair, not mine, an’ it’s no excuse +for bein’ late.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, come now,” intervened a man’s voice, “this young lady is not so far +behind time as to cause such a row. She can pull out a bit and make up +for it.”</p> + +<p>Miss Sugg wheeled wrathfully to find Mr. Fowle, manager on that floor, +gazing at Winifred with marked approval. Fowle, a shifty-eyed man of +thirty, compactly built, and somewhat of a dandy, seldom gave heed to +any of the girls employed by Brown, Son & Brown. His benevolent attitude +toward Winifred was a new departure.</p> + +<p>“Young lady!” gasped the forewoman. She was in such a temper that other +words failed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she isn’t an old one,” smirked Fowle. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>“That’s all right, Miss +Bartlett, get on with your work. Miss Sugg’s bark is worse than her +bite.”</p> + +<p>Though he had poured oil on the troubled waters his air was not +altogether reassuring. Winifred went to her bench in a flurry of +trepidation. She dreaded the vixenish Miss Sugg less than the too +complaisant manager. Somehow, she fancied that he would soon speak to +her again; when, a few minutes later, he drew near, and she felt rather +than saw that he was staring at her boldly, she flushed to the nape of +her graceful neck.</p> + +<p>Yet he put a quite orthodox question.</p> + +<p>“Did I get your story right when you came in?” he said. “I think you +told Miss Sugg that the harbor police had picked up the motor-boat in +that yacht case.”</p> + +<p>“So I heard,” said Winifred. She was in charge of a wire-stitching +machine, and her deft fingers were busy. Moreover, she was resolved not +to give Fowle any pretext for prolonging the conversation.</p> + +<p>“Who told you?”</p> + +<p>The manager’s tone grew a trifle less cordial. He was not accustomed to +being held at arm’s length by any young woman in the establishment whom +he condescended to notice.</p> + +<p>“I really don’t know,” and Winifred began placing her array of work in +sorted piles. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>“Indeed, I spoke carelessly. No one told me. I saw a +commotion on Riverside Drive, and heard a man arguing with others that a +boat then being towed by a police launch must be the missing one.”</p> + +<p>Fowle’s whiff of annoyance had passed. He had jumped to the conclusion +that such an extremely pretty girl would surely own a sweetheart who +escorted her to and from work each day. He did not suspect that every +junior clerk downstairs had in turn offered his services in this regard, +but with such lack of success that each would-be suitor deemed Winifred +conceited.</p> + +<p>“I wish I had been there,” he said. “Do you go home the same way?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>Winifred was aware that the other girls were watching her furtively and +exchanging meaning looks.</p> + +<p>“You take the Third Avenue L, I suppose?” persisted Fowle. Then Winifred +faced him squarely. For some reason her temper got the better of her.</p> + +<p>“It is a house rule, Mr. Fowle,” she said, “that the girls are forbidden +to talk during working hours.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense,” laughed Fowle. “I’m in charge here, an’ what I say goes.”</p> + +<p>He left her, however, and busied himself <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>elsewhere. Apparently, he was +even forgiving enough to call Miss Sugg out of the room and detain her +all the rest of the morning.</p> + +<p>Winifred was promptly rallied by some of her companions.</p> + +<p>“I must say this for you, Winnie Bartlett, you don’t think you’re the +whole shootin’ match,” said a stout, red-faced creature, who would have +been more at home on a farm than in a New York warehouse, “but it gets +my goat when you hand the mustard to Fowle in that way. If he made +goo-goo eyes at me, I’d play, too.”</p> + +<p>“I wish little Carlotta was a blue-eyed, golden-haired queen,” sighed +another, a squat Neapolitan with the complexion of a Moor. “She’s give +Fowle a chance to dig into his pocketbook, believe me.”</p> + +<p>The youthful philosopher won a chorus of approval. All the girls liked +Winifred. They even tacitly admitted that she belonged to a different +order, and seldom teased her. Fowle’s obvious admiration, however, +imposed too severe a strain, and their tongues ran freely.</p> + +<p>The luncheon-hour came, and Winifred hurried out with the others. They +patronized a restaurant in Fourteenth Street. At a news-stand she +purchased an evening paper, a rare event, since she had to account for +every cent <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>of expenditure. Though allowed books, she was absolutely +forbidden newspapers!</p> + +<p>But this forlorn girl, who knew so little of the great city in whose +life she was such an insignificant item, felt oddly concerned in “The +Yacht Mystery.” It was the first noteworthy event of which she had even +a remote first-hand knowledge. That empty launch, its very abandonment +suggesting eeriness and fatality, was a tangible thing. Was she not one +of the few who had literally seen it? So she invested her penny, and +after reading of the discovery of the boat—it was found moored to a +wharf at the foot of Fort Lee—breathlessly read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>As the outcome of information given by a well-known Senator, +the police have obtained an important clue which leads +straight to a house in One Hundred and Twelfth Street.</p></div> + +<p>“Well,” mused Winifred, wide-eyed with astonishment. “Fancy that! The +very street where I live!”</p> + +<p>She read on:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The arrest of at least one person, a woman, suspected of +complicity in the crime may occur at any moment. Detectives +are convinced that the trail of the murderers will soon be +clearer.</p> + +<p>Every effort is being made to recover Mr. Tower’s body, which, +it is conceivable, may have been weighted and sunk in the +river near the spot where the boat was tied.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p><p>Winifred gave more attention to the newspaper report than to her frugal +meal. Resolving, however, that Miss Sugg should have no further cause +for complaint that day, she returned to the factory five minutes before +time. An automobile was standing outside the entrance, but she paid no +heed to it.</p> + +<p>The checker tapped at his little window as she passed.</p> + +<p>“The boss wants you,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Me!” she cried. Her heart sank. Between Miss Sugg and Mr. Fowle she had +already probably lost her situation!</p> + +<p>“Yep,” said the man. “You’re Winifred Bartlett, I guess. Anyhow, if +there’s another peach like you in the bunch I haven’t seen her.”</p> + +<p>She bit her lip and tears trembled in her eyes. Perhaps the gruff +Cerberus behind the window sympathized with her. He lowered his voice to +a hoarse whisper: “There’s a cop in there, an’ a ‘tec,’ too.”</p> + +<p>Winifred was startled out of her forebodings.</p> + +<p>“They cannot want me!” she said amazedly.</p> + +<p>“You never can tell, girlie. Queer jinks happen sometimes. I wouldn’t +bat an eyelid if they rounded up the boss hisself.”</p> + +<p>She was sure now that some stupid mistake <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>had been made. At any rate, +she no longer dreaded dismissal, and the first intuition of impending +calamity yielded to a nervous curiosity as she pushed open a door +leading to the general office.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>FURTHER SURPRISES</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span> clerk, one of the would-be swains who had met with chilling +discouragement after working-hours, was evidently on the lookout for +her. An ignoble soul prompted a smirk of triumph now.</p> + +<p>“Go straight in,” he said, jerking a thumb. “A cop’s waitin’ for you.”</p> + +<p>Winifred did not vouchsafe him even an indignant glance. Holding her +head high, she passed through the main office, and made for a door +marked “Manager.” She knocked, and was admitted by Mr. Fowle. Grouped +around a table she saw one of the members of the firm, the manager, a +policeman, and a dapper little man, slight of figure, who held himself +very erect. He was dressed in blue serge, and had the ivory-white face +and wrinkled skin of an actor. She was conscious at once of the +penetration of his glance. His eyes were black and luminous. They seemed +to pierce her with an X-ray quality of comprehension.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p><p>“This is the girl,” announced Mr. Fowle deferentially.</p> + +<p>The little man in the blue suit took the lead forthwith.</p> + +<p>“You are Winifred Bartlett?” he said, and by some subtle inter-flow of +magnetism Winifred knew instantly that she had nothing to fear from this +diminutive stranger.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she replied, looking at him squarely.</p> + +<p>“You live in East One Hundred and Twelfth Street?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“With a woman described as your aunt, and known as Miss Rachel Craik?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Each affirmative marked a musical crescendo. Especially was Winifred +surprised by the sceptical description of her only recognized relative.</p> + +<p>“Well,” went on Clancy, suppressing a smile at the girl’s naïve +astonishment, “don’t be alarmed, but I want you to come with me to +Mulberry Street.”</p> + +<p>Now, Winifred had just been reading about certain activities in Mulberry +Street, and her eyebrows rounded in real amazement.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t that the Police Headquarters?” she asked.</p> + +<p>Fowle chuckled, whereupon Clancy said pleasantly:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p><p>“Yes. One man here seems to know the address quite intimately. But that +fact need not set your heart fluttering. The chief of the Detective +Bureau wishes to put a few questions. That is all.”</p> + +<p>“Questions about what?”</p> + +<p>Winifred’s natural dignity came to her aid. She refused to have this +grave matter treated as a joke.</p> + +<p>“Take my advice, Miss Bartlett, and don’t discuss things further until +you have met Mr. Steingall,” said Clancy.</p> + +<p>“But I have never even heard of Mr. Steingall,” she protested. “What +right have you or he to take me away from my work to a police-station? +What wrong have I done to any one?”</p> + +<p>“None, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“Surely I have a right to some explanation.”</p> + +<p>“If you insist I am bound to answer.”</p> + +<p>“Then I do insist,” and Winifred’s heightened color and wrathful eyes +only enhanced her beauty. Clancy spread his hands in a gesture inherited +from a French mother.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he said. “You are required to give evidence concerning the +death of Mr. Ronald Tower. Now, I cannot say any more. I have a car +outside. You will be detained less than an hour. The same car will bring +you back, and I think I can guarantee that your employers will raise no +difficulty.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p><p>The head of the firm growled agreement. As a matter of fact the staid +respectability of Brown, Son & Brown had sustained a shock by the mere +presence of the police. Murder has an ugly aspect. It was often bound up +in the firm’s products, but never before had it entered that temple of +efficiency in other guise.</p> + +<p>Clancy sensed the slow fermentation of the pharisaical mind.</p> + +<p>“If I had known what sort of girl this was I would never have brought a +policeman,” he muttered into the great man’s ear. “She has no more to do +with this affair than you have.”</p> + +<p>“It is very annoying—very,” was the peevish reply.</p> + +<p>“What is? Assisting the police?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no. Didn’t mean that, of course.”</p> + +<p>The detective thought he might do more harm than good by pressing for a +definition of the firm’s annoyance. He turned to Winifred.</p> + +<p>“Are you ready, Miss Bartlett?” he said. “The only reason the Bureau has +for troubling you is the accident of your address.”</p> + +<p>Almost before the girl realized the new and astounding conditions which +had come into her life she was seated in a closed automobile and +speeding swiftly down-town.</p> + +<p>She was feminine enough, however, to ply Clancy with questions, and he +had to fence with her, as it was all-important that such information <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>as +she might be able to give should be imparted when he and Steingall could +observe her closely. The Bureau hugged no delusions. Its vast experience +of the criminal world rendered misplaced sympathy with erring mortals +almost impossible. Young or old, rich or poor, beautiful or ugly, the +strange procession which passes in unending review before the police +authorities is subjected to impartial yet searching analysis. Few of the +guilty ones escape suspicion, no matter how slight the connecting clue +or scanty the evidence. On the other hand, Steingall and his trusty aid +seldom made a mistake when they decided, as Clancy had already done in +Winifred’s case, that real innocence had come under the shadow of crime.</p> + +<p>Steingall shared Clancy’s opinion the instant he set eyes on the new +witness. He gazed at her with a humorous dismay that was wholly genuine.</p> + +<p>“Sit there, Miss Bartlett,” he said, rising to place a chair for her. +“Please don’t feel nervous. I am sure you understand that only those who +have broken the law need fear it. Now, <i>you</i> haven’t killed anybody, +have you?”</p> + +<p>Winifred smiled. She liked this big man’s kindly manner. Really, the +police were not such terrifying ogres when you came to close quarters +with them.</p> + +<p>“No, indeed,” she said, little guessing that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>Clancy had indulged in a +Japanese grimace behind her back, thereby informing his chief that “The +Yacht Mystery” was still maintaining its claim to figure as one of the +most sensational crimes the Bureau had investigated during many a year.</p> + +<p>Steingall, wishing to put the girl wholly at ease, affected to consult +some notes on his desk, but Winifred was too wrought up to keep silent.</p> + +<p>“The gentleman who brought me here told me that I would be required to +give evidence concerning the murder of Mr. Ronald Tower,” she said. +“Believe me, sir, that unfortunate gentleman’s name was unknown to me +before I read it in this morning’s paper. I have no knowledge of the +manner of his death other than is contained in the account printed here +in this newspaper.”</p> + +<p>She proffered the newspaper purchased before lunch, which she still held +in her left hand. The impulsive action broadened Steingall’s smile. He +was still utterly at a loss to account for this well-mannered girl’s +queer environment.</p> + +<p>“Why,” he cried, “I quite understand that. Mr. Clancy didn’t tell you we +regarded you as a desperate crook, did he?”</p> + +<p>Winifred yielded to the chief’s obvious desire to lift their talk out of +the rut of formality. She could not help being interested in these two +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>men, so dissimilar in their characteristics, yet each so utterly unlike +the somewhat awesome personage she would have sketched if asked to +define her idea of a “detective.” Clancy, who had taken a chair at the +side of the table, sat on it as though he were an automaton built of +steel springs and ready to bounce instantly in any given direction. +Steingall’s huge bulk lolled back indolently. He had been smoking when +the others entered, and a half-consumed cigar lay on an ash-tray. +Winifred thought it would be rather amusing if she, in turn, made things +comfortable.</p> + +<p>“Please don’t put away your cigar on my account,” she said. “I like the +smell of good tobacco.”</p> + +<p>“Ha!” cackled Clancy.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Steingall, tucking the Havana into a corner of his +mouth. The two men exchanged glances, and Winifred smiled. Steingall’s +look of tolerant contempt at his assistant was distinctly amusing.</p> + +<p>“That little shrimp can’t smoke, Miss Bartlett,” he explained, “so he is +an anti-tobacco maniac.”</p> + +<p>“You wouldn’t care to take poison, would you?” and Clancy shot the words +at Winifred so sharply that she was almost startled.</p> + +<p>“No. Of course not,” she agreed.</p> + +<p>“Yet that is what that mountain of brawn <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>does during fourteen hours out +of the twenty-four. Nicotine is one of the deadliest poisons known to +science. Even when absorbed into the tissues in minute doses it corrodes +the brain and atrophies the intellect. Did you see how he grinned when +you described that vile weed as ‘good tobacco’? Now, you don’t know +good, meaning real, tobacco from bad, do you?”</p> + +<p>“I know whether or not I like the scent of it,” persisted Winifred. She +began to think that officialdom in Mulberry Street affected the methods +of the court circles frequented by Alice and the Mad Hatter.</p> + +<p>“Don’t mind him,” put in Steingall genially. “He’s a living example of +the close alliance between insanity and genius. On the tobacco question +he’s simply cracked, and that is all there is to it. Now we’re wasting +your time by this chatter. I’ll come to serious business by asking a +question which you will not find embarrassing for a good many years yet +to come. How old are you?”</p> + +<p>“Nineteen last birthday.”</p> + +<p>“When were you born?”</p> + +<p>“On June 6, 1894.”</p> + +<p>“And where?”</p> + +<p>Winifred reddened slightly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” she said.</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>Steingall seemed to be immensely surprised, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>and Winifred proceeded +forthwith to throw light on this singular admission, which was exactly +what he meant her to do.</p> + +<p>“That is a very odd statement, but it is quite true,” she said +earnestly. “My aunt would never tell me where I was born. I believe it +was somewhere in the New England States, but I have only the vaguest +grounds for the opinion. What I mean is that aunty occasionally reveals +a close familiarity with Boston and Vermont.”</p> + +<p>“What is her full name?”</p> + +<p>“Rachel Craik.”</p> + +<p>“She has never been married?”</p> + +<p>Winifred’s sense of humor was keen. She laughed at the idea of “Aunt +Rachel” having a husband.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think aunty will ever marry anybody now,” she said. “She holds +the opposite sex in detestation. No man is ever admitted to our house.”</p> + +<p>“It is a small, old-fashioned residence, but very large for the +requirements of two women?” continued Steingall. He took no notes, and +might have been discussing the weather, now that the first whiff of +wonderment as to Winifred’s lack of information about her birth-place +had passed.</p> + +<p>“Yes. We have several rooms unoccupied.”</p> + +<p>“And unfurnished?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p><p>“Say partly furnished.”</p> + +<p>“Ever had any boarders?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“No servants, of course?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“And how long have you been employed in Messrs. Brown, Son & Brown’s +bookbinding department?”</p> + +<p>“About six months.”</p> + +<p>“What do you earn?”</p> + +<p>“Eight dollars a week.”</p> + +<p>“Is that the average amount paid to the other girls?”</p> + +<p>“Slightly above the average. I am supposed to be quick and accurate.”</p> + +<p>“Well now, Miss Bartlett, you seem to be a very intelligent and +well-educated young woman. How comes it that you are employed in such +work?”</p> + +<p>“It was the best I could find,” she volunteered.</p> + +<p>“No doubt. But you must be well aware that few, if any, among the girls +in the bookbinding business can be your equal in education, and, may I +add, in refinement. Now, if you were a bookkeeper, a cashier or a +typist, I could understand it; but it does seem odd to me that you +should be engaged in this kind of job.”</p> + +<p>“It was my aunt’s wish,” said Winifred simply.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p><p>“Ah!”</p> + +<p>Steingall dwelt on the monosyllable.</p> + +<p>“What reason did she give for such a singular choice?” he went on.</p> + +<p>“I confess it has puzzled me,” was the unaffected answer. “Although +aunty is severe in her manner she is well educated, and she taught me +nearly all I know, except music and singing, for which I took lessons +from Signor Pecci ever since I was a tiny mite until about two years +ago. Then, I believe, aunty lost a good deal of money, and it became +necessary that I should earn something. Signor Pecci offered to get me a +position in a theater, but she would not hear of it, nor would she allow +me to enter a shop or a restaurant. Really, it was aunty who got me work +with Messrs. Brown, Son & Brown.”</p> + +<p>“In other words,” said Steingall, “you were deliberately reared to fill +a higher social station, and then, for no assignable reason, save a +whim, compelled to sink to a much lower level?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know. I never disputed aunty’s right to do what she thought +best.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well, it is odd. Do you ever entertain any visitors?”</p> + +<p>“None whatever. We have no acquaintances, and live very quietly.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to say that your aunt never <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>sees any one but yourself and +casual callers, such as tradespeople?”</p> + +<p>“So far as I know, that is absolutely the case.”</p> + +<p>“Very curious,” commented Steingall. “Does your aunt go out much?”</p> + +<p>“She leaves the house occasionally after I have gone to bed at ten +o’clock, but that is seldom, and I have no idea where she goes. Every +week-day, you know, I am away from home between seven in the morning and +half past six at night, excepting Saturday afternoons. If possible, I +take a long walk before going to work.”</p> + +<p>“Do you go straight home?”</p> + +<p>Winifred remembered Mr. Fowle’s query, and smiled again.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Now last night, for instance, was your aunt at home when you reached +the house?”</p> + +<p>“No; she was out. She did not come in until half past nine.”</p> + +<p>“Did she go out again last night?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know. I was tired. I went to bed rather early.”</p> + +<p>Steingall bent over his notes for the first time since Winifred +appeared. His lips were pursed, and he seemed to be weighing certain +facts gravely.</p> + +<p>“I think,” he said at last, “that I need not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>detain you any longer, +Miss Bartlett. By the way, I’ll give you a note to your employers to say +that you are in no way connected with the crime we have under +investigation. It may, perhaps, save you needless annoyance.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir,” said the girl. “But won’t you tell me why you have +asked me so many questions about my aunt and her ways?”</p> + +<p>Steingall looked at her thoughtfully before he answered: “In the first +place, Miss Bartlett, tell me this. I assume Miss Craik is your mother’s +sister. When did your mother die?”</p> + +<p>Winifred blushed with almost childish discomfiture. “It may seem very +stupid to say such a thing,” she admitted, “but I have never known +either a father or a mother. My aunt has always refused to discuss our +family affairs in any way whatever. I fear her view is that I am +somewhat lucky to be alive at all.”</p> + +<p>“Few people would be found to agree with her,” said the chief gallantly. +“Now I want you to be brave and patient. A very extraordinary crime has +been committed, and the police occasionally find clues in the most +unexpected quarters. I regret to tell you that Miss Craik is believed to +be in some way connected with the mysterious disappearance, if not the +death, of Mr. Ronald Tower, and she is being held for further +inquiries.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p><p>Winifred’s face blanched. “Do you mean that she will be kept in prison?” +she said, with a break in her voice.</p> + +<p>“She must be detained for a while, but you need not be so alarmed. Her +connection with this outrage may be as harmless as your own, though I +can inform you that, without your knowledge, your house last night +certainly sheltered two men under grave suspicion, and for whom we are +now searching.”</p> + +<p>“Two men! In our house!” cried the amazed girl.</p> + +<p>“Yes. I tell you this to show you the necessity there is for calmness +and reticence on your part. Don’t speak to any one concerning your visit +here. Above all else, don’t be afraid. Have you any one with whom you +can go to live until Miss Craik is”—he corrected himself—“until +matters are cleared up a bit?”</p> + +<p>“No,” wailed Winifred, her pent-up feelings breaking through all +restraint. “I am quite alone in the world now.”</p> + +<p>“Come, come, cheer up!” said Steingall, rising and patting her on the +shoulder. “This disagreeable business may only last a day or two. You +will not want for anything. If you are in any trouble all you need do is +to let me know. Moreover, to save you from being afraid of remaining +alone in the house at night, I’ll give special instructions to the +police in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>your precinct to watch the place closely. Now, be a brave +girl and make the best of it.”</p> + +<p>The house in One Hundred and Twelfth Street would, of course, be an +object of special interest to the police for other reasons apart from +those suggested by the chief. Nevertheless, his kindness had the desired +effect, and Winifred strove to repress her tears.</p> + +<p>“Here is your note,” he said, “and I advise you to forget this temporary +trouble in your work. Mr. Clancy will accompany you in the car if you +wish.”</p> + +<p>“Please—I would rather be alone,” she faltered. She was far from +Mulberry Street before she remembered that she had said nothing about +seeing the boat that morning!</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>PERSECUTORS</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">D</span>uring the brief run up-town Winifred managed to dry her tears, yet the +mystery and terror of the circumstances into which she was so suddenly +plunged seemed to become more distressful the longer she puzzled over +them. She could not find any outlet from a labyrinth of doubt and +uncertainty. She strove again to read the printed accounts of the crime, +in order to wrest from them some explanation of the extraordinary charge +brought against her aunt, but the words danced before her eyes. At last, +with an effort, she threw the paper away and bravely resolved to follow +Steingall’s parting advice.</p> + +<p>When she reached the warehouse she was naturally the object of much +covert observation. Neither Miss Sugg nor Mr. Fowle spoke to her, but +Winifred thought she saw a malicious smile on the forewoman’s face. The +hours passed wearily until six o’clock. She was about to quit the +building with her companions—many of whom meant bombarding her with +questions <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>at the first opportunity—when she was again requested to +report at the office.</p> + +<p>A clerk handed her one of the firm’s pay envelopes.</p> + +<p>“What’s comin’ to you up to date,” he blurted out, “and a week’s salary +instead of notice.”</p> + +<p>She was dismissed!</p> + +<p>Some girls might have collapsed under this final blow, but not so +Winifred Bartlett. Knowing it was useless to say anything to the clerk, +she spiritedly demanded an interview with the manager. This was refused. +She insisted, and sent Steingall’s letter to the inner sanctum, having +concluded that the dismissal was in some way due to her visit to the +detective bureau.</p> + +<p>The clerk came back with the note and a message: “The firm desire me to +tell you,” he said, “that they quite accept your explanation, but they +have no further need of your services.”</p> + +<p>Explanation! How could a humble employee explain away the unsavory fact +that the smug respectability of Brown, Son & Brown had been outraged by +the name of the firm appearing in the evening papers as connected, even +in the remotest way, with the sensational crime now engaging the +attention of all New York?</p> + +<p>Winifred walked into the street. Something <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>in her face warned even the +most inquisitive of her fellow-workers to leave her alone. Besides, the +poor always evince a lively sympathy with others in misfortune. These +working-class girls were consumed with curiosity, yet they respected +Winifred’s feelings, and did not seek to intrude on her very apparent +misery by inquiry or sympathetic condolence. A few among them watched, +and even followed her a little way as she turned the corner into +Fourteenth Street.</p> + +<p>“She goes home by the Third Avenue L,” said Carlotta. “Sometimes I’ve +walked with her that far. H’lo! Why’s Fowle goin’ east in a taxi! He +lives on West Seventeenth. Betcher a dime he’s after Winnie.”</p> + +<p>“Whadda ya mean—after her?” cried another girl.</p> + +<p>“Why, didn’t you hear how he spoke up for her this mornin’ when Ole +Mother Sugg handed her the lemon about bein’ late?”</p> + +<p>“But he got her fired.”</p> + +<p>“G’wan!”</p> + +<p>“He did, I tell you. I heard him phonin’ a newspaper. He made ’em wise +about Winnie’s bein’ pinched, and then took the paper to the boss. I was +below with a packin’ check when he went in, so I saw that with my own +eyes, an’ that’s just as far as I’d trust Fowle.”</p> + +<p>The cynic’s shrewd surmise was strictly accurate. Fowle had, indeed, +secured Winifred’s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>dismissal. Her beauty and disdain had stirred his +lewd impulses to their depths. His plan now was to intercept her before +she reached her home, and pose as the friend in need who is the most +welcome of all friends. Knowing nothing whatsoever of her domestic +surroundings he deemed it advisable to make inquiries on the spot. His +crafty and vulpine nature warned him against running his head into a +noose, since Winifred might own a strong-armed father or brother, but no +one could possibly resent a well-meant effort at assistance.</p> + +<p>The mere sight of her graceful figure as she hurried along with pale +face and downcast eyes inflamed him anew when his taxi sped by. She +could not avoid him now. He would go up-town by an earlier train, and +await her at the corner of One Hundred and Twelfth Street.</p> + +<p>But the wariest fox is apt to find his paw in a trap, and Fowle, though +foxy, was by no means so astute as he imagined himself. Once again that +day Fate was preparing a surprise for Winifred, and not the least +dramatic feature thereof connoted the utter frustration and undoing of +Fowle.</p> + +<p>About the time that Winifred caught her train it befell that Rex +Carshaw, gentleman of leisure, the most industrious idler who ever +extracted dividends from a business he cared little about, drove a +high-powered car across <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>the Harlem River by the Willis Avenue Bridge, +and entered that part of Manhattan which lies opposite Randall’s Island.</p> + +<p>This was a new world to the eyes of the young millionaire. Nor was it +much to his liking. The mixed citizenry of New York must live somewhere, +but Carshaw saw no reason why he and his dainty car should loiter in a +district which seemed highly popular with all sorts of undesirable +folks; so, after skirting Thomas Jefferson Park he turned west, meaning +to reach the better roadway and more open stretches of Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>A too hasty express wagon, however, heedless of the convenience of +wealthy automobilists, bore down on Carshaw like a Juggernaut car, and +straightway smashed the differential, besides inflicting other grievous +injuries on a complex mechanism. A policeman, the proprietor of a +neighboring garage, and a greatly interested crowd provided an impromptu +jury for the dispute between Carshaw and the express man.</p> + +<p>The latter put up a poor case. It consisted almost entirely of the +bitter and oft-repeated plaint:</p> + +<p>“What was a car like that doin’ here, anyhow?”</p> + +<p>The question sounded foolish. It was nothing of the kind. Only the +Goddess of Wisdom <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>could have answered it, and she, being invisible, was +necessarily dumb.</p> + +<p>At last, when the damaged car was housed for the night, Carshaw set out +to walk a couple of blocks to the elevated railway, his main objective +being dinner with his mother in their apartment on Madison Avenue. He +found himself in a comparatively quiet street, wherein blocks of cheap +modern flats alternated with the dingy middle-class houses of a by-gone +generation. He halted to light a cigarette, and, at that moment, a girl +of remarkable beauty passed, walking quickly, yet without apparent +effort. She was pallid and agitated, and her eyes were swimming with +ill-repressed tears.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, Winifred nearly broke down at sight of her empty +abode. It was a cheerless place at best, and now the thought of being +left there alone had induced a sense of feminine helplessness which +overcame her utterly.</p> + +<p>Carshaw was distinctly impressed. In the first place, he was young and +good-looking, and human enough to try and steal a second glance at such +a lovely face, though the steadily decreasing light was not altogether +favorable. Secondly, he thought he had never seen any girl who carried +herself with such rhythmic grace. Thirdly, here was a woman in distress, +and, to one of Carshaw’s temperament and upbringing, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>that in itself +formed a convincing reason why he should wish to help her.</p> + +<p>He racked his brain for a fitting excuse to offer his services. He could +find none. Above all else, Rex Carshaw was a gentleman.</p> + +<p>Of course, he could not tell that the way was being made smooth for +knight-errantry by a certain dragon named Fowle. He did not even quicken +his pace, and was musing on the curious incongruity of the maid in +distress with the rather squalid district in which she had her being +when he saw a man bar her path.</p> + +<p>This was Fowle, who, with lifted hat, was saying deferentially: “Miss +Bartlett, may I have a word?”</p> + +<p>Winifred stopped as though she had run into an unseen obstruction. She +even recoiled a step or two.</p> + +<p>“What do you want?” she said, and there was a quality of scorn, perhaps +of fear, in her voice that sent Carshaw, now five yards away, into the +open doorway of a block of flats. He was an impulsive young man. He +liked the girl’s face, and quite as fixedly disliked Fowle’s. So he +adopted the now world-famous policy of watchful waiting, being not +devoid of a dim belief that the situation might evolve an overt act.</p> + +<p>“I want to tell you how sorry I am for what happened to-day,” said +Fowle, trying to speak <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>sympathetically, but not troubling to veil the +bold admiration of his stare. “I tried hard to stop unpleasantness, and +even risked a row with the boss. But it was no use. I couldn’t do a +thing.”</p> + +<p>“But why are you here?” demanded Winifred, and those sorrow-laden eyes +of hers might have won pity from any but one of Fowle’s order.</p> + +<p>“To help, of course,” came the ready assurance. “I can get you a far +better job than stitchin’ octavos at Brown’s. You’re not meanin’ to stay +home with your folks, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“That is kind of you,” said Winifred. “I may have to depend altogether +on my own efforts, so I shall need work. I’ll write to you for a +reference, and perhaps for advice.”</p> + +<p>She had unwittingly told Fowle just what he was eager to know—that she +was friendless and alone. He prided himself on understanding the ways of +women, and lost no more time in coming to the point.</p> + +<p>“Listen, now, Winnie,” he said, drawing nearer, “I’d like to see you +through this worry. Forget it. You can draw down twice or three times +the money as a model in Goldberg’s Store. I know Goldberg, an’ can fix +things. An’, say, why mope at home evenings? I often get orders for two +for the theaters an’ vaudeville shows. What about comin’ along down-town +to-night? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>A bit of dinner an’ a cabaret’d cheer you up after to-day’s +unpleasantness.”</p> + +<p>Winifred grew scarlet with vexation. The man had always been a repulsive +person in her eyes, and, unversed though she was in the world’s wiles, +she knew instinctively that his present pretensions were merely a cloak +for rascality. One should be fair to Winifred, too. Like every other +girl, she had pictured the Prince Charming who would come into her life +some day. But—Fowle! Her gorge rose.</p> + +<p>“How dare you follow me here and say such vile things?” she cried +hysterically.</p> + +<p>“What’s up now?” said Fowle in mock surprise. “What have I said that you +should fly off the trolley in that way?”</p> + +<p>“I take it that this young lady is telling you to quit,” broke in +another voice. “Go, now! Go while the going is good.”</p> + +<p>Quietly but firmly elbowing Fowle aside, Rex Carshaw raised his hat and +spoke to Winifred.</p> + +<p>“If this fellow is annoying you he can soon be dealt with,” he said. “Do +you live near? If so, he can stop right here. I’ll occupy his mind till +you are out of sight.”</p> + +<p>The discomfited masher was snarling like a vicious cur. The first swift +glance that measured the intruder’s proportions did not warrant any +display of active resentment on his part. Out of the tail of his eye, +however, he noticed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>a policeman approaching on the opposite side of the +street. The sight lent a confidence which might have been lacking +otherwise.</p> + +<p>“Why are you buttin’ in?” he cried furiously. “This young lady is a +friend of mine. I’m tryin’ to pull her out of a difficulty, but she’s +got me all wrong. Anyhow, what business is it of yours?”</p> + +<p>Fowle’s anger was wasted, since Carshaw seemed not to hear. Indeed, why +should a chivalrous young man pay heed to Fowle when he could gaze his +fill into Winifred’s limpid eyes and listen to her tuneful voice?</p> + +<p>“I am very greatly obliged to you,” she was saying, “but I hope Mr. +Fowle understands now that I do not desire his company and will not seek +to force it on me.”</p> + +<p>“Sure he understands. Don’t you, Fowle?” and Carshaw gave the +disappointed wooer a look of such manifest purpose that something had to +happen quickly. Something did happen. Fowle knew the game was up, and +behaved after the manner of his kind.</p> + +<p>“You’re a cute little thing, Winifred Bartlett,” he sneered, with a +malicious glance from the girl to Carshaw, while a coarse guffaw +imparted venom to his utterance. “Think you’re taking an easier road to +the white lights, I guess?”</p> + +<p>“Guess again, Fowle,” said Carshaw.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p><p>He spoke so quietly that Fowle was misled, because the pavement rose and +struck him violently on the back of his head. At least, that was his +first impression. The second and more lasting one was even more +disagreeable. When he sat up, and fumbled to recover his hat, he was +compelled to apply a handkerchief to his nose, which seemed to have been +reduced to a pulp.</p> + +<p>“Too bad you should be mixed up in this disturbance,” Carshaw was +assuring Winifred, “but a pup of the Fowle species can be taught manners +in only one way. Now, suppose you hurry home!”</p> + +<p>The advice was well meant, and Winifred acted on it at once. Fowle had +scrambled to his feet and the policeman was running up. From east and +west a crowd came on the scene like a well-trained stage chorus rushing +in from the wings.</p> + +<p>“Now, then, what’s the trouble?” demanded the law, with gruff +insistency.</p> + +<p>“Nothing. A friend of mine met with a slight accident—that’s all,” said +Carshaw.</p> + +<p>“It’s—it’s—all right,” agreed Fowle thickly. Some glimmer of reason +warned him that an exposé in the newspapers would cost him his job with +Brown, Son & Brown. The policeman eyed the damaged nose. He grinned.</p> + +<p>“If you care to take a wallop like that as a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>friendly tap it’s your +affair, not mine,” he said. “Anyhow, beat it, both of you!”</p> + +<p>Carshaw was not interested in Fowle or the policeman. He had been +vouchsafed one expressive look by Winifred as she hurried away, and he +watched the slim figure darting up half a dozen steps to a small +brown-stone house, and opening the door with a latch-key. Oddly enough, +the policeman’s attention was drawn by the girl’s movements. His air +changed instantly.</p> + +<p>“H’lo,” he said, evidently picking on Fowle as the doubtful one of these +two. “This must be inquired into. What’s your name?”</p> + +<p>“No matter. I make no charge.”</p> + +<p>Fowle was turning away, but the policeman grabbed him.</p> + +<p>“You come with me to the station-house,” he said determinedly. “An’ you, +too,” he added jerking his head at Carshaw.</p> + +<p>“Have you gone crazy with the heat?” inquired Carshaw.</p> + +<p>“I hold you for fighting in the public street, an’ that’s all there is +to it,” was the firm reply. “You can come quietly or be ’cuffed, just as +you like. Clear off, the rest of you.”</p> + +<p>An awe-stricken mob backed hastily. Fowle was too dazed even to protest, +and Carshaw sensed some hidden but definite motive behind the +policeman’s strange alternation of moods. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>He looked again at the +brown-stone house, but night was closing in so rapidly that he could not +distinguish a face at any of the windows.</p> + +<p>“Let us get there quickly—I’ll be late for dinner,” he said, and the +three returned by the way Carshaw had come.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that Rex Carshaw, eligible young society bachelor, was drawn +into the ever-widening vortex of “The Yacht Mystery.” He did not +recognize it yet, but was destined soon to feel the force of its +swirling currents.</p> + +<p>Gazing from a window of the otherwise deserted house Winifred saw both +her assailant and her protector marched off by the policeman. It was +patent, even to her benumbed wits, that they had been arrested. The +tailing-in of the mob behind the trio told her as much.</p> + +<p>She was too stunned to do other than sink into a chair. For a while she +feared she was going to faint. With lack-lustre eyes she peered into a +gulf of loneliness and despair. Then outraged nature came to her aid, +and she burst into a storm of tears.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>BROTHER RALPH.</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">C</span>lancy forced Senator Meiklejohn’s hand early in the fray. He was at the +Senator’s flat within an hour of the time Ronald Tower was dragged into +the Hudson, but a smooth-spoken English man-servant assured the +detective that his master was out, and not expected home until two or +three in the morning.</p> + +<p>This arrangement obviously referred to the Van Hofen festivity, so +Clancy contented himself with asking the valet to give the Senator a +card on which he scribbled a telephone number and the words, “Please +ring up when you get this.”</p> + +<p>Now, he knew, and Senator Meiklejohn knew, the theater at which Mrs. +Tower was enjoying herself. He did not imagine for an instant that the +Senator was discharging the mournful duty of announcing to his friend’s +wife the lamentable fate which had overtaken her husband. Merely as a +perfunctory duty he went to the theater and sought the manager.</p> + +<p>“You know Mrs. Ronald Tower?” he said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p><p>“Sure I do,” said the official. “She’s inside now. Came here with Bobby +Forrest.”</p> + +<p>“Anybody called for her recently?”</p> + +<p>“I think not, but I’ll soon find out.”</p> + +<p>No. Mrs. Tower’s appreciation of Belasco’s genius had not been disturbed +that evening.</p> + +<p>“Anything wrong?” inquired the manager.</p> + +<p>Clancy’s answer was ready.</p> + +<p>“If Senator Meiklejohn comes here within half an hour, see that the lady +is told at once,” he said. “If he doesn’t show up in that time, send for +Mr. Forrest, tell him that Mr. Tower has met with an accident, and leave +him to look after the lady.”</p> + +<p>“Wow! Is it serious? Why wait?”</p> + +<p>“The slight delay won’t matter, and the Senator can handle the situation +better than Forrest.”</p> + +<p>Clancy gave some telephonic instruction to the man on night duty at +headquarters. He even dictated a paragraph for the press. Then he went +straight to bed, for the hardiest detectives must sleep, and he had a +full day’s work before him when next the sun rose over New York.</p> + +<p>He summed up Meiklejohn’s action correctly. The Senator did not +communicate with Mulberry Street during the night, so Clancy was an +early visitor at his apartment.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p><p>“The Senator is ill and can see no one,” said the valet.</p> + +<p>“No matter how ill he may be, he must see me,” retorted Clancy.</p> + +<p>“But he musn’t be disturbed. I have my orders.”</p> + +<p>“Take a fresh set. He’s going to be disturbed right now, by you or me. +Choose quick!”</p> + +<p>The law prevailed. A few minutes later Senator Meiklejohn entered the +library sitting-room, where the little detective awaited him. He looked +wretchedly ill, but his sufferings were mental, not physical. Examined +critically now, in the cold light of day, he was a very different man +from the spruce, dandified politician and financier who figured so +prominently among Van Hofen’s guests the previous evening. Yet Clancy +saw at a glance that the Senator was armed at all points. Diplomacy +would be useless. The situation demanded a bludgeon. He began the attack +at once.</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you ring up Mulberry Street last night, Senator?” he said.</p> + +<p>“I was too upset. My nerves were all in.”</p> + +<p>“You told the patrolman at Eighty-sixth Street that you were hurrying +away to break the news to Mrs. Tower, yet you did not go near her?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p><p>Meiklejohn affected to consult Clancy’s card to ascertain the +detective’s name.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I had better get in touch with the Bureau now,” he said, and a +flush of anger darkened his haggard face.</p> + +<p>“No need. The Bureau is right here. Let us get down to brass tacks, +Senator. A woman named Rachel met you outside the Four Hundred Club at +eight o’clock as you were coming out. You had just spoken to Mrs. Tower, +when this woman told you that you must meet two men who would await you +at the Eighty-sixth landing-stage at nine. You were to bring five +hundred dollars. At nine o’clock these same men killed Mr. Tower, and +you yourself admitted to me that they mistook him for you. Now, will you +be good enough to fill in the blanks? Who is Rachel? Where does she +live? Who were the two men? Why should you give them five hundred +dollars, apparently as blackmail?”</p> + +<p>Clancy was exceedingly disappointed by the result of this thunderbolt. +Any ordinary man would have shrivelled under its crushing impact. If the +police knew so much that might reasonably be regarded as secret, of what +avail was further concealment? Yet Senator Meiklejohn bore up +wonderfully. He showed surprise, as well he might, but was by no means +pulverized.</p> + +<p>“All this is rather marvelous,” he said <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>slowly, after a long pause. He +had avoided Clancy’s gaze after the first few words, and sank into an +armchair with an air of weariness that was not assumed.</p> + +<p>“Simple enough,” commented the detective readily. Above all else he +wanted Meiklejohn to talk. “I was on duty outside the club, and heard +almost every word that passed between you and Rachel.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well.”</p> + +<p>The Senator arose and pressed an electric bell.</p> + +<p>“If you don’t mind,” he explained suavely, “I’ll order some coffee and +rolls. Will you join me?”</p> + +<p>This was the parry of a skilled duelist to divert an attack and gain +breathing-time. Clancy rather admired such adroitness.</p> + +<p>“Sorry, I can’t on principle,” he countered.</p> + +<p>“How—on principle?”</p> + +<p>“You see, Senator, I may have to arrest you, and I never eat with any +man with whom I may clash professionally.”</p> + +<p>“You take risks, Mr. Clancy.”</p> + +<p>“I love ’em. I’d cut my job to-day if it wasn’t for the occasional +excitement.”</p> + +<p>The valet appeared.</p> + +<p>“Coffee and rolls for two, Phillips,” said Meiklejohn. He turned to +Clancy. “Perhaps you would prefer toast and an egg?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p><p>“I have breakfasted already, Senator,” smiled the detective, “but I may +dally with the coffee.”</p> + +<p>When the door was closed on Phillips, his master glanced at a clock on +the mantelpiece. The hour was eight-fifteen. Some days elapsed before +Clancy interpreted that incident correctly.</p> + +<p>“You rose early,” said the Senator.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but worms are coy this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Meaning that you still await answers to your questions. I’ll deal with +you fully and frankly, but I’m curious to know on what conceivable +ground you could arrest me for the murder of my friend Ronald Tower.”</p> + +<p>“As an accessory before the act.”</p> + +<p>“But, consider. You have brains, Mr. Clancy. I am glad the Bureau sent +such a man. How can a bit of unthinking generosity on my part be +construed as participation in a crime?”</p> + +<p>“If you explain matters, Senator, the absurdity of the notion may become +clear.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, that’s better. Let me assure you that my coffee will not affect +your fine sensibilities. Miss Rachel Craik is a lady I have known nearly +all my life. I have assisted her, within my means. She resides in East +One Hundred and Twelfth Street, and the man about whom she was so +concerned last night is her brother. He committed some technical offense +years ago, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>and has always been a ne’er-do-well. To please his sister, +and for no other reason, I undertook to provide him with five hundred +dollars, and thus enable him to start life anew. I have never met the +man. I would not recognize him if I saw him. I believe he is a desperate +character; his maniacal behavior last night seems to leave no room for +doubt in that respect. Don’t you see, Mr. Clancy, that it was I, and not +poor Tower, whom he meant attacking? But for idle chance, it is my +corpse, not Tower’s, that would now be floating in the Hudson. You heard +what Tower said. I did not. I assume, however, that some allusion was +made to the money—which, by the way, is still in my pocketbook—and +Tower scoffed at the notion that he had come there to hand over five +hundred dollars. There you have the whole story, in so far as I can tell +it.”</p> + +<p>“For the present, Senator.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“It should yield many more chapters. Is that all you’re going to say? +For instance, did you call on Rachel Craik after leaving Eighty-sixth +Street?”</p> + +<p>Meiklejohn’s jaws closed like a steel trap. He almost lost his temper.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said, seemingly conquering the desire to blaze into anger at +this gadfly of a detective.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p><p>“Sure?”</p> + +<p>“I said ‘no.’ That is not ‘yes.’ I was so overcome by Tower’s miserable +fate that I dismissed my car and walked home. I could not face any one, +least of all Helen—Mrs. Tower.”</p> + +<p>“Or the Bureau?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Clancy, you annoy me.”</p> + +<p>Clancy stood up.</p> + +<p>“I must duck your coffee, Senator,” he said cheerfully. “Is Miss Craik +on the phone?”</p> + +<p>“No. She is poor, and lives alone—or, to be correct, with a niece, I +believe.”</p> + +<p>“Well, think matters over. I’ll see you again soon. Then you may be able +to tell me some more.”</p> + +<p>“I have told you everything.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps <i>I</i> may do the telling.”</p> + +<p>“Now, as to this poor woman, Miss Craik. You will not adopt harsh +measures, I trust?”</p> + +<p>“We are never harsh, Senator. If she speaks the truth, and all the +truth, she need not fear.”</p> + +<p>In the hall Clancy met the valet, carrying a laden tray.</p> + +<p>“Do you make good coffee, Phillips?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“I try to,” smiled the other.</p> + +<p>“Ah, that’s modest—that’s the way real genius speaks. Sorry I can’t +sample your brew to-day. So few Englishmen know the first thing about +coffee.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p><p>“Nice, friendly little chap,” was Phillips’s opinion of the detective. +Senator Meiklejohn’s description of the same person was widely +different. When Clancy went out, he, too, rose and stretched his stiff +limbs.</p> + +<p>“I got rid of that little rat more easily than I expected,” he +mused—that is to say, the Senator’s thoughts may be estimated in some +such phrase. But he was grievously mistaken in his belief. Clancy was no +rat, but a most stubborn terrier when there were rats around.</p> + +<p>While Meiklejohn was drinking his coffee the telephone rang. It was Mrs. +Tower. She was heartbroken, or professed to be, since no more selfish +woman existed in New York.</p> + +<p>“Are you coming to see me?” she wailed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, later in the day. At present I dare not. I am too unhinged. +Oh, Helen, what a tragedy! Have you any news?”</p> + +<p>“News! My God! What news can I hope for except that Ronald’s poor, +maimed body has been found?”</p> + +<p>“Helen, this is terrible. Bear up!”</p> + +<p>“I’m doing my best. I can hardly believe that this thing has really +happened. Help me in one small way, Senator. Telephone Mr. Jacob and +explain why our luncheon is postponed.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’ll do that.”</p> + +<p>Meiklejohn smiled grimly as he hung up the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>receiver. In the midst of +her tribulations Helen Tower had not forgotten Jacob and the little +business of the Costa Rica Cotton Concession! The luncheon was only +“postponed.”</p> + +<p>An inquiry came from a newspaper, whereupon he gave a curt order that no +more calls were to be made that day, as the apartment would be empty. He +dressed, and devoted himself forthwith to the task of overhauling +papers. He had a fire kindled in the library.</p> + +<p>Hour after hour he worked, until the grate was littered with the ashes +of destroyed documents. Sending for newspapers, he read of Rachel +Craik’s arrest. At last, when the light waned, he looked at his watch. +Should he not face his fellow-members at the Four Hundred Club? Would it +not betray weakness to shirk the ordeal of inquiry, of friendly scrutiny +and half-spoken wonder that he, the irreproachable, should be mixed up +in such a weird tragedy. Once he sought support from a decanter of +brandy.</p> + +<p>“Confound it!” he muttered, “why am I so shaky. <i>I</i> didn’t murder Tower. +My whole life may be ruined by one false step!”</p> + +<p>He was still pondering irresolutely a visit to the club when Phillips +came. The valet seemed flurried.</p> + +<p>“There’s a gentleman outside, sir, who insists on seeing you,” he said +nervously. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>“He’s a very violent gentleman, sir. He said if I didn’t +announce him he——”</p> + +<p>“What name?” interrupted Meiklejohn.</p> + +<p>“Name of Voles, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Voles?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, but he says you’ll recognize him better by the initials R. V. +V.”</p> + +<p>Men of Meiklejohn’s physique—big, fleshy, with the stamp of success on +them—are rare subjects for nervous attacks. They seem to defy events +which will shock the color out of ordinary men’s cheeks, yet Meiklejohn +felt that if he dared encounter the eyes of his discreet servant he +would do something outrageous—shriek, or jump, or tear his hair. He +bent over some papers on the table.</p> + +<p>“Send Mr. Voles in,” he murmured. “If any other person calls, say I’m +engaged.”</p> + +<p>The man who was ushered into the room was of a stature and demeanor +which might well have cowed the valet. Tall, strongly built, altogether +fitter and more muscular than the stalwart Senator, he carried with him +an impression of truculence, of a savage forcefulness, not often clothed +in the staid garments of city life. Were his skin bronze, were he decked +in the barbaric trappings of a Pawnee chief, his appearance would be +more in accord with the chill and repellant significance of his +personality. His square, hard features might have been chiseled <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>out of +granite. A pair of singularly dark eyes blazed beneath heavy and +prominent eyebrows. A high forehead, a massive chin, and a well-shaped +nose lent a certain intellectuality to the face, but this attribute was +negatived by the coarse lines of a brutal mouth.</p> + +<p>From any point of view the visitor must invite attention, while +compelling dislike—even fear. In a smaller frame, such qualities might +escape recognition, but this man’s giant physique accentuated the evil +aspect of eyes and mouth. Hardly waiting till the door was closed, he +laughed sarcastically.</p> + +<p>“You are well fixed here, brother o’ mine,” he said.</p> + +<p>The man whom he addressed as “brother” leaned with his hands on the +table that separated them. His face was quite ghastly. All his +self-control seemed to have deserted him.</p> + +<p>“You?” he gasped. “To come here! Are you mad?”</p> + +<p>“Need you ask? It will not be the first time you have called me a +lunatic, nor will it be the last, I reckon.”</p> + +<p>“But the risk, the infernal risk! The police know of you. Rachel is +arrested. A detective was here a few hours ago. They are probably +watching outside.”</p> + +<p>“Bosh!” was the uncompromising answer. “I’m sick of being hunted. Just +for a change <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>I turn hunter. Where’s the mazuma you promised Rachel?”</p> + +<p>Meiklejohn, using a hand like one in a palsy, produced a pocketbook and +took from it a bundle of notes.</p> + +<p>“Here!” he quavered. “Now, for Heaven’s sake——”</p> + +<p>“Just the same old William,” cried the stranger, seating himself +unceremoniously. “Always ready to do a steal, but terrified lest the law +should grab him. No, I’m not going. It will be good nerve tonic for you +to sit down and talk while you strain your ears to hear the tramp of +half a dozen cops in the hall. What a poor fish you are!” he continued, +voice and manner revealing a candid contempt, as Meiklejohn did indeed +start at the slamming of a door somewhere in the building. “Do you think +I’d risk my neck if I were likely to be pinched? Gad! I know my way +around too well for that.”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t understand,” whispered the other in mortal terror. “By +some means the detective bureau may know of your existence. Rachel +promised to be close-lipped, but—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, take a bracer out of that decanter. At the present moment I am +registered in a big Fifth Avenue hotel, a swell joint which they +wouldn’t suspect in twenty years.”</p> + +<p>“How can that be? Rachel said you were in desperate need.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p><p>“So I was until I went through that idiot’s pockets. He had two hundred +dollars in bills and chicken-feed. I knew I’d get another wad from you +to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Why did you want to murder me, Ralph?”</p> + +<p>“Murder! Oh, shucks! I didn’t want to kill anybody. But I don’t trust +you, William. I’m always expecting you to double-cross me. Last night it +was a lasso. To-night it is this.” And he suddenly whipped out a +revolver.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>STILL MERE MYSTERY</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>eiklejohn pushed his chair back so quickly that it caught the fender +and brought down some fire-irons with a crash.</p> + +<p>“More nerves!” croaked his grim-visaged relative, but the revolver +disappeared.</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” said the tortured Meiklejohn; “why have you returned to New +York? Above all, why did you straightway commit a crime that cannot fail +to stir the whole country?”</p> + +<p>“That’s better. You are showing some sort of brotherly interest. I came +back because I was sick of mining camps and boundless sierras. I had a +hankering after the old life—the theaters, dinners, race-meetings, wine +and women. As to ‘the crime,’ I thought that fool was you. He called for +the cops.”</p> + +<p>“For the police! Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because my line of talk was a trifle too rough, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Did he know you were there to meet me?”</p> + +<p>“Can’t say. The whole thing was over like a flash. I am quick on the +trigger.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p><p>“But if you had killed me what other goose would lay golden eggs?”</p> + +<p>“You forget that the goose was unwilling to lay any more eggs. I only +meant scaring you. To haul you neck and crop into the river was a good +scheme. You see, we haven’t met for some years.”</p> + +<p>“Then why—why murder Ronald Tower?”</p> + +<p>“There you go again. Murder! How you chew on the word. I never touched +the man, only to haul him into the boat and go through his pockets. I +guess he had a weak heart, due to over-eating, and the cold water upset +him.”</p> + +<p>“But you left him in the river?”</p> + +<p>“Wrong every time. I chucked him into a barge and covered him tenderly +with a tarpaulin.”</p> + +<p>Meiklejohn sprang upright. “Good God,” he cried, “he may be alive!”</p> + +<p>“Sit down, William, sit down,” was the cool response. “If he’s alive, +he’ll turn up. In any case, he’ll be found sooner or later. Shout the +glad news now and you go straight to the Tombs.”</p> + +<p>This was obviously so true that the Senator collapsed into his chair +again, and in so doing disturbed the fire-irons a second time.</p> + +<p>The incident amused the unbidden guest. “I see you won’t be happy till I +leave you,” he laughed, “so let’s go on with the knitting. That +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>girl—she is becoming a woman—what is to be done with her?”</p> + +<p>“Rachel takes every care—”</p> + +<p>“Rachel is excellent in her way. But she is growing old. She may die. +The girl is the living image of her mother. It’s a queer world, and a +small one at times. For instance, who would have expected your double to +walk onto the terrace at the landing-stage at nine o’clock precisely +last night? Well, some one may recognize the likeness. Inquiries might +be instituted. That would be very awkward for you.”</p> + +<p>“Far more awkward for you.”</p> + +<p>“Not a bit of it. I’ve lived with my neck in the loop for eighteen +years. I’m getting used to it. But you, William, with your Senatorship +and high record in Wall Street—really the downfall would be terrible!”</p> + +<p>“What can we do with her? Murder her, as you—”</p> + +<p>“The devil take you and your parrotlike repetition of one word!” roared +brother Ralph, bringing his clenched fist down on the table with a bang. +“I never laid violent hands on a woman yet, whatever I may have done to +men. Who has reaped the reward of my misdeeds, I’d like to know—I, an +outcast and a wanderer, or you, living here like Lord Tomnoddy? None of +your preaching to me, you smug Pharisee! <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>We’re six of one and half a +dozen of the other.”</p> + +<p>When this self-proclaimed adventurer was really aroused he dropped the +rough argot of the plains. His diction showed even some measure of +culture.</p> + +<p>Meiklejohn walked unsteadily to the door. He opened it. There was no one +in the passage without.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry,” he said in a strangely subdued voice. “What do you want? +What do you suggest?”</p> + +<p>“This,” came the instant reply. “It was a piece of folly on Rachel’s +part to educate the girl the way she did. You stopped the process too +late. In a year or two Miss Winifred will begin to think and ask +questions, if she hasn’t done so already. She must leave the +East—better quit America altogether.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. When this affair of Tower’s blows over I’ll arrange it.”</p> + +<p>The other man seemed to be somewhat mollified. He lighted a cigarette. +“That rope play was sure a mad trick,” he conceded sullenly, “but I +thought you were putting the cops on my trail.”</p> + +<p>A bell rang and the Senator started. Many callers, mostly reporters, had +been turned away by Phillips already that day, but brother Ralph’s +untimely visit had made the position <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>peculiarly dangerous. Moreover, +the valet’s protests had proved unavailing this time. The two heard his +approaching footsteps.</p> + +<p>Meiklejohn’s care-worn face turned almost green with fright, and even +his hardier companion yielded to a sense of peril. He leaped up, moving +catlike on his toes.</p> + +<p>“Where does that door lead to?” he hissed, pointing.</p> + +<p>“A bedroom. But I’ve given orders—”</p> + +<p>“You dough-faced dub, don’t you see you create suspicion by refusing to +meet people? And, listen! If this is a cop, bluff hard! I’ll shoot up +the whole Bureau before they get me!”</p> + +<p>He vanished, moving with a silence and celerity that were almost uncanny +in so huge a man. Phillips knocked and thrust his head in. He looked +scared yet profoundly relieved.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Tower to see you, sir,” he said breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“What?” shrieked the Senator in a shrill falsetto.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. It’s Mr. Tower himself, sir.”</p> + +<p>“H’lo, Bill!” came a familiar voice. “Here I am! No spook yet, thank +goodness!”</p> + +<p>Meiklejohn literally staggered to the door and nearly fell into Ronald +Tower’s arms. Of the two men, the Senator seemed nearer death at that +moment. He blubbered something incoherent, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>and had to be assisted to a +chair. Even Tower was astonished at the evident depth of his friend’s +emotion.</p> + +<p>“Cheer up, old sport!” he cried affectionately. “I had no notion you +felt so badly about my untimely end, as the newspapers call it. I tried +to get you on the phone, but you were closed down, the exchange said, so +Helen packed me off here when she was able to sit up and take +nourishment. Gad! Even my wife seems to have missed me!”</p> + +<p>Many minutes elapsed before Senator Meiklejohn’s benumbed brain could +assimilate the facts of a truly extraordinary story. Tower, after being +whisked so unceremoniously into the Hudson, remembered nothing further +until he opened his eyes in numb semi-consciousness in the cubbyhole of +a tug plodding through the long Atlantic rollers off the New Jersey +coast.</p> + +<p>When able to talk he learned that the captain of the tug <i>Cygnet</i>, +having received orders to tow three loaded barges from a Weehawken pier +to Barnegat City, picked up his “job” at nine-thirty the previous night, +and dropped down the river with the tide. In the early morning he was +amazed by the sight of a man crawling from under the heavy tarpaulin +that sheeted one of the barges—a man so dazed and weak that he nearly +fell into the sea.</p> + +<p>“Cap’ Rickards slowed up and took me <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>aboard,” explained Tower volubly. +“Then he filled me with rock and rye and packed me in blankets. Gee, how +they smelt, but how grateful they were! What between prime old whiskey +inside and greasy wool outside I dodged a probable attack of pneumonia. +When the <i>Cygnet</i> tied up at Barnegat at noon to-day I was fit as a +fiddle. Cap’ Rickards rigged me out in his shore-going suit and lent me +twenty dollars, as that pair of blackguards in the launch had robbed me +of every cent. They even took a crooked sixpence I found in London +twenty years ago, darn ’em! I phoned Helen, of course, but didn’t +realize what a hubbub my sad fate had created until I read a newspaper +in the train. When I reached home poor Helen was so out of gear that she +hadn’t told a soul of my escape. I do believe she hardly accepted my own +assurance that I was still on the map. However, when I got her calmed +down a bit, she remembered you and the rest of the excitement, so I +phoned the detective bureau and the club, and came straight here.”</p> + +<p>“That is very good of you, Tower,” murmured Meiklejohn brokenly. He +looked in far worse plight than the man who had survived such a +desperate adventure.</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear chap, I was naturally anxious to see you, because—but +perhaps you don’t <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>know that those scoundrels meant to attack you, not +me?”</p> + +<p>Meiklejohn smiled wanly. “Oh, yes,” he said. “The police found that out +by some means. I believe the authorities actually suspected me of being +concerned in the affair.”</p> + +<p>Tower laughed boisterously. “That’s the limit!” he roared. “Come with me +to the club. We’ll soon spoil that yarn. What a fuss the papers made! +I’m quite a celebrity.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll follow you in half an hour. And, look here, Tower, this matter did +really affect me. There was a woman in the case. I butted into an old +feud merely as a friend. I think matters will now be settled amicably. +Allow me to make good your loss in every way. If you can persuade the +police that the whole thing was a hoax—”</p> + +<p>For the first time Tower looked non-plussed. He was enjoying the +notoriety thrust on him so unexpectedly.</p> + +<p>“Well, I can hardly do that,” he said. “But if I can get them to drop +further inquiries I’ll do it, Meiklejohn, for your sake. Gee! Come to +look at you, you must have had a bad time.... Well, good-by, old top! +See you later. Suppose we dine together? That will help dissipate this +queer story as to you being mixed up in an attack on me. Now, I must be +off and play ghost in the club smoking-room.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p><p>Meiklejohn heard his fluttering man-servant let Tower out. He tottered +to a chair, and Ralph Voles came in noiselessly.</p> + +<p>“Well, what about it?” chuckled the reprobate. “We seem to have struck +it lucky.”</p> + +<p>“Go away!” snarled the Senator, goaded to a sudden rage by the other +man’s cynical humor. “I can stand no more to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, take a pull at this!” And the decanter was pushed across the table. +“Didn’t Dr. Johnson once say that claret is the liquor for boys, port +for men, but he who aspires to be a hero should drink brandy? And you +must be a hero to-night. Get onto the Bureau and use the soft pedal. +Then beat it to the club. You and Tower ought to be well soused in an +hour. He’s a good sport, all right. I’ll mail him that sixpence if it’s +still in my pants.”</p> + +<p>“Do nothing of the sort!” snapped Meiklejohn. “You’re—”</p> + +<p>“Ah, cut it out! Tower wants plenty to talk about. His crooked sixpence +will fill many an eye, and the more he spiels the better it is for you. +Gee, but you’re yellow for a two-hundred pounder! Now, listen! Make +those cops drop all charges against Rachel. Then, in a week or less, +I’ll come along and fix things about the girl. She’s the fly in the +amber now. Mind she doesn’t get out, or the howl about Mr. Ronald +Tower’s trip to Barnegat won’t amount to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>a row of beans against the +trouble pretty Winifred can give you. <i>Dios!</i> It’s a pity. She’s a real +beauty, and that’s more than any one can say for you, Brother William.”</p> + +<p>“You go to—”</p> + +<p>“That’s better! You’re reviving. Well, good-by, Senator! <i>Au revoir sans +adieux!</i>”</p> + +<p>The big man swaggered out. Meiklejohn drank no spirits. He needed a +clear brain that evening. After deep self-communing he rang up police +headquarters and inquired for Mr. Clancy.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Clancy is out,” he was told by some one with a strong, resonant +voice. “Anything we can do, Senator?”</p> + +<p>“About that poor woman, Rachel Craik—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she’s all right! She gave us a farewell smile two hours ago.”</p> + +<p>“You mean she is at liberty?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, Senator.”</p> + +<p>“May I ask to whom I am speaking?”</p> + +<p>“Steingall, Chief of the Bureau.”</p> + +<p>“This wretched affair—it’s merely a family squabble between Miss Craik +and a relative—might well end now, Mr. Steingall.”</p> + +<p>“That is for Mr. Tower and Mr. Van Hofen to decide.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I quite understand. I have seen Mr. Tower, and he shares my +opinion.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p><p>“Just so, Senator. At any rate, the yacht mystery is almost cleared up.”</p> + +<p>“I agree with you most heartily.”</p> + +<p>For the first time in nearly twenty-four hours Senator Meiklejohn looked +contented with life when he hung up the receiver. Therefore, it was well +for his peace of mind that he could not hear Steingall’s silent comment +as he, in turn, disconnected the phone.</p> + +<p>“That old fox agreed with me too heartily,” he thought. “The yacht +mystery is only just beginning—or I’m a Dutchman!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE DREAM FACE</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>hat evening of her dismissal from Brown’s, and her meeting with Rex +Carshaw, Winifred opened the door of the dun house in One Hundred and +Twelfth Street the most downhearted girl in New York. Suddenly, mystery +had gathered round her. Something threatened, she knew not what. When +the door slammed behind her her heart sank—she was alone not only in +the house, but in the world. This thought possessed her utterly when the +excitement caused by Carshaw and Fowle, and their speedy arrest, had +passed.</p> + +<p>That her aunt, the humdrum Rachel Craik, should have any sort of +connection with the murder of Ronald Tower, of which Winifred had +chanced first to hear on Riverside Drive that morning, seemed the +wildest nonsense. Then Winifred was overwhelmed afresh, and breathed to +herself, “I must be dreaming!”</p> + +<p>And yet—the house was empty! Her aunt was not there—her aunt was held +as a criminal! It was not a dream, but only like one, a waking nightmare +far more terrifying. Most of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>rooms in the house had nothing but +dust in them. Rachel Craik had preferred to live as solitary in teeming +Manhattan as a castaway on a rock in the midst of the sea.</p> + +<p>Winifred’s mind was accustomed now to the thought of that solitude +shared by two. This night, when there were no longer two, but only one, +the question arose strongly in her mind—why had there never been more +than two? Certainly her aunt was not rich, and might well have let some +of the rooms. Yet, even the suggestion of such a thing had made Rachel +Craik angry. This, for the first time, struck Winifred as odd. +Everything was puzzling, and all sorts of doubts peeped up in her, like +ghosts questioning her with their eyes in the dark.</p> + +<p>When the storm of tears had spent its force she had just enough interest +in her usual self to lay the table and make ready a meal, but not enough +interest to eat it. She sat by a window of her bedroom, her hat still on +her head, looking down. The street lamps were lit. It grew darker and +darker. Down there below feet passed and repassed in multitudes, like +drops of the eternal cataract of life.</p> + +<p>Winifred’s eyes rested often on the spot where Rex Carshaw had spoken to +her and had knocked down Fowle, her tormentor. In hours of trouble, when +the mind is stunned, it will often go off into musings on trivial +things. So <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>this young girl, sitting at the window of the dark and empty +house, let her thoughts wander to her rescuer. He was well built, and +poised like an athlete. He had a quick step, a quick way of talking, was +used to command; his brow was square, and could threaten; he had the +deepest blue eyes, and glossy brown hair; he was a tower of strength to +protect a girl; and his wife, if he had one, must have a feeling of +safety. Thoughts, or half-thoughts, like these passed through her mind. +She had never before met any young man of Carshaw’s type.</p> + +<p>It became ten o’clock. She was tired after the day’s work and trouble of +mind. The blow of her dismissal, the fright of her interview with the +police, the arrest of her aunt—all this sudden influx of mystery and +care formed a burden from which there was no escape for exhausted nature +but in sleep. Her eyes grew weary at last, and, getting up, she +discarded her hat and some of her clothes; then threw herself on the +bed, still half-dressed, and was soon asleep.</p> + +<p>The hours of darkness rolled on. That tramp of feet in the street grew +thin and scattered, as if the army of life had undergone a repulse. Then +there was a rally, when the theaters and picture-houses poured out their +crowds; but it was short, the powers of night were in the ascendant, and +soon the last stragglers retreated <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>under cover. Of all this Winifred +heard nothing—she slept soundly.</p> + +<p>But was it in a dream, that voice which she heard? Something somewhere +seemed to whisper, “She must be taken out of New York—she is the image +of her mother.”</p> + +<p>It was a hushed, grim voice.</p> + +<p>The room, the whole house, had been in darkness when she had thrown +herself on the bed. But, somewhere, had she not been conscious of a +light at some moment? Had she dreamed this, or had she seen it? She sat +up in bed, staring and startled. The room was in darkness. In her ears +were the words: “She is the image of her mother.”</p> + +<p>She had heard them in some world, she did not know in which. She +listened with the keen ears of fear. Not a wagon nor a taxi any longer +moved in the street; no step passed; the house was silent.</p> + +<p>But after a long ten minutes the darkness seemed to become pregnant with +a sound, a steady murmur. It was as if it came from far away, as if a +brook had spurted out of the granite of Manhattan, and was even more +like a dream-sound than those words which still buzzed in Winifred’s +ear. Somehow that murmur as of water in the night made Winifred think of +a face, one which, as far as she could remember, she had never +consciously seen—a man’s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>face, brown, hard, and menacing, which had +looked once into her eyes in some state of semi-conscious being, and +then had vanished. And now this question arose in her mind: was it not +that face, hard and brown, which she had never seen, and yet once had +seen—were not those the cruel lips which somewhere had whispered: “She +is the image of her mother?”</p> + +<p>Winifred, sitting up in bed, listened to the steady, dull murmuring a +long time, till there came a moment when she said definitely: “It is in +the house.”</p> + +<p>For, as her ears grew accustomed to its tone, it seemed to lose some of +its remoteness, to become more local and earthly. Presently this sound +which the darkness was giving out became the voices of people talking in +subdued undertones not far off. Nor was it long before the murmur was +broken by a word sharply uttered and clearly heard by her—a gruff and +unmistakable oath. She started with fright at this, it sounded so near. +She was certain now that there were others in the house with her. She +had gone to bed alone. Waking up in the dead of the small hours to find +men or ghosts with her, her heart beat horribly.</p> + +<p>But ghosts do not swear—at least such was Winifred’s ideal of the +spirit world. And she was brave. Nerving herself for the ordeal, she +found the courage to steal out of bed and make <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>her way out of the room +into a passage, and she had not stood there listening two minutes when +she was able to be certain that the murmur was going on in a back room.</p> + +<p>How earnest that talk was—how low in pitch! It could hardly be burglars +there, for burglars do not enter a house in order to lay their heads +together in long conferences. It could not be ghosts, for a light came +out under the rim of the door.</p> + +<p>After a time Winifred stole forward, tapped on a panel, and her heart +jumped into her mouth as she lifted her voice, saying:</p> + +<p>“Aunty, is it you?”</p> + +<p>There was silence at this, as though they had been ghosts, indeed, and +had taken to flight at the breath of the living.</p> + +<p>“Speak! Who is it?” cried Winifred with a fearful shrillness now. A +chair grated on the floor inside, hurried steps were heard, a key +turned, the door opened a very little, and Winifred saw the gaunt face +of Rachel Craik looking dourly at her, for she had frightened this +masterful woman very thoroughly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, aunt, it <i>is</i> you!” gasped Winifred with a flutter of relief.</p> + +<p>“You are to go to bed, Winnie,” said Rachel.</p> + +<p>“It is you! They have let you out, then?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me what happened; let me come in—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p><p>“Go back to bed; there’s a good girl. I’ll tell you everything in the +morning.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but I am glad! I was so lonely and frightened! Aunt, what was it +all about?”</p> + +<p>“About nothing; as far as I can discover,” said Rachel Craik—“a mere +mare’s-nest found by a set of stupid police. Some man—a Mr. Ronald +Tower—was supposed to have been murdered, and I was supposed to have +some connection with it, though I had never seen the creature in my +life. Now the man has turned up safe and sound, and the pack of noodles +have at last thought fit to allow a respectable woman to come home to +her bed.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, how good! Thank heaven! But, you have some one in there with you?”</p> + +<p>“In here—where?”</p> + +<p>“Why, in the room, aunt.”</p> + +<p>“I? No, no one.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure I heard—”</p> + +<p>“Now, really, you must go to bed, Winifred! What are you doing awake at +this hour of the morning, roaming about the house? You were asleep half +an hour ago—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, then, it was your light I saw in my sleep! I thought I heard a man +say: ‘She is the image—’”</p> + +<p>“Just think of troubling me with your dreams at this unearthly hour! I’m +tired, child; go to bed.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p><p>“Yes—but, aunt, this day’s work has cost me my situation. I am +dismissed!”</p> + +<p>“Well, a holiday will do you good.”</p> + +<p>“Good gracious—you take it coolly!”</p> + +<p>“Go to bed.”</p> + +<p>A sudden din of tumbling weights and splintering wood broke out behind +the half-open door. For, within the room a man had been sitting on a +chair tilted back on its two hind legs. The chair was old and slender, +the man huge; and one of the chair-legs had collapsed under the weight +and landed the man on the floor.</p> + +<p>“Oh, aunt! didn’t you say that no one—” began Winifred.</p> + +<p>The sentence was never finished. Rachel Craik, her features twisted in +anger, pushed the young girl with a force which sent her staggering, and +then immediately shut the door. Winifred was left outside in the +darkness.</p> + +<p>She returned to her bed, but not to sleep. It was certain that her aunt +had lied to her—there was more in the air than Winifred’s quick wits +could fathom. The fact of Rachel Craik’s release did not clear up the +mystery of the fact that she had been arrested. Winifred lay, spurring +her fancy to account for all that puzzled her; and underlying her +thoughts was the man’s face and those strange words which she had heard +somewhere on the borders of sleep.</p> + +<p>She fancied she had seen the man somewhere <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>before. At last she recalled +the occasion, and almost laughed at the conceit. It was a picture of +Sitting Bull, and that eminent warrior had long since gone to the happy +hunting-grounds.</p> + +<p>Meantime, the murmur of voices in the back room had recommenced and was +going on. Then, towards morning, Winifred became aware that the murmur +had stopped, and soon afterward she heard the click of the lock of the +front door and a foot going down the front steps.</p> + +<p>Rising quickly, she crept to the window and looked out. Going from the +door down the utterly empty street she saw a man, a big swaggerer, with +something of the over-seas and the adventurer in his air. It was Ralph +“Voles,” the “brother” of Senator William Meiklejohn. But Winifred could +not distinguish his features, or she might have recognized the man she +had seen in her half-dreams, and who had said: “She must be taken out of +New York—she is the image of her mother.”</p> + +<p>Voles had hardly quitted the place before a street-car conductor, who +had taken temporary lodgings the previous evening in a house opposite, +hurried out into the coldness of the hour before dawn. He seemed pleased +at the necessity of going to work thus early.</p> + +<p>“Oh, boy!” he said softly. “I’m glad there’s somethin’ doin’ at last. I +was getting that sleepy. I could hardly keep me eyes open!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p><p>When Detective Clancy came to the Bureau a few hours later he found a +memorandum to the effect that a Mr. Ralph V. Voles, of Chicago, stopping +at a high-grade hotel in Fifth Avenue, had dined with Rachel Craik in a +quiet restaurant, had parted from her, and met her again, evidently by +appointment. The two had entered the house in One Hundred and Twelfth +Street separately shortly before midnight, and Voles returned to his +hotel at four o’clock in the morning.</p> + +<p>Clancy shook his head waggishly.</p> + +<p>“Who’d have thought it of you, Rachel?” he cackled. “And, now that I’ve +seen <i>you</i>, what sort of weird specimen can Mr. Ralph V. Voles, of +Chicago, be? I’ll look him up!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>THE FLIGHT</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">C</span>arshaw and Fowle enjoyed, let us say, a short but almost triumphal +march to the nearest police-station. Their escort of loafers and small +boys grew quickly in numbers and enthusiasm. It became known that the +arrest was made in East One Hundred and Twelfth Street, and that street +had suddenly become famous. The lively inhabitants of the East Side do +not bother their heads about grammatical niceties, so the gulf between +“the yacht murder” and “the yacht murderers” was easily bridged. The +connection was clear. Two men in a boat, and two men in the grip of the +law! It needed only Fowle’s ensanguined visage to complete the circle of +reasoning. Consciousness of this ill-omened popularity infuriated +Carshaw and alarmed Fowle. When they arrived at the precinct +station-house each was inclined to wish he had never seen or heard of +Winifred Bartlett!</p> + +<p>Their treatment by the official in charge only added fuel to the flame. +The patrolman explained that “these two were fighting about the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>girl +who lives in that house in East One Hundred and Twelfth,” and this vague +statement seemed all-sufficient. The sergeant entered their names and +addresses. He went to the telephone and came back.</p> + +<p>“Sit there!” he said authoritatively, and they sat there, Carshaw trying +to take an interest in a “drunk” who was brought in, and Fowle +alternately feeling the sore lump at the back of his head and the sorer +cartilage of his nose. After waiting half an hour Carshaw protested, but +the sergeant assured him that “a man from the Bureau” was <i>en route</i> and +would appear presently. At last Clancy came in. That is why he was “out” +when Senator Meiklejohn inquired for him.</p> + +<p>“H’lo!” he cried when he set eyes on Fowle. “My foreman bookbinder! Your +folio looks somewhat battered!”</p> + +<p>“Glad it’s you, Mr. Clancy,” snuffled Fowle. “You can tell these cops—”</p> + +<p>“Suppose <i>you</i> tell me,” broke in the detective, with a glance at +Carshaw.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Fowle, speak up,” said Carshaw. “You’ve a ready tongue. Explain +your fall from grace.”</p> + +<p>“There’s nothing to it,” growled Fowle. “I know the girl, an’ asked her +to come with me this evening. She’d been fired by the firm, an’—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p><p>“Ah! Who fired her?” Clancy’s inquiry sounded most matter-of-fact.</p> + +<p>“The boss, of course.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Well—this newspaper stuff. He didn’t like it.”</p> + +<p>“He told you so?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. That is—the department is a bit crowded. He—er—asked me—Well, +we reckoned we could do without her.”</p> + +<p>“I see. Go on.”</p> + +<p>“So I just came up-town, meanin’ to talk things over, an’ find her a new +job, but she took it all wrong.”</p> + +<p>Clancy whirled around on Carshaw. Evidently he had heard enough from +Fowle.</p> + +<p>“And you?” he snapped.</p> + +<p>“I know nothing of either party,” was the calm answer. “I couldn’t help +overhearing this fellow insulting a lady, so put him where he +belongs—in the gutter.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Clancy,” interrupted the sergeant, “you’re wanted on the phone.”</p> + +<p>The detective was detained a good five minutes. When he returned he +walked straight up to Fowle.</p> + +<p>“Quit!” he said, with a scornful and sidelong jerk of the head. “You got +what you wanted. Get out, and leave Miss Bartlett alone in the future.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p><p>Fowle needed no second bidding.</p> + +<p>“As for me?” inquired Carshaw, with arched eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“May I drop you in Madison Avenue?” said Clancy. Once the police car was +speeding down-town he grew chatty.</p> + +<p>“Wish I had seen you trimming Fowle,” he said pleasantly. “I’ve a notion +he had a finger in the pie of Winifred Bartlett’s dismissal.”</p> + +<p>“It may be.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw’s tone was indifferent. Just then he was aware only of a very +definite resentment. His mother would be waiting for dinner, and +alarmed, like all mothers who own motoring sons. The detective looked +surprised, but made his point, for all that.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you’ll be meeting that very charming young lady again one of +these days,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I? Why? Most unlikely.”</p> + +<p>“Not so. Do you floor every man you see annoying a woman in the +streets?”</p> + +<p>“Well—er—”</p> + +<p>“Just so. Winifred interested you. She interests me. I mean to keep an +eye on her, a friendly eye. If you and she come together again, let me +know.”</p> + +<p>“Really—”</p> + +<p>“No wonder you are ready with a punch. You won’t let a man speak. +Listen, now. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>patrolman held you and Fowle because he had orders to +arrest, on any pretext or none, any one who seemed to have the remotest +connection with the house in One Hundred and Twelfth Street, where +Winifred Bartlett lives with her aunt. You’ve read of the Yacht Mystery +and the lassoing of Ronald Tower?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Tower are my close friends.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly. Now, Rachel Craik, Winifred’s aunt, was released from custody +an hour ago. She would have been charged with complicity in the supposed +murder of Tower. I say ‘supposed’ because there was no murder. Mr. Tower +has returned home, safe and sound—”</p> + +<p>“By Jove, that’s good news! But what a strange business it is! My mother +was with Helen Tower this morning, trying to console her.”</p> + +<p>“Good! Now, perhaps, you’ll sit up and take notice. The truth is that +the mystery of this outrage on Tower is not—cannot be—of recent +origin. I’m sure it is bound up with some long-forgotten occurrence, +possibly a crime, in which the secret of the birth and parentage of +Winifred Bartlett is involved. That girl is no more the niece of her +‘aunt’ than I am her nephew.”</p> + +<p>“But one is usually the niece of one’s aunt.”</p> + +<p>“I think you need a cigarette,” said Clancy dryly. “Organisms accustomed +to poisonous <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>stimulants often wilt when deprived too suddenly of such +harmful tonics.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw edged around slightly and looked at this quaint detective.</p> + +<p>“I apologize,” he said contritely. “But the crowd got my goat when it +jeered at me as a murderer. And the long wait was annoying, too.”</p> + +<p>Clancy, however, was not accustomed to having his confidences slighted. +He was ruffled.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps what I was going to say is hardly worth while,” he snapped. “It +was this. If, by chance, your acquaintance with Winifred Bartlett goes +beyond to-day’s meeting, and you learn anything of her life and history +which sounds strange in your ears, you may be rendering her a far +greater service than by flattening Fowle’s nose if you bring your +knowledge straight to the Bureau.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll not forget, Mr. Clancy. But let me explain. It will be a miracle +if I meet Miss Bartlett again.”</p> + +<p>“It’ll be a miracle if you don’t,” retorted the other.</p> + +<p>So there was a passing whiff of misunderstanding between these two, and, +like every other trivial phase of a strange record, it was destined to +bulk large in the imminent hazards threatening one lone girl. Thus, +Clancy ceased being communicative. He might have referred <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>guardedly to +Senator Meiklejohn. But he did not. Oddly enough, his temperament was +singularly alike to Carshaw’s, and that is why sparks flew.</p> + +<p>The heart, however, is deceitful, and Fate is stronger than an irritated +young man whose conventional ideals have been besmirched by being +marched through the streets in custody. The garage in which Carshaw’s +automobile was housed temporarily was located near One Hundred and +Twelfth Street. He went there on the following afternoon to see the +machine stripped and find out the exact extent of the damage. Yet he +passed Winifred’s house resolutely, without even looking at it. He +returned that way at half past six, and there, on the corner, was posted +Fowle—Fowle, with a swollen nose! There also was their special +patrolman, with an eye for both!</p> + +<p>The mere sight of Fowle prowling in unwholesome quest stirred up wrath +in Carshaw’s mind; and the heart, always subtle and self-deceiving, +whispered elatedly: “Here you have an excuse for renewing an +acquaintance which you wished to make yourself believe you did not care +to renew.”</p> + +<p>He walked straight to the door of the brown-stone house and rang. Then +he rapped. There was no answer. When he had rapped a second time he +walked away, but he had not gone far <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>when he was almost startled to +find himself face to face with Winifred coming home from making some +purchases, with a bag on her arm.</p> + +<p>He lifted his hat. Winifred, with a vivid blush, hesitated and stopped. +From the corner Fowle stared at the meeting, and made up his mind that +it was really a rendezvous. The patrolman thought so, too, but he had +new orders as to these two.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, Miss Bartlett,” said Carshaw. “Ah, you see I know your name +better than you know mine. Mine is Carshaw—Rex Carshaw, if I may +introduce myself. I have this moment tapped at your door, in the hope of +seeing you.”</p> + +<p>“Why so?” asked Winifred.</p> + +<p>“Do you wish to forget the incident of yesterday evening?”</p> + +<p>“No; hence my stopping to hear what you have to say.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I am here to see to the repairing of my car—not in the +hope of seeing <i>you</i>, you know”—Carshaw said this with a twinkle in his +eye; “though, perhaps, if the truth were known, a little in that hope, +too. Then, there at the corner, I find the very man who molested you +last night looking at your house, and this spurred me to knock in order +to ask a favor. Was I wrong?”</p> + +<p>“What favor, sir?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p><p>“That, if ever you have the least cause to be displeased with the +conduct of that man in the future, you will consider it as <i>my</i> +business, and as an insult offered to <i>me</i>—as it will be after the +trouble of last night—and that you will let me know of the matter by +letter. Here is my address.”</p> + +<p>Winifred hesitated, then took the proffered card.</p> + +<p>“But—” she faltered.</p> + +<p>“No; promise me that. It really is my business now, you know.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot write to you. I—don’t—know you.”</p> + +<p>“Then I shall only have to stand sentinel a certain number of hours +every day before your house, to see that all goes well. You can’t +prevent me doing that, can you? The streets are free to everybody.”</p> + +<p>“You are only making fun.”</p> + +<p>“That I am not. See how stern and solemn I look. I shall stand sentinel +and gaze up at your window on the chance of seeing your face. Will you +show yourself sometimes to comfort me?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure you will.”</p> + +<p>“I’d better promise to write the letter—”</p> + +<p>“There now, that’s a point for me!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t make me laugh.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p><p>“Point number two—for you have been crying, Miss Winifred!”</p> + +<p>“I?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’m sorry to say. Oh, I only wish—”</p> + +<p>“How do you know my name?”</p> + +<p>“What, the ‘Winifred’ and the ‘Bartlett?’ Winifred was always one of my +favorite names for a girl, and you look the name all through. Well, +Fowle and I were taken to the station-house last night, and in the +course of the inquiry I heard your name, of course.”</p> + +<p>“Did they do anything to you for knocking down Mr. Fowle?”</p> + +<p>“No, no. Of course, they didn’t do anything to me. In fact, they seemed +rather pleased. Were you anxious, then, about me?”</p> + +<p>“I was naturally anxious, since it was I who—”</p> + +<p>“Ah, now, don’t spoil it by giving a reason. You were anxious, that is +enough; let me be proud, as a recompense. And now I want to ask you two +favors, one of them a great favor. The first is to tell me all you know +about this Fowle. And the second—why you look so sad and have been +crying. May we walk on a little way together, and then you will tell +me?”</p> + +<p>They walked on together, and for a longer time than either of them +realized. Winifred was rather bewitched. Carshaw was something of a +revelation to her in an elusive quality of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>mind or manner which she in +her heart could only call “charming.”</p> + +<p>She spoke of life at Brown, Son & Brown’s, in Greenwich Village. She +even revealed that she had been crying because of dark clouds which had +gathered round her of a sudden, doubts and fears for which she had no +name, and because of a sort of dream the previous night in which she had +seen a man’s Indian face, and heard a hushed, grim voice say: “She must +be taken out of New York—she is the image of her mother.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! And your mother—who and where is she?” asked Carshaw.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I can’t tell. I never knew her,” answered Winifred +droopingly, with a shake of her head.</p> + +<p>“And as to your father?”</p> + +<p>“I have no father. I have only my aunt.”</p> + +<p>“Winifred,” said Carshaw solemnly, “will you consider me your friend +from this night?”</p> + +<p>“You are kind. I trust you,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>“A friend is a person who acts for another with the same zeal as for +himself, and who has the privilege of doing whatever seems good to him +for that other. Am I to regard myself as thus privileged?”</p> + +<p>Winifred, who had never flirted with any young man in her life, fancied +she knew nothing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>about the rules of the game. She was confused. She +veiled her eyes.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know—perhaps—we shall see,” she stammered. Which was not so +bad for a novice.</p> + +<p>They parted with a warm hand-shake. Ten minutes later Carshaw was in a +telephone booth with Clancy’s ear at the other end of the wire.</p> + +<p>“I have just had a chat with Miss Bartlett,” he began.</p> + +<p>“Tut, tut! How passing strange!” cackled the detective. “The merest +chance in the world, I’m sure.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. The miracle came off, so you’re entitled to your gibe. But I have +news for you. It’s about a dream and a face.”</p> + +<p>“Gee! Throw the picture on the screen, Mr. Carshaw.”</p> + +<p>Then Carshaw spoke, and Clancy listened and bade him work more miracles, +even though he might have to report such phenomena to the Psychical +Research Society. Next morning Carshaw, a hard man when offended, +visited Brown, Son & Brown, who had executed a large rebinding order for +his father’s library, and Fowle was speedily out of a job. The +ex-foreman knew the source of his misfortune, and vowed vengeance.</p> + +<p>In the evening, about half past six, Carshaw was back in One Hundred and +Twelfth Street. There had been no promise of a meeting between <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>him and +Winifred—no promise, but, by those roundabout means by which people in +sympathy understand each other, it was perfectly well understood that +they would happen to meet again that night.</p> + +<p>He waited in the street, but Winifred did not appear. The brown-stone +house was in total darkness. An hour passed, and the waiting was weary, +for it was drizzling. But Carshaw waited, being a persistent young man. +At last, after seven, a pang of fear shot through his breast. He +remembered the girl’s curious account of the dream-man.</p> + +<p>He determined to knock at the door, relying on his wits to invent some +excuse if any stranger opened. But to his repeated loud knockings there +came no answer. The house seemed abandoned. Winifred was gone! Even a +friendly patrolman took pity on his drawn face and drew near.</p> + +<p>“No use, sir!” he confided. “They’ve skipped. But don’t let on <i>I</i> told +you. Call up the Detective Bureau!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>CARSHAW TAKES UP THE CHASE</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">B</span>usy, Mr. Carshaw?” inquired some one when an impatient young man got +in touch with Mulberry Street after an exasperating delay.</p> + +<p>“Not too busy to try and defeat the scoundrels who are plotting against +a defenseless girl,” he cried.</p> + +<p>“Well, come down-town. We’ll expect you in half an hour.”</p> + +<p>“But, Mr. Clancy asked me—”</p> + +<p>“Better come,” said the voice, and Carshaw, though fuming, bowed to +authority.</p> + +<p>It is good for the idle rich that they should be brought occasionally +into sharp contact with life’s realities. During his twenty-seven years +Rex Carshaw had hardly ever known what it meant to have a purpose +balked. Luckily for him, he was of good stock and had been well reared.</p> + +<p>The instinct of sport, fostered by triumphs at Harvard, had developed an +innate quality of self-reliance and given him a physical hardihood which +revelled in conquest over difficulties. Each winter, instead of lounging +in flannels at <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>the Poinciana, he was out with guides and dogs in the +Northwest after moose and caribou.</p> + +<p>He preferred polo to tennis. He would rather pass a fortnight in +oilskins with the rough and ready fisher-folk of the Maine coast than +don the white ducks and smart caps of his wealthy yachting friends. In a +word, society and riches had not spoiled him. But he did like to have +his own way, and the suspicion that he might be thwarted in his desire +to help Winifred Bartlett cut him now like a sword. So he chafed against +the seeming slowness of the Subway, and fuel was added to the fire when +he was kept waiting five minutes on arriving at police headquarters.</p> + +<p>He found Clancy closeted with a big man who had just lighted a fat +cigar, and this fact in itself betokened official callousness as to +Winifred’s fate. Hot words leaped from his lips.</p> + +<p>“Why have you allowed Miss Bartlett to be spirited away? Is there no law +in this State, nor any one who cares whether or not the law is obeyed? +She’s gone—taken by force. I’m certain of it.”</p> + +<p>“And we also are certain of it, Mr. Carshaw,” said Steingall placidly. +“Sit down. Do you smoke? You’ll find these cigars in good shape,” and he +pushed forward a box.</p> + +<p>“But, is nothing being done?” Nevertheless, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>Carshaw sat down and took a +cigar. He had sufficient sense to see that bluster was useless and only +meant loss of dignity.</p> + +<p>“Sure. That’s why I asked you to come along.”</p> + +<p>“You see,” put in Clancy, “you short-circuited the connections the night +before last, so we let you cool your heels in the rain this evening. We +want no ‘first I will and then I won’t’ helpers in this business.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw met those beady brown eyes steadily. “I deserved that,” he said. +“Now, perhaps, you’ll forget a passing mood. I have come to like +Winifred.”</p> + +<p>Clancy stared suddenly at a clock.</p> + +<p>“Tick, tick!” he said. “Eight fifteen. <i>Nom d’un pipe</i>, now I +understand.”</p> + +<p>For the first time the true explanation of Senator Meiklejohn’s covert +glance at the clock the previous morning had occurred to him. That wily +gentleman wanted Winifred out of the house for her day’s work before the +police interviewed Rachel Craik. He had fought hard to gain even a few +hours in the effort to hinder inquiry.</p> + +<p>“What’s bitten you, Frog?” inquired the chief.</p> + +<p>Probably—who knows?—but there was some reasonable likelihood that the +Senator’s name might have reached Carshaw’s ears had not the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>telephone +bell jangled. Steingall picked up the receiver.</p> + +<p>“Long-distance call. This is it, I guess,” and his free hand enjoined +silence. The talk was brief and one-sided. Steingall smiled as he +replaced the instrument.</p> + +<p>“Now, we’re ready for you, Mr. Carshaw,” he said, lolling back in his +chair again. “The Misses Craik and Bartlett have arrived for the night +at the Maples Inn, Fairfield, Connecticut. Thanks to you, we knew that +some one was desperately anxious that Winifred should leave New York. +Thanks to you, too, she has gone. Neither her aunt nor the other +interested people cared to have her strolling in Central Park with an +eligible and fairly intelligent bachelor like Mr. Rex Carshaw.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw’s lips parted eagerly, but a gesture stayed him.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Of course, I know you’re straining at the leash, but please don’t +go off on false trails. You never lose time casting about for the true +line. This is the actual position of affairs: A man known as Ralph V. +Voles, assisted by an amiable person named Mick the Wolf—he was so +christened in Leadville, where they sum up a tough accurately—hauled +Mr. Ronald Tower into the river. For some reason best known to himself, +Mr. Tower treats the matter rather as a joke, so the police can <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>carry +it no further. But Voles is associated with Rachel Craik, and was in her +house during several hours on the night of the river incident and the +night following. It is almost safe to assume that he counseled the +girl’s removal from New York because she is ‘the image of her mother.’ +One asks why this very natural fact should render Winifred Bartlett an +undesirable resident of New York. There is a ready answer. She might be +recognized. Such recognition would be awkward for somebody. But the girl +has lived in almost total seclusion. She is nineteen. If she is so like +her mother as to be recognized, her mother must have been a person of no +small consequence, a lady known to and admired by a very large circle of +friends. The daughter of any other woman, presumably long since dead, +who was not of social importance, could hardly be recognized. You follow +this?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly.” Carshaw was beginning to remodel his opinion of the Bureau +generally, and of its easy-going, genial-looking chief in particular.</p> + +<p>“This fear of recognition, with its certain consequences,” went on +Steingall, pausing to flick the ash off his cigar, “is the dominant +factor in Winifred’s career as directed by Rachel Craik. This woman, +swayed by some lingering shreds of decent thought, had the child well +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>educated, but the instant she approaches maturity, Winifred is set to +earn a living in a bookbinding factory. Why? Social New York does not +visit wholesale trade houses, nor travel on the elevated during rush +hours. But it does go to the big stores and fashionable milliners where +a pretty, well proportioned girl can obtain employment readily. +Moreover, Rachel Craik would never ‘hear of’ the stage, though Winifred +can sing, and believes she could dance. And how prompt recognition might +be in a theater. It all comes to this, Mr. Carshaw: the Bureau’s hands +are tied, but it can and will assist an outsider, whom it trusts, who +means rescuing Miss Bartlett from the exile which threatens her. We have +looked you over carefully, and think you are trustworthy—”</p> + +<p>“The Lord help you if you’re not!” broke in Clancy. “I like the girl. It +will be a bad day for the man who works her evil.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw’s eyes clashed with Clancy’s, as rapiers rasp in thrust and +parry. From that instant the two men became firm friends, for the young +millionaire said quietly:</p> + +<p>“I have her promise to call for help on me, first, Mr. Clancy.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll follow her to Fairfield then?” and Steingall sat up suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Please advise me.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the way to talk. I wish there was a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>heap more boys like you +among the Four Hundred. But I can’t advise you. I’m an official. +Suppose, however, I were a young gentleman of leisure who wanted to +befriend a deserving young lady in Winifred Bartlett’s very peculiar +circumstances. I’d persuade her to leave a highly undesirable ‘aunt,’ +and strike out for herself. I’d ask my mother, or some other lady of +good standing, to take the girl under her wing, and see that she was +cared for until a place was found in some business or profession suited +to her talents. And that’s as far as I care to go at this sitting. As +for the ways and means, in these days of fast cars and dare-devil +drivers who are in daily danger of losing their licenses—”</p> + +<p>“By gad, I’ll do it,” and Carshaw’s emphatic fist thumped the table.</p> + +<p>“Steady! This Voles is a tremendous fellow. In a personal encounter you +would stand no chance. And he’s the sort that shoots at sight. Mick the +Wolf, too, is a bad man from the wild and woolly West. The type exists, +even to-day. We have gunmen here in New York who’d clean up a whole +saloonful of modern cowboys. Voles and Mick are in Fairfield, but I’ve a +notion they’ll not stay in the same hotel as Winifred and her aunt. I +think, too, that they may lie low for a day or two. You’ll observe, of +course, that Rachel Craik, so poverty-stricken <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>that Winifred had to +earn eight dollars a week to eke out the housekeeping, can now afford to +travel and live in expensive hotels. All this means that Winifred ought +to be urged to break loose and come back to New York. The police will +protect her if she gives them the opportunity, but the law won’t let us +butt in between relatives, even supposed ones, without sufficient +justification. One last word—you must forget everything I’ve said.”</p> + +<p>“And another last word,” cried Clancy. “The Bureau is a regular old +woman for tittle-tattle. We listen to all sorts of gossip. Some of it is +real news.”</p> + +<p>“And, by jing, I was nearly omitting one bit of scandal,” said +Steingall. “It seems that Mick the Wolf and a fellow named Fowle met in +a corner saloon round about One Hundred and Twelfth Street the night +before last. They soon grew thick as thieves, and Fowle, it appears, +watched a certain young couple stroll off into the gloaming last night.”</p> + +<p>“Next time I happen on Fowle!” growled Carshaw.</p> + +<p>“You’ll leave him alone. Brains are better than brawn. Ask Clancy.”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing!” chuckled the little man. “Look at us two!”</p> + +<p>“Anyhow, I’d hate to have the combination working against me,” and with +this deft rejoinder <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>Carshaw hurried away to a garage where he was +known. At dawn he was hooting an open passage along the Boston Post Road +in a car which temporarily replaced his own damaged cruiser.</p> + +<p>Within three hours he was seated in the dining-room of the Maples Inn +and reading a newspaper. It was the off season, and the hotel contained +hardly any guests, but he had ascertained that Winifred and her aunt +were certainly there. For a long time, however, none but a couple of +German waiters broke his vigil, for this thing happened before the war. +One stout fellow went away. The other, a mere boy, remained and flecked +dust with a napkin, wondering, no doubt, why the motorist sat hours at +the table. At last, near noon, Rachel Craik, with a plaid shawl draped +around her angular shoulders, and Winifred, in a new dress of French +gray, came in.</p> + +<p>Winifred started and cast down her eyes on seeing who was there. +Carshaw, on his part, apparently had no eyes for her, but kept a look +over the top of his newspaper at Rachel Craik, to see whether she +recognized him, supposing it to be a fact that he had been seen with +Winifred. She seemed, however, hardly to be aware of his presence.</p> + +<p>The girl and the woman sat some distance from him—the room was +large—near a window, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>looking out, and anon exchanging a remark in +quiet voices. Then a lunch was brought into them, Carshaw meantime +buried in the newspaper except when he stole a glance at Winifred.</p> + +<p>His hope was that the woman would leave the girl alone, if only for one +minute, for he had a note ready to slip into Winifred’s hand, beseeching +her to meet him that evening at seven in the lane behind the church for +some talk “on a matter of high importance.”</p> + +<p>But fortune was against him. Rachel Craik, after her meal, sat again at +the window, took up some knitting, and plied needles like a slow +machine. The afternoon wore on. Finally, Carshaw rang to order his own +late lunch, and the German boy brought it in. He rose to go to table; +but, as if the mere act of rising spurred him to further action, he +walked straight to Winifred. The hours left him were few, and his +impatience had grown to the point of desperateness now. He bowed and +held out the paper, saying:</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you have not seen this morning’s newspaper?” At the same time +he presented her the note.</p> + +<p>Miss Craik was sitting two yards away, half-turned from Winifred, but at +this afternoon offer of the morning’s paper she glanced round fully at +Winifred, and saw, that as Winifred <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>took the newspaper, she tried to +grasp with it a note also which lay on it—tried, but failed, for the +note escaped, slipped down on Winifred’s lap, and lay there exposed.</p> + +<p>Miss Craik’s eyebrows lifted a little, but she did not cease her +knitting. Winifred’s face was painfully red, and in another moment pale. +Carshaw was not often at his wits’ end, but now for some seconds he +stood embarrassed.</p> + +<p>Rachel Craik, however, saved him by saying quickly: “The gentleman has +dropped something in your lap, Winifred.” Whereupon Winifred handed back +the unfortunate note.</p> + +<p>What was he to do now? If he wrote to Winifred through the ordinary +channels of the hotel she might, indeed, soon receive the letter, but +the risks of this course were many and obvious. He ate, puzzling his +brains, spurring all his power of invention. The time for action was +growing short.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he noticed the German boy, and had a thought. He could speak +German well, and, guessing that Rachel Craik probably did not understand +a word of it, he said in a natural voice to the boy in German:</p> + +<p>“Fond of American dollars, boy?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Ja, mein Herr</i>,” answered the boy.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to give you five.”</p> + +<p>“You are very good, <i>mein Herr</i>,” said the boy, “beautiful thanks!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p><p>“But you have to earn them. Will you do just what I tell you, without +asking for any reason?”</p> + +<p>“If I can, <i>mein Herr</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing very difficult. You have only to go over yonder by that chair +where I was sitting, throw yourself suddenly on the floor, and begin to +kick and wriggle as though you had a fit. Keep it up for two minutes, +and I will give you not five but ten. Will you do this?”</p> + +<p>“From the heart willingly, <i>mein Herr</i>,” answered the boy, who had a +solemn face and a complete lack of humor.</p> + +<p>“Wait, then, three minutes, and then—suddenly—do it.”</p> + +<p>The three minutes passed in silence; no sound in the room, save the +clicking of Carshaw’s knife and fork, and the ply of Rachel Craik’s +knitting-needles. Then the boy lounged away to the farther end of the +room; and suddenly, with a bump, he was on the floor and in the promised +fit.</p> + +<p>“Halloo!” cried Carshaw, while from both Winifred and Rachel came little +cries of alarm—for a fit has the same effect as a mouse on the nerves +of women.</p> + +<p>“He’s in a fit!” screamed the aunt.</p> + +<p>“Please do something for him!” cried Winifred to Carshaw, with a face of +distress. But he would not stir from his seat. The boy still <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>kicked and +writhed, lying on his face and uttering blood-curdling sounds. This was +easy. He had only to make bitter plaint in the German tongue.</p> + +<p>“Oh, aunt,” said Winifred, half risen, yet hesitating for fear, “do help +that poor fellow!”</p> + +<p>Whereupon Miss Craik leaped up, caught the water-jug from the table with +a rather withering look at Carshaw, and hurried toward the boy. Winifred +went after her and Carshaw went after Winifred.</p> + +<p>The older woman turned the boy over, bent down, dipped her fingers in +the water, and sprinkled his forehead. Winifred stood a little behind +her, bending also. Near her, too, Carshaw bent over the now quiet form +of the boy.</p> + +<p>A piece of paper touched Winifred’s palm—the note again. This time her +fingers closed on it and quickly stole into her pocket.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE TWO CARS</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>t is highly improper on my part to come here and meet you,” said +Winifred. “What can it be that you have to say to me of such ‘high +importance’?”</p> + +<p>The two were in the lane behind the church, at seven that same evening. +Winifred, on some pretext, had escaped the watchful eyes of Rachel +Craik, or fancied that she had, and came hurriedly to the waiting +Carshaw. She was all aflutter with expectancy not untinged by fear, she +knew not of what. The nights were beginning to darken early, and it was +gloomy that evening, for the sky was covered with clouds and a little +drizzle was falling.</p> + +<p>“You are not to think that there is the least hint of impropriety about +the matter,” Carshaw assured her. “Understand, please, Winifred, that +this is no lovers’ meeting, but a business one, on which your whole +future life depends. You cannot suppose that I have followed you to +Fairfield for nothing.”</p> + +<p>“How could you possibly know that I was here?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p><p>“From the police.”</p> + +<p>“The police <i>again</i>? What a strange thing!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, a strange thing, and yet not so strange. They are keenly +interested in you and your movements, for your good. And I, of course, +still more so.”</p> + +<p>“You are wonderfully good to care. But, tell me quickly, I cannot stay +ten minutes. I think my aunt suspects something. She already knows about +the note dropped to-day into my lap.”</p> + +<p>“And about the boy in the fit. Does she suspect that, too?”</p> + +<p>“What, was that a ruse? Good gracious, how artful you must be! I’m +afraid of you—”</p> + +<p>“Endlessly artful for your sake, Winifred.”</p> + +<p>“You are kind. But tell me quickly.”</p> + +<p>“Winifred, you are in danger, from which there is only one way of escape +for you—namely, absolute trust in me. Pray understand that the dream in +which you heard some one say, ‘She must be taken away from New York’ was +no dream. You are here in order to be taken. This may be the first stage +of a long journey. Understand also that there is no bond of duty which +forces you to go against your will, for the shrewdest men in the New +York police have reason to think you are not who you imagine you are, +and that the woman you call your aunt is no relative of yours.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p><p>“What reason have they?” asked Winifred.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care—I don’t know, they have not told me. But I believe them, +and I want you to believe me. The persons who have charge of your +destiny are not normal persons—more or less they have done, or are +connected with wrong. There is no doubt about that. The police know it, +though they cannot yet drag that wrong into the light. Do you credit +what I say?”</p> + +<p>“It is all very strange.”</p> + +<p>“It is <i>true</i>. That is the point. Have you, by the way, ever seen a man +called Voles?”</p> + +<p>“Voles? No.”</p> + +<p>“Yet that man at this moment is somewhere near you. He came in the same +train with you from New York. He is always near you. He is the most +intimate associate of your aunt. Think now, and tell me whether it is +not a disturbing thing that you never saw this man face to face?”</p> + +<p>“Most disturbing, if what you say is so.”</p> + +<p>“But suppose I tell you what I firmly believe—that you <i>have</i> seen him; +that it was <i>his</i> face which bent over you in your half-sleep the other +night, and his voice which you heard?”</p> + +<p>“I always thought that it was no dream,” said Winifred. “It was—not a +nice face.”</p> + +<p>“And remember, Winifred,” urged Carshaw <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>earnestly, “that to-day and +to-morrow are your last chances. You are about to be taken far +away—possibly to France or England, as surely as you see those clouds. +True, if you go, I shall go after you.”</p> + +<p>“You?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I. But, if you go, I cannot be certain how far I may be able to +defend and rescue you there, as I can in America. I know nothing of +foreign laws, and those who have you in their power do. On that field +they may easily beat me. So now is your chance, Winifred.”</p> + +<p>“But what am I to do?” she asked in a scared tone, frightened at last by +the sincerity blazing from his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Necessity has no rules of propriety,” he answered. “I have a car here. +You should come with me this very night to New York. Once back there, it +is only what my interest in you gives me the right to expect that you +will consent to use my purse for a short while, till you find suitable +employment.”</p> + +<p>Winifred covered her face and began to cry. “Oh, I couldn’t!” she +sobbed.</p> + +<p>“Don’t cry,” said Carshaw tenderly. “You must, you know, since it is the +only way. You cry because you do not trust me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I do. But what a thing it is that you propose! To break with all my +past on a sudden. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>I hardly even know you; last week I had not seen +you—”</p> + +<p>“There, that is mistrust. I know you as well as if I had always known +you. In fact, I always did, in a sense. Please don’t cry. Say that you +will come with me to-night. It will be the best piece of work that you +ever did for yourself, and you will always thank me for having persuaded +you.”</p> + +<p>“But not to-night! I must have time to reflect, at least.”</p> + +<p>“Then, when?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps to-morrow night. I don’t know. I must think it over first in +all its bearings. To-morrow morning I will leave a letter in the office, +telling you—”</p> + +<p>“Well, if you insist on the delay. But it is dangerous, Winifred—it is +horribly dangerous!”</p> + +<p>“I can’t help that. How could a girl run away in that fashion?”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, to-morrow night at eleven, precisely. I shall be at the end +of this lane in my car, if your letter in the morning says ‘Yes.’ Is +that understood?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Let me warn you against bringing anything with you—any clothes or a +grip. Just steal out of the inn as you are. And I shall be just there at +the corner—at eleven.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p><p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“I may not have the chance of speaking to you again before—”</p> + +<p>But Carshaw’s pleading stopped short; from the near end of the lane a +tall form entered it—Rachel Craik. She had followed Winifred from the +hotel, suspecting that all was not well—had followed her, lost her, and +now had refound her. She walked sedately, with an inscrutable face, +toward the spot where the two were talking. The moment Carshaw saw this +woman of ill omen he understood that all was lost, unless he acted with +bewildering promptness, and quickly he whispered in Winifred’s ear:</p> + +<p>“It must be to-night or never! Decide now. ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Winifred, in a voice so low that he could hardly hear.</p> + +<p>“At eleven to-night?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>Rachel Craik was now up to them. She was in a vile temper, but contrived +to curb it.</p> + +<p>“What is the meaning of this, Winifred? And who is this gentleman?” she +said.</p> + +<p>Winifred, from the habit of a lifetime, stood in no small awe of that +austere woman. All the blood fled from the girl’s face. She could only +say brokenly:</p> + +<p>“I am coming, aunt,” and went following with a dejected air a yard +behind her captor. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>In this order they walked till they arrived at the +door of the Maples Inn, neither having uttered a single word to the +other. There Miss Craik halted abruptly. “Go to your room,” she +muttered. “I’m ashamed of you. Sneaking out at night to meet a strange +man! No kitchen-wench could have behaved worse.”</p> + +<p>Winifred had no answer to that taunt. She could not explain her motives. +Indeed, she would have failed lamentably had she attempted it. All she +knew was that life had suddenly turned topsy-turvy. She distrusted her +aunt, the woman to whom she seemed to owe duty and respect, and was +inclined to trust a young man whom she had met three times in all. But +she was gentle and soft-hearted. Perhaps, if this Mr. Rex Carshaw, with +his earnest eyes and wheedling voice, could have a talk with “aunty,” +his queer suspicions—so oddly borne out by events—might be dissipated.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry if I seem to have done wrong,” she said, laying a timid hand +on Rachel Craik’s arm. “If you would only tell me a little, dear. Why +have we left New York? Why—”</p> + +<p>“Do you want to see me in jail?” came the harsh whisper.</p> + +<p>“No. Oh, no. But—”</p> + +<p>“Obey me, then! Remain in your room till I send for you. I’m in danger, +and you, you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>foolish girl, are actually in league with my enemies. Go!”</p> + +<p>Winifred sped through the porch, and hied her to a window in her room on +the first floor which commanded a view of the main street. She could see +neither Carshaw nor Aunt Rachel, the one having determined to lie low +for a few hours, and the other being hidden from sight already as she +hastened through the rain to the small inn where Voles and Mick the Wolf +were located.</p> + +<p>These worthies were out. The proprietor said they had hired a car and +gone to Bridgeport. Miss Craik could only wait, and she sat in the +lobby, prim and quiet, the picture of resignation, not betraying by a +look or gesture the passions of anger, apprehension, and impatience +which raged in her breast.</p> + +<p>Voles did not come. An hour passed; eight struck, then nine. Once the +word “carousing”! passed Miss Rachel’s lips with an intense bitterness; +but, on the whole, she sat with a stiff back, patient as stone.</p> + +<p>Then after ten there came the hum and whir of an automobile driven at +high speed through the rain-sodden main street. It stopped outside the +inn. A minute later the gallant body of Voles entered, cigar in his +mouth, and a look of much champagne in his eyes.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p><p>“What, Rachel, girl, you here!” he said in his offhand way.</p> + +<p>“Are you sober?” asked Rachel, rising quickly.</p> + +<p>“Sober? Never been really soused in my life! What’s up?”</p> + +<p>He dropped a huge paw roughly on her shoulder, and her hard eyes +softened as she looked at his face and splendid frame, for Ralph “Voles” +was Rachel Craik’s one weakness.</p> + +<p>“What’s the trouble?” he went on, seeing that her lips were twitching.</p> + +<p>“You should have been here,” she snapped. “Everything may be lost. A man +is down here after Winifred, and I’ve caught her talking to him in +secret.”</p> + +<p>“A cop?” and Voles glanced around the otherwise deserted lobby.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know—most probably. Or he may be that same man who was walking +with her on Wednesday night in Central Park. Anyway, this afternoon he +tried to hand her a note in offering her a newspaper. The note fell, and +I saw it. Afterward he managed to get it to her in some way, though I +never for a moment let her out of my sight; and they met about seven +o’clock behind the church.”</p> + +<p>“The little cat! She beat you to it, Rachel!”</p> + +<p>“There is no time for talk, Ralph. That man <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>will take her from us, and +then woe to you, to William, to us all. Things come out; they do, they +do—the deepest secrets! Man, man—oh, rouse yourself, sober yourself, +and act! We must be far from this place before morning.”</p> + +<p>“No more trains from here—”</p> + +<p>“You could hire a car for your own amusement. Rush her off in that. +Snatch her away to Boston. We may catch a liner to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“But we can’t have her seeing us!”</p> + +<p>“We can’t help that. It is dark; she won’t see your face. Let us be +gone. We must have been watched, or how could that man have found us +out? Ralph! Don’t you understand? You must do something.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s this spy you gab of? I’ll—”</p> + +<p>“This is not the Mexican border. You can’t shoot here. The man is not +the point, but the girl. She must be gotten away at once.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing easier. Off, now to the hotel, and be ready in half an hour. +I’ll bring the car around.”</p> + +<p>Rachel Craik wanted no further discussion. She reached the Maples Inn in +a flurry of little runs. Before the door she saw two glaring lights, the +lamps of Carshaw’s automobile. It was not far from eleven. Even as she +approached the hotel, Carshaw got in and drove down the street. He drew +up on a patch of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>grass by the roadside at the end of the lane behind +the church. Soon after this he heard a clock strike eleven.</p> + +<p>His eyes peered down the darkness of the lane to see Winifred coming, as +she had promised. It was still drizzling slightly—the night was heavy, +stagnant and silent. Winifred did not come, and Carshaw’s brows puckered +with care and foreboding. A quarter of an hour passed, but no light +tread gladdened his ear. Fairfield lay fast asleep.</p> + +<p>Carshaw could no longer sit still. He paced restlessly about the wet +grass to ease his anxious heart. And so another quarter of an hour wore +slowly. Then the sound of a fast-moving car broke the silence. Down the +road a pair of dragon-eyes blazed. The car came like the chariots of +Sennacherib, in reckless flight. Soon it was upon him. He drew back out +of the road toward his own racer.</p> + +<p>Though rather surprised at this urgent flight he had no suspicion that +Winifred might be the cause of it. As the car dashed past he clearly saw +on the front seat two men, and in the tonneau he made out the forms of +two women. The faces of any of the quartet were wholly merged in speed +and the night, but some white object fluttered in the swirl of air and +fell forlornly in the road, dropping swiftly in its final plunge, like a +stricken bird. He darted forward and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>picked up a lady’s handkerchief. +Then he knew! Winifred was being reft from him again. He leaped to his +own car, started the engine, turned with reckless haste, and in a few +seconds was hot in chase.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>THE PURSUIT</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he two automobiles rushed along the Boston Post Road, heading for +Bridgeport. The loud rivalry of their straining engines awoke many a +wayside dweller, and brought down maledictions on the heads of all +midnight joy-riders.</p> + +<p>Carshaw knew the road well, and his car was slightly superior to the +other in speed. His hastily evolved plan was to hold the kidnappers +until they were in the main street of Bridgeport. There he could dash +ahead, block further progress, risking a partial collision if necessary, +and refer the instant quarrel to the police, bidding them verify his +version of the dispute by telephoning New York.</p> + +<p>He could only hope that Winifred would bear him out as against her +“aunt,” and he felt sure that Voles and his fellow-adventurer dare not +risk close investigation by the law. At any rate, his main object at +present was to overtake the car in front, which had gained a flying +start, and thus spoil any maneuvering for escape, such as turning into a +side road. In his enthusiasm he pressed on too rapidly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p><p>He was seen, and his intent guessed. The leading car slowed a trifle in +rounding a bend; as Carshaw careened into view a revolver-shot rang out, +and a bullet drilled a neat hole in the wind-screen, making a noise like +the sharp crack of a whip. Simultaneously came a scream!</p> + +<p>That must be Winifred’s cry of terror in his behalf. The sound nerved +him anew. He saw red. A second shot, followed by a wilder shriek, spat +lead somewhere in the bonnet. Carshaw set his teeth, gave the engine +every ounce of power, and the two chariots of steel went raging, +reckless of consequences, along the road.</p> + +<p>There must be a special Providence that looks after chauffeurs, as well +as after children and drunkards, for at some places the road, though +wide enough, was so dismal with shadow that if any danger lurked within +the darkness it would not have been seen in time to be avoided.</p> + +<p>“Drunkenness” is, indeed, the word to describe the state of mind of the +two drivers by this time—a heat to be on, a wrath against obstacles, a +storm in the blood, and a light in the eyes. Voles would have whirled +through a battalion of soldiers on the march, if he had met them, and +would have hissed curses at them as he pitched over their bodies. He +knew how to handle an automobile, having driven one over the rough +tracks of the Rockies, so this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>well-kept road offered no difficulties. +For five minutes the cars raged ahead, passed through a sleeping village +street and down a hill into open country beyond.</p> + +<p>No sound was made by their occupants, whose minds and purposes remained +dark one to the other. Voles might have fancied himself chased by the +flight of witches who harried Tam o’ Shanter, while Carshaw might have +been hunting a cargo of ghosts; only the running hum of the cars droned +its music along the highway, with a staccato accompaniment of +revolver-shots and Winifred’s appeals to heaven for aid. Meantime, the +rear car still gained on the one in front. And, on a sudden, Carshaw was +aware of a shouting, though he could not make out the words. It was Mick +the Wolf, who had clambered into the tonneau and was bellowing:</p> + +<p>“Pull up, you—Pull up, or I’ll get you sure!”</p> + +<p>Nor was the threat a waste of words, for he had hardly shouted when +again a bullet flicked past Carshaw’s head.</p> + +<p>Just then a bend of the road and a patch of woodland hid the two cars +from each other; but they had hardly come out upon a reach of straight +road again when another shot was fired. Carshaw, however, was now +crouched low over the steering wheel, and using the hood of the car as a +breast-work; though, since he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>was obliged to look out, his head was +still more or less exposed.</p> + +<p>He bated no whit of speed on this account, but raced on; still, that +firing in the dark had an effect upon his nerves, making him feel rather +queer and small, for every now and again at intervals of a few seconds, +it was sure to come, the desperado taking slow, cool aim with the +perseverance of a man plying his day’s work, of a man repeating to +himself the motto:</p> + +<p>“If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, try again.”</p> + +<p>Those shots, moreover, were coming from a hand whose aim seldom +failed—a dead shot, baffled only by the unconquerable vibration. And +yet Carshaw was untouched. He could not even think. He was conscious +only of the thrum of the car, the spurts of flame, the whistle of lead, +the hysterical frenzy of Winifred’s plaints.</p> + +<p>The darkness alone saved him, but the more he caught up with the +fugitive the less was this advantage likely to stand him in good stead. +And when he should actually catch them up—what then? This question +presented itself now to his heated mind. He had no plan of action. None +was possible. Even in Bridgeport what could he do? There were two +against one—he would simply be shot as he passed the other car.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p><p>It was only the heat of the hunt that had created in him the feeling +that he must overtake them, though he died for it; but when he was +within thirty yards of the front car, and two shots had come dangerously +near in swift succession, a flash of reason warned him, and he +determined to slacken speed a little. He was not given time to do this. +There was an outcry on the car in front from three throats in it.</p> + +<p>A mob of oxen, being driven to some market, blocked the road just beyond +a bend. The men in charge had heard the thunder of the oncoming racers, +with its ominous obbligato of screams and shooting. They had striven +desperately to whack the animals to the hedge on either side, and were +bawling loud warnings to those thrice accursed gunmen whom they imagined +chased by police. Their efforts, their yells, were useless. Sixty miles +an hour demands at least sixty yards for safety. When Voles put hand and +foot to the brakes he had hardly a clear space of ten. An obstreperous +bullock was the immediate cause of disaster. Facing the dragon eyes, it +charged valiantly!</p> + +<p>Mick the Wolf, running short of cartridges, was about to ask Voles to +slow down until he “got” the reckless pursuer, when he found himself +describing a parabola backward through the air. He landed in the +roadway, breaking his left arm.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p><p>Voles had an extraordinary lurid oath squeezed out of his vast bulk as +he was forced onto the steering-wheel, the pillar snapping like a +carrot. Winifred and Rachel Craik were flung against the padded back of +the driving seat, but saved from real injury because of their crouching +to avoid Mick the Wolf.</p> + +<p>Voles was as quick as a wildcat in an emergency like this. He was on his +feet in a second, with a leg over the door, meaning to shoot Carshaw ere +the latter could do anything to protect himself. But luck, dead against +honesty thus far, suddenly veered against crime. Carshaw’s car smashed +into the rear of the heavy mass composed of crushed bullock and +automobile no longer mobile, and dislocated its own engine and feed +pipes. The jerk threw Voles heavily, and nearly, not quite, sprained his +ankle. So, during a precious second or two, he lay almost stunned on the +left side of the road.</p> + +<p>Carshaw, given a hint of disaster by the slightest fraction of time, and +already braced low in the body of his car, was able to jump unobserved +from the wreck. As though his brain were illumined by a flash of +lightning, he remembered that the signal handkerchief had fluttered from +the off side of the flying car, so he ran to the right, and grabbed a +breathless bundle of soft femininity out of the ruin.</p> + +<p>“Winifred,” he gasped.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p><p>“Oh, are you safe?” came the strangled sob. So that was her first +thought, his safety! It is a thrilling moment in a man’s life when he +learns that his well-being provides an all-sufficing content for some +dear woman. Come weal, come woe, Carshaw knew then that he was clasping +his future wife in his arms. He ran with her through a mob of frightened +cattle, and discovered a gate leading into a field.</p> + +<p>“Can you stand if I lift you over?” he said, leaning against the bars.</p> + +<p>“Of course! I can run, too,” and, in maidenly effort to free herself, +she hugged him closer. They crossed the gate and together breasted a +slight rise through scattered sheaves of corn-shucks. Meanwhile, Voles +and the cattlemen were engaged in a cursing match until Rachel Craik, +recovering her wind, screamed an eldrich command:</p> + +<p>“Stop, you fool! They’re getting away. He has taken her down the road!”</p> + +<p>Voles limped off in pursuit, and Mick the Wolf took up the fierce +argument with the drivers. At that instant the wreck blazed into flame. +Rachel had to move quickly to avoid a holocaust in which a hapless +bullock provided the burnt offering. The light of this pyre revealed the +distant figures of Winifred and Carshaw, whereupon the maddened Voles +tried pot shots at a hundred yards. Bullets came <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>close, too. One cut +the heel of Carshaw’s shoe; another plowed a ridge through his motoring +cap. Realizing that Voles would aim only at him, he told Winifred to run +wide.</p> + +<p>She caught his hand.</p> + +<p>“Please—help!” she breathed. “I cannot run far.”</p> + +<p>He smothered a laugh of sheer joy. Winifred’s legs were supple as his. +She was probably the fleeter of the two. It was the mother-instinct that +spoke in her. This was her man, and she must protect him, cover him from +enemies with her own slim body.</p> + +<p>Soon they were safe from even a chance shot. On climbing a rail fence, +Carshaw led the girl clearly into view until a fold in the ground +offered. Then they doubled and zigzagged. They saw some houses, but +Carshaw wanted no explanation or parleying then and pressed on. They +entered a lane, or driveway, and followed it. There came a murmuring of +mighty waters, the voice of the sea; they were on the beach of Long +Island Sound. Far behind, in the gloom, shone a lurid redness, marking +the spot where the two cars and the bullock were being converted into +ardent gasses.</p> + +<p>Carshaw halted and surveyed a long, low line of blackness breaking into +the deep-blue plain of the sea to the right.</p> + +<p>“I know where we are,” he said. “There’s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>a hotel on that point. It’s +about two miles. You could walk twenty, couldn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” said Winifred unthinkingly.</p> + +<p>“Or run five at a jog-trot?” he teased her.</p> + +<p>“Well—er—”</p> + +<p>She blushed furiously, and thanked the night that hid her from his eyes. +No maid wishes a man to think she is in love with him before he has +uttered the word of love. When next she spoke, Winifred’s tone was +reserved, almost distant.</p> + +<p>“Now tell me what has caused this tornado,” she said. “I have been +acting on impulse. Please give me some reasonable theory of to-night’s +madness.”</p> + +<p>It was on the tip of Carshaw’s tongue to assure her that they were going +to New York by the first train, and would hie themselves straight to the +City Hall for a marriage license. But—he had a mother, a prized and +deeply reverenced mother. Ought he to break in on her placid and +well-balanced existence with the curt announcement that he was married, +even to a wife like Winifred. Would he be playing the game with those +good fellows in the detective bureau? Was it fair even to Winifred that +she should be asked to pay the immediate price, as it were, of her +rescue? So the fateful words were not uttered, and the two trudged on, +talking with much common sense, probing the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>doubtful things in +Winifred’s past life, and ever avoiding the tumult of passion which must +have followed their first kiss.</p> + +<p>In due course an innkeeper was aroused and the mishap of a car +explained. The man took them for husband and wife; happily, Winifred did +not overhear Carshaw’s smothered:</p> + +<p>“Not yet!”</p> + +<p>The girl soon went to her room. They parted with a formal hand-shake; +but, to still the ready lips of scandal, Carshaw discovered the +landlord’s favorite brand of wine and sat up all night in his company.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE NEW LINK</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">S</span>teingall and Clancy were highly amused by Carshaw’s account of the +“second burning of Fairfield,” as the little man described the struggle +between Winifred’s abductors and her rescuer. The latter, not so well +versed in his country’s history as every young American ought to be, had +to consult a history of the Revolution to learn that Fairfield was +burned by the British in 1777. The later burning, by the way, created a +pretty quarrel between two insurance companies, the proprietors of two +garages and the owner of a certain bullock, with Carshaw’s lawyer and a +Bridgeport lawyer, instructed by “Mr. Ralph Voles,” as interveners.</p> + +<p>“And where is the young lady now?” inquired Steingall, when Carshaw’s +story reached its end.</p> + +<p>“Living in rooms in a house in East Twenty-seventh Street, a quiet place +kept by a Miss Goodman.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Too soon for any planning as to the future, I suppose?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p><p>“We talked of that in the train. Winifred has a voice, so the stage +offers an immediate opening. But I don’t like the notion of musical +comedy, and the concert platform demands a good deal of training, since +a girl starts there practically as a principal. There is no urgency. +Winifred might well enjoy a fortnight’s rest. I have counseled that.”</p> + +<p>“A stage wait, in fact,” put in Clancy, sarcastically.</p> + +<p>By this time Carshaw was beginning to understand the peculiar quality of +the small detective’s wit.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, smiling into those piercing and brilliant eyes. “There +are periods in a man’s life when he ought to submit his desires to the +acid test. Such a time has come now for me.”</p> + +<p>“But ‘Aunt Rachel’ may find her. Is she strong-willed enough to resist +cajoling, and seek the aid of the law if force is threatened?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am sure now. What she heard and saw of those two men during the +mad run along the Post Road supplied good and convincing reasons why she +should refuse to return to Miss Craik.”</p> + +<p>“Why are you unwilling to charge them with attempted murder?” said +Steingall, for Carshaw had stipulated there should be no legal +proceedings.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p><p>“My lawyers advise against it,” he said simply.</p> + +<p>“You’ve consulted them?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, called in on my way here. When I reached home after seeing +Winifred fixed comfortably in Miss Goodman’s, I opened a letter from my +lawyers, requesting an interview—on another matter, of course. Meaning +to marry Winifred, if she’ll take me, I thought it wise to tell them +something about recent events.”</p> + +<p>Steingall carefully chose a cigar from a box of fifty, all exactly +alike, nipped the end off, and lighted it. Clancy’s fingers drummed +impatiently on the table at which the three were seated. Evidently he +expected the chief to play Sir Oracle. But the head of the Bureau +contented himself with the comment that he was still interested in +Winifred Bartlett’s history, and would be glad to have any definite +particulars which Carshaw might gather.</p> + +<p>Clancy sighed so heavily on hearing this “departmental” utterance that +Carshaw was surprised.</p> + +<p>“If I could please myself, I’d rush Winifred to the City Hall for a +marriage license to-day,” he said, believing he had fathomed the other’s +thought.</p> + +<p>“I’m a bit of a Celt on the French and Irish sides,” snapped Clancy, +“and that means an ineradicable vein of romance in my make-up. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>But I’m +a New York policeman, too—a guy who has to mind his own business far +more frequently than the public suspects.”</p> + +<p>And there the subject dropped. Truth to tell, the department had to +tread warily in stalking such big game as a Senator. Carshaw was a +friend of the Towers, and “the yacht mystery” had been deliberately +squelched by the highly influential persons most concerned. It was +impolitic, it might be disastrous, if Senator Meiklejohn’s name were +dragged into connection with that of the unsavory Voles on the flimsy +evidence, or, rather, mere doubt, affecting Winifred Bartlett’s early +life.</p> + +<p>Winifred herself lived in a passive but blissful state of dreams during +the three weeks. Perhaps, in her heart of hearts, she wondered if every +young man who might be in love with a girl imposed such rigid restraint +on himself as Rex Carshaw when he was in her company. The unspoken +language of love was plain in every glance, in every tone, in the merest +touch of their hands. But he spoke no definite word, and their lips had +never met.</p> + +<p>Miss Goodman, who took an interest in the pretty and amiable girl, spent +many an hour of chat with her. Every morning there arrived a present of +flowers from Carshaw; every afternoon Carshaw himself appeared as +regularly as the clock and drank of Miss Goodman’s tea. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>They were weeks +of <i>Nirvana</i> for Winifred, and, but for her fear of being found out and +her continued lack of occupation, they were the happiest she had ever +known. Meantime, however, she was living on “borrowed” money, and felt +herself in a false position.</p> + +<p>“Well, any news?” was always Carshaw’s first question as he placed his +hat over his stick on a chair. And Winifred might reply:</p> + +<p>“Not much. I saw such-and-such a stage manager, and went from such an +agent to another, and had my voice tried, with the usual promises. I’m +afraid that even your patience will soon be worn out. I am sorry now +that I thought of singing instead of something else, for there are +plenty of girls who can sing much better than I.”</p> + +<p>“But don’t be so eager about the matter, Winifred,” he would say. “It is +an anxious little heart that eats itself out and will not learn repose. +Isn’t it? And it chafes at being dependent on some one who is growing +weary of the duty. Doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“No, I didn’t mean that,” said Winifred with a rueful and tender smile. +“You are infinitely good, Rex.” They had soon come to the use of +Christian names. Outwardly they were just good friends, while inwardly +they resembled two active volcanoes.</p> + +<p>“Now I am ‘infinitely good,’ which is really <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>more than human if you +think it out,” he laughed. “See how you run to extremes with nerves and +things. No, you are not to care at all, Winnie. You have a more or less +good voice. You know more music than is good for you, and sooner or +later, since you insist on it, you will get what you want. Where is the +hurry?”</p> + +<p>“You don’t or won’t understand,” said Winifred. “I know what I want, and +must get some work without delay.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, since it upsets you, you shall. I am not much of an +authority about professional matters myself, but I know a lady who +understands these things, and I’ll speak to her.”</p> + +<p>“Who is this lady?” asked Winifred.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Ronald Tower.”</p> + +<p>“Young—nice-looking?” asked Winifred, looking down at the crochet work +in her lap. She was so taken up with the purely feminine aspect of +affairs that she gave slight heed to a remarkable coincidence.</p> + +<p>“Er—so-so,” said Carshaw with a smile borne of memories, which +Winifred’s downcast eyes just noticed under their raised lids.</p> + +<p>“What is she like?” she went on.</p> + +<p>“Let me see! How shall I describe her? Well, you know Gainsborough’s +picture of the Duchess of Devonshire? She’s like that, full-busted, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>with preposterous hats, dashing—rather a beauty!”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!” said Winifred coldly. “She must be awfully attractive. A +<i>very</i> old friend?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, rather! I knew her when I was eighteen, and she was <i>elancée</i> +then.”</p> + +<p>“What does <i>elancée</i> mean?”</p> + +<p>“On the loose.”</p> + +<p>“What does <i>that</i> mean?”</p> + +<p>“Well—a bit free and easy, doesn’t it? Something of that sort. Smart +set, you know.”</p> + +<p>“I see. Do <i>you</i>, then, belong to the smart set?”</p> + +<p>“I? No. I dislike it rather. But one rubs with all sorts in the grinding +of the mill.”</p> + +<p>“And this Mrs. Ronald Tower, whom you knew at eighteen, how old was she +then?”</p> + +<p>“About twenty-two or so.”</p> + +<p>“And she was—gay then?”</p> + +<p>“As far as ever society would let her.”</p> + +<p>“How—did you know?”</p> + +<p>“I—well, weren’t we almost boy and girl together?”</p> + +<p>“I wonder you can give yourself the pains to come to spend your precious +minutes with me when that sort of woman is within—”</p> + +<p>“What, not jealous?” he cried joyously. “And of that <i>passée</i> creature? +Why, she isn’t worthy to stoop and tie the latchets of your shoes, as +the Scripture saith!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p><p>“Still, I’d rather not be indebted to that lady for anything,” said +Winifred.</p> + +<p>“But why not? Don’t be excessive, little one. There is no reason, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“How does she come to know about singing and theatrical people?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that she does. I only assume it. A woman of the world, +cutting a great dash, yet hard up—that kind knows all sorts and +conditions of men. I am sure she could help you, and I’ll have a try.”</p> + +<p>“But is she the wife of the Ronald Tower who was dragged by the lasso +into the river?”</p> + +<p>“The same.”</p> + +<p>“It is odd how that name keeps on occurring in my life,” said Winifred +musingly. “A month ago I first heard it on Riverside Drive, and since +then I hear it always. I prefer, Rex, that you do not say anything to +that woman about me.”</p> + +<p>“I shall!” said Rex playfully. “You mustn’t start at shadows.”</p> + +<p>Winifred was silent. After a time she asked:</p> + +<p>“Have you seen Mr. Steingall or Mr. Clancy lately?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, a couple of days ago. We are always more or less in communication. +But I have nothing to report. They’re keeping track of Voles and Mick +the Wolf, but those are birds <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>who don’t like salt on their tails. You +know already that the Bureau never ceases to work at the mystery of your +relation with your impossible ‘aunt,’ and I think they have information +which they have not passed on to me.”</p> + +<p>“Is my aunty still searching for me, I wonder?” asked Winifred.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t call her aunty—call her your antipodes! It is more than that +woman knows how to be your aunt. Of course, the whole crew of them are +moving heaven and earth to find you! Clancy knows it. But let them +try—they won’t succeed. And even if they do, please don’t forget that +I’m here now!”</p> + +<p>“But why should they be so terribly anxious to find me? My aunty always +treated me fairly well, but in a cold sort of a way which did not betray +much love. So love can’t be their motive.”</p> + +<p>“Love!” And Carshaw breathed the word softly, as though it were pleasing +to his ear. “No. They have some deep reason, but what that is is more +than any one guesses. The same reason made them wish to take you far +from New York, though what it all means is not very clear. Time, +perhaps, will show.”</p> + +<p>The same night Rex Carshaw sat among a set which he had not frequented +much of late—in Mrs. Tower’s drawing-room. There were several tables +surrounded with people of various <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>American and foreign types playing +bridge. The whole atmosphere was that of Mammon; one might have fancied +oneself in the halls of a Florentine money-changer. At the same table +with Carshaw were Mrs. Tower, another society dame, and Senator +Meiklejohn, who ought to have been making laws at Washington.</p> + +<p>Tower stood looking on, the most unimportant person present, and anon +ran to do some bidding of his wife’s. Carshaw’s only relation with Helen +Tower of late had been to allow himself to be cheated by her at bridge, +for she did not often pay, especially if she lost to one who had been +something more than a friend. When he did present himself at her house, +she felt a certain gladness apart from the money which he would lose; +women ever keep some fragment of the heart which the world is not +permitted to scar and harden wholly.</p> + +<p>She grew pensive, therefore, when he told her that he wished to place a +girl on the concert stage, and wished to know from her how best to +succeed. She thought dreamily of other days, and the slightest pin-prick +of jealousy touched her, for Carshaw had suddenly become earnest in +broaching this matter, and the other pair of players wondered why the +game was interrupted for so trivial a cause.</p> + +<p>“What is the girl’s name?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Her name is of no importance, but, if you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>must know, it is Winifred +Bartlett,” he answered.</p> + +<p>Senator Meiklejohn laid his thirteen cards face upward on the table. +There had been no bidding, and his partner screamed in protest:</p> + +<p>“Senator, what are you doing?”</p> + +<p>He had revealed three aces and a long suit of spades.</p> + +<p>“We must have a fresh deal,” smirked Mrs. Tower.</p> + +<p>“Well, of all the wretched luck!” sighed the other woman. Meiklejohn +pleaded a sudden indisposition, yet lingered while a servant summoned +Ronald Tower to play in his stead.</p> + +<p>Carshaw knew Winifred—that same Winifred whom he and his secret +intimates had sought so vainly during three long weeks! Voles and his +arm-fractured henchman were recuperating in Boston, but Rachel Craik and +Fowle were hunting New York high and low for sight of the girl.</p> + +<p>Fowle, though skilled in his trade, found well-paid loafing more to his +choice, for Voles had sent Rachel to Fowle, guessing this man to be of +the right kidney for underhanded dealings. Moreover, he knew Winifred, +and would recognize her anywhere. Fowle, therefore, suddenly blossomed +into a “private detective,” and had reported steady failure day after +day. Rachel Craik had never ascertained Carshaw’s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>name, as it was not +necessary that he should register in the Fairfield Inn, and Fowle, with +a nose still rather tender to the touch, never spoke to her of the man +who had smashed it.</p> + +<p>So these associates in evil remained at cross-purposes until Senator +Meiklejohn, when the bridge game was renewed and no further information +was likely to ooze out, went away from Mrs. Tower’s house to nurse his +sickness. He recovered speedily. A note was sent to Rachel by special +messenger, and she, in turn, sought Fowle, whose mean face showed a +blotchy red when he learned that Winifred could be traced by watching +Carshaw.</p> + +<p>“I’ll get her now, ma’am,” he chuckled. “It’ll be dead easy. I can make +up as a parson. Did that once before when—well, just to fool a bunch of +people. No one suspects a parson—see? I’ll get her—sure!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>A SUBTLE ATTACK</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">V</span>oles was brought from Boston. Though Meiklejohn dreaded the man, +conditions might arise which would call for a bold and ruthless +rascality not quite practicable for a Senator.</p> + +<p>The lapse of time, too, had lulled the politician’s suspicions of the +police. They seemed to have ceased prying. He ascertained, almost by +chance, that Clancy was hot on the trail of a gang of counterfeiters. +“The yacht mystery” had apparently become a mere memory in the Bureau.</p> + +<p>So Voles came, with him Mick the Wolf, carrying a left arm in splints, +and the Senator thought he was taking no risk in calling at the up-town +hotel where the pair occupied rooms the day after Carshaw blurted out +Winifred’s name to Helen Tower. He meant paying another visit that day, +so was attired <i>de rigueur</i>, a fact at which Voles, pipe in mouth and +lounging in pajamas, promptly scoffed.</p> + +<p>“Gee!” he cried. “Here’s the Senator mooching round again, dressed up to +the nines—dust coat, morning suit, boots shining, all the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>frills—but +visiting low companions all the same. Why doesn’t the man turn over a +new leaf and become good?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, hold your tongue!” said William. “We’ve got the girl, Ralph!”</p> + +<p>“Got the girl, have we? Not the first girl you’ve said that about—is +it, my wily William?”</p> + +<p>“Listen, and drop that tone when you’re speaking to me, or I’ll cut you +out for good and all!” said Meiklejohn in deadly earnest. “If ever you +had need to be serious, it is now. I said we’ve got her, but that only +means that we are about to get her address; and the trouble will be to +get herself afterward.”</p> + +<p>“Tosh! As to that, only tell me where she is, an’ I’ll go and grab her +by the neck.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be such a fool. This is New York and not Mexico, though you +insist on confounding the two. Even if the girl were without friends, +you can’t go and seize people in that fashion over here, and she has at +least one powerful friend, for the man who beat you hollow that night, +and carried her off under your very nose, is Rex Carshaw, a determined +youngster, and rich, though not so rich as he thinks he is. And there +must be no failure a second time, Ralph. Remember that! Just listen to +me carefully. This girl is thinking of going on the stage! Do you +realize what that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>means, if she ever gets there? You have yourself said +she is the living image of her mother. You know that her mother was well +known in society. Think, then, of her appearing before the public, and +of the certainty of her being recognized by some one, or by many, if she +does. Fall down this time, and the game’s up!”</p> + +<p>“The thing seems to be, then, to let daylight into Carshaw,” said Voles.</p> + +<p>“Oh, listen, man! Listen! What we have to do is to place her in a lonely +house—in the country—where, if she screams, her screams will not be +heard; and the only possibility of bringing her there is by ruse, not by +violence.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and how get her there?”</p> + +<p>“That has to be carefully planned, and even more carefully executed. It +seems to me that the mere fact of her wishing to go on the stage may be +made a handle to serve our ends. If we can find a dramatic agent with +whom she is in treaty, we must obtain a sheet of his office paper, and +write her a letter in his name, making an appointment with her at an +empty house in the country, some little distance from New York. None of +the steps presents any great difficulty. In fact, all that part I +undertake myself. It will be for you, your friend Mick, and Rachel Craik +to receive her and keep her eternally when you once have her. You may +then be able so to work upon her as to persuade <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>her to go quietly with +you to South America or England. In any case, we shall have shut her +away from the world, which is our object.”</p> + +<p>“Poor stuff! How about this Carshaw? Suppose he goes with her to keep +the appointment, or learns from her beforehand of it? Carshaw must be +wiped out.”</p> + +<p>“He must certainly be dealt with, yes,” said Meiklejohn, “but in another +manner. I think—I think I see my way. Leave him to me. I want this girl +out of New York State in the first instance. Suppose you go to the +Oranges, in New Jersey, pick out a suitable house, and rent it? Go +to-day.”</p> + +<p>Voles raised his shaggy eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“What’s the rush?” he said amusedly. “After eighteen years—”</p> + +<p>“Will you never learn reason? Every hour, every minute, may bring +disaster.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, have it your way! I’ll fix Carshaw if he camps on my trail a second +time.”</p> + +<p>Meiklejohn returned to his car with a care-seamed brow. He was bound now +for Mrs. Carshaw’s apartment.</p> + +<p>If he was fortunate enough to find her in, and alone, he would take that +first step in “dealing with” her son which he had spoken of to Voles. He +made no prior appointment by phone. He meant catching her unawares, so +that Rex could have no notion of his presence.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p><p>Mrs. Carshaw was a substantial lady of fifty, a society woman of the +type to whom the changing seasons supply the whole duty of man and +woman, and the world outside the orbit of the Four Hundred is a rumor of +no importance.</p> + +<p>She had met Senator Meiklejohn in so many places for so many years that +they might be called comrades in the task of dining and making New York +look elegant. She was pleased to see him. Their common fund of scandal +and epigram would carry them safely over a cheerful hour.</p> + +<p>“And as to the good old firm of Carshaw—prosperous as usual, I hope,” +said Meiklejohn, balancing an egg-shell tea-cup.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carshaw shrugged.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know much about it,” she said, “but I sometimes hear talk of +bad times and lack of capital. I suppose it is all right. Rex does not +seem concerned.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! but the mischief may be just there,” said Meiklejohn. “The rogue +may be throwing it all on the shoulders of his managers, and letting +things slide.”</p> + +<p>“He may—he probably is. I see very little of him, really, especially +just lately.”</p> + +<p>“Is it the same little influence at work upon him as some months ago?” +asked Meiklejohn, bending nearer, a real confidential crony.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p><p>“Which same little influence?” asked the lady, agog with a sense of +secrecy, and genuinely anxious as to anything affecting her son.</p> + +<p>“Why, the girl, Winifred Bartlett.”</p> + +<p>“Bartlett! As far as I know, I have never even heard her name.”</p> + +<p>“Extraordinary! Why, it’s the talk of the club.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me. What is it all about?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, I must not be indiscreet. When I mentioned her, I took it for +granted that you knew all about it, or I should not have told tales out +of school.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but you and I are of a different generation than Rex. He belongs +to the spring, we belong to the autumn. There is no question of telling +tales out of school as between you and him. So now, please, you are +going to tell me <i>all</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Well, the usual story: A girl of lower social class; a young man’s head +turned by her wiles; the conventions more or less defied; business +yawned at; mother, friends, everything shelved for the time being, and +nothing important but the one thing. It’s not serious, perhaps. So long +as business is not <i>too</i> much neglected, and no financial consequences +follow, society thinks not a whit worse of a young man on that +account—on one condition, mark you! There must be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>no question of +marriage. But in this case there <i>is</i> that question.”</p> + +<p>“But this is merely ridiculous!” laughed Mrs. Carshaw shrilly. +“Marriage! Can a son of mine be so quixotic?”</p> + +<p>“It is commonly believed that he is about to marry her.”</p> + +<p>“But how on earth has it happened that I never heard a whisper of this +preposterous thing?”</p> + +<p>“It <i>is</i> extraordinary. Sometimes the one interested is the last to hear +what every one is talking about.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I never was so—amused!” Yet Mrs. Carshaw’s wintry smile was not +joyous. “Rex! I must laugh him out of it, if I meet him anywhere!”</p> + +<p>“That you will not succeed in doing, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then I’ll frown him out of it. This is why—I see all now.”</p> + +<p>“There you are hardly wise, to think of either laughing or frowning him +out of it,” said Meiklejohn, offering her worldly wisdom. “No, in such +cases there is a better way, take my word for it.”</p> + +<p>“And that is?”</p> + +<p>“Approach the girl. Avoid carefully saying one word to the young man, +but approach <i>the girl</i>. That does it, if the girl is at all decent, and +has any sensibility. Lay the facts plainly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>before her. Take her into +your confidence—this flatters her. Invoke her love for the young man +whom she is hurting by her intimacy with him—this puts her on her +honor. Urge her to fly from him—this makes her feel herself a martyr, +and turns her on the heroic tack. That is certainly what I should do if +I were you, and I should do it without delay.”</p> + +<p>“You’re right. I’ll do it,” said Mrs. Carshaw. “Do you happen to know +where this girl is to be found?”</p> + +<p>“No. I think I can tell, though, from whom you might get the +address—Helen Tower. I heard your son talking to her last night about +the girl. He was wanting to know whether Helen could put him in the way +of placing her on the stage.”</p> + +<p>“What! Is she one of those scheming chorus-girls?”</p> + +<p>“It appears so.”</p> + +<p>“But has he had the effrontery to mention her in this way to other +ladies? It is rather amusing! Why, it used to be said that Helen Tower +was his <i>belle amie</i>.”</p> + +<p>“All the more reason, perhaps, why she may be willing to give you the +address, if she knows it.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll see her this very afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“Then I must leave you at leisure now,” said Meiklejohn sympathetically.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p><p>An hour later Mrs. Carshaw was with Helen Tower, and the name of +Winifred Bartlett arose between them.</p> + +<p>“But he did not give me her address,” said Mrs. Tower. “Do you want it +pressingly?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes. Have you not heard that there is a question of marriage?”</p> + +<p>“Good gracious! Marriage?”</p> + +<p>The two women laid their heads nearer together, enjoying the awfulness +of the thing, though one was a mother and the other was pricked with +jealousy in some secret part of her nature.</p> + +<p>“Yes—marriage!” repeated the mother. Such an enormity was dreadful.</p> + +<p>“It sounds too far-fetched! What will you do?”</p> + +<p>“Senator Meiklejohn recommends me to approach the girl.”</p> + +<p>“Well, perhaps that is the best. But how to get her address? Perhaps if +I asked Rex he would tell it, without suspecting anything. On the other +hand, he might take alarm.”</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t you say you had secured her a place on the stage, and make him +send her to you, to test her voice, or something? And then you could +send her on to me,” said the elder woman.</p> + +<p>“Yes, that might be done,” answered Helen <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>Tower. “I’d like to see her, +too. She must be extraordinarily pretty to capture Rex. Some of those +common girls are, you know. It is a caprice of Providence. Anyway, I +shall find her out, or have her here somehow within the next few days, +and will let you know. First of all, I’ll write Rex and ask him to come +for bridge to-night.”</p> + +<p>She did this, but without effect, for Carshaw was engaged elsewhere, +having taken Winifred to a theater.</p> + +<p>However, Meiklejohn was again at the bridge party, and when he asked +whether Mrs. Carshaw had paid a visit that afternoon, and the address of +the girl had been given, Helen Tower answered:</p> + +<p>“I don’t know it. I am now trying to find out.”</p> + +<p>The Senator seemed to take thought.</p> + +<p>“I hate interfering,” he said at last, “but I like young Carshaw, and +have known his mother many a year. It’s a pity he should throw himself +away on some chit of a girl, merely because she has a fetching pair of +eyes or a slim ankle, or Heaven alone knows what else it is that first +turns a young man’s mind to a young woman. I happen to have heard, +however, that Winifred Bartlett lives in a boarding-house kept by Miss +Goodman in East Twenty-seventh Street. Now, my name must not—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p><p>Helen Tower laughed in that dry way which often annoyed him.</p> + +<p>“Surely by this time you regard me as a trustworthy person,” she said.</p> + +<p>So Fowle had proven himself a capable tracker, and Winifred’s +persecutors were again closing in on her. But who would have imagined +that the worst and most deadly of them might be the mother of her Rex? +That, surely, was something akin to steeping in poison the assassin’s +dagger.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>THE VISITOR</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span>re you Miss Winifred Bartlett?” asked Mrs. Carshaw the next afternoon +in that remote part of East Twenty-seventh Street which for the first +time bore the rubber tires of her limousine.</p> + +<p>“Yes, madam,” said Winifred, who stood rather pale before that large and +elegant presence. It was in the front room of the two which Winifred +occupied.</p> + +<p>“But—where have I seen you before?” asked Mrs. Carshaw suddenly, making +play with a pair of mounted eye-glasses.</p> + +<p>“I cannot say, madam. Will you be seated?”</p> + +<p>“What a pretty girl you are!” exclaimed the visitor, wholly unconscious +of the calm insolence which “society” uses to its inferiors. “I’m +certain I have seen you somewhere, for your face is perfectly familiar, +but for the life of me I cannot recall the occasion.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carshaw was not mistaken. Some dim cell of memory was stirred by +the girl’s likeness to her mother. For once Senator Meiklejohn’s +scheming had brought him to the edge of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>the precipice. But the +dangerous moment passed. Rex’s mother was thinking of other and more +immediate matters. Winifred stood silent, scared, with a foreboding of +the meaning of this tremendous visit.</p> + +<p>“Now, I am come to have a quiet chat with you,” said Mrs. Carshaw, “and +I only hope that you will look on me as a friend, and be perfectly at +your ease. I am sorry the nature of my visit is not of a quite pleasant +nature, but no doubt we shall be able to understand each other, for you +look good and sweet. Where have I seen you before? You are a sweetly +pretty girl, do you know? I can’t altogether blame poor Rex, for men are +not very rational creatures, are they? Come, now, and sit quite near +beside me on this chair, and let me talk to you.”</p> + +<p>Winifred came and sat, with tremulous lip, not saying a word.</p> + +<p>“First, I wish to know something about yourself,” said Mrs. Carshaw, +trying honestly to adopt a motherly tone. “Do you live here all alone? +Where are your parents?”</p> + +<p>“I have none—as far as I know. Yes, I live here alone, for the present.”</p> + +<p>“But no relatives?”</p> + +<p>“I have an aunt—a sort of aunt—but—”</p> + +<p>“You are mysterious—‘a sort of aunt.’ And is this ‘sort of aunt’ with +you here?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p><p>“No. I used to live with her, but within the last month we +have—separated.”</p> + +<p>“Is that my son’s doings?”</p> + +<p>“No—that is—no.”</p> + +<p>“So you are quite alone?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And my son comes to see you?”</p> + +<p>“He comes—yes, he comes.”</p> + +<p>“But that is rather defiant of everything, is it not?”</p> + +<p>A blush of almost intense carmine washed Winifred’s face and neck. Mrs. +Carshaw knew how to strike hard. Every woman knows how to hurt another +woman.</p> + +<p>“Miss Goodman, my landlady, usually stays in here when he comes,” said +she.</p> + +<p>“All the time?”</p> + +<p>“Most of the time.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I must not catechise you. No one woman has the right to do that +to another, and you are sweet to have answered me at all. I think you +are good and true; and you will therefore find it all the easier to +sympathize with my motives, which have your own good at heart, as well +as my son’s. First of all, do you understand that my son is very much in +love with you?”</p> + +<p>“I—you should not ask me—I may have thought that he liked me. +Has—he—told you so?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p><p>“He has never mentioned your name to me. I never knew of your existence +till yesterday. But it is so; he is fond of you, to such an unusual +extent, that quite a scandal has arisen in his social set—”</p> + +<p>“Not about me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“But there is nothing——”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it is reported that he intends to marry you.”</p> + +<p>“And is that what the scandal is about? I thought the scandal was when +you did not marry, not when you did.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carshaw permitted herself to be surprised. She had not looked for +such weapons in Winifred’s armory. But she was there to carry out what +she deemed an almost sacred mission, and the righteous can be horribly +unjust.</p> + +<p>“Yes, in the middle classes, but not in the upper, which has its own +moral code—not a strictly Biblical one, perhaps,” she retorted glibly. +“With us the scandal is not that you and my son are friends, but that he +should seriously think of marrying you, since you are on such different +levels. You see, I speak plainly.”</p> + +<p>Winifred suddenly covered her face with her hands. For the first time +she measured the great gulf yawning between her and that dear hope +growing up in her heart.</p> + +<p>“That is how the matter stands before marriage,” <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>went on Mrs. Carshaw, +sure that she was kind in being merciless. “You can conceive how it +would be afterwards. And society is all nature—it never forgives; or, +if it forgives, it may condone sins, but never an indiscretion. Nor must +you think that your love would console my son for the great social loss +which his connection with you threatens to bring on him. It will console +him for a month, but a wife is not a world, nor, however beloved, does +she compensate for the loss of the world. If, therefore, you love my +son, as I take it that you do—do you?”</p> + +<p>Winifred’s face was covered. She did not answer.</p> + +<p>“Tell me in confidence. I am a woman, too, and know—”</p> + +<p>A sob escaped from the poor bowed head. Mrs. Carshaw was moved. She had +not counted on so hard a task. She had even thought of money!</p> + +<p>“Poor thing! That will make your duty very hard. I wish—but there is no +use in wishing! Necessity knows no pity. Winifred, you must summon all +your strength of mind, and get out of this false position.”</p> + +<p>“What am I to do? What can I do?” wailed Winifred. She was without means +or occupation, and could not fly from the house.</p> + +<p>“You can go away,” said Mrs. Carshaw, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>“without letting him know whither +you have gone, and till you go you can throw cold water on his passion +by pretending dislike or indifference—”</p> + +<p>“But could I do such a thing, even if I tried?” came the despairing cry.</p> + +<p>“It will be hard, certainly, but a woman should be able to accomplish +everything for the man she loves. Remember for whose sake you will be +doing it, and promise me before I leave you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you should give me time to think before I promise anything,” sobbed +Winifred. “I believe I shall go mad. I am the most unfortunate girl that +ever lived. I did not seek him—he sought me; and now, when I—Have you +no pity?”</p> + +<p>“You see that I have—not only pity, but confidence. It is hard, but I +feel that you will rise to it. I, and you, are acting for Rex’s sake, +and I hope, I believe, you will do your share in saving him. And now I +must go, leaving my sting behind me. I am so sorry! I never dreamed that +I should like you so well. I have seen you before somewhere—it seems to +me in an old dream. Good-by, good-by! It had to be done, and I have done +it, but not gladly. Heaven help us women, and especially all mothers!”</p> + +<p>Winifred could not answer. She was choked with sobs, so Mrs. Carshaw +took her departure <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>in a kind of stealthy haste. She was far more +unhappy now than when she entered that quiet house. She came in +bristling with resolution. She went out, seemingly victorious, but +feeling small and mean.</p> + +<p>When she was gone Winifred threw herself on a couch with buried head, +and was still there an hour later when Miss Goodman brought up a letter. +It was from a dramatic agent whom she had often haunted for work—or +rather it was a letter on his office paper, making an appointment +between her and a “manager” at some high-sounding address in East +Orange, New Jersey, when, the writer said, “business might result.”</p> + +<p>She had hardly read it when Rex Carshaw’s tap came to the door.</p> + +<p>About that same time Steingall threw a note across his office table to +Clancy, who was there to announce that in a house in Brooklyn a fine +haul of coiners, dies, presses, and other illicit articles, human and +inanimate, had just been made.</p> + +<p>“Ralph V. Voles and his bad man from the West have come back to New York +again,” said the chief. “You might give ’em an eye.”</p> + +<p>“Why on earth doesn’t Carshaw marry the girl?” said Clancy.</p> + +<p>“I dunno. He’s straight, isn’t he?”</p> + +<p>“Strikes me that way.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p><p>“Me, too. Anyhow, let’s pick up a few threads. I’ve a notion that +Senator Meiklejohn thinks he has side-stepped the Bureau.”</p> + +<p>Clancy laughed. His mirth was grotesque as the grin of one of those +carved ivories of Japan, and to the effect of the crinkled features was +added a shrill cackle. The chief glanced up.</p> + +<p>“Don’t do that,” he said sharply. “You get my goat when you make that +beastly noise!”</p> + +<p>These two were beginning again to snap at each other about the Senator +and his affairs, and their official quarrels usually ended badly for the +other fellow.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>WINIFRED DRIFTS</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">W</span>inifred, pale as death, rose to receive her lover, with that letter in +her hand which made an appointment with her at a house in East Orange; a +letter which she believed to have been written by a dramatic agent, but +which was actually inspired by Senator Meiklejohn. It was the bait of +the trap which should put her once more in the power of Meiklejohn and +his accomplices.</p> + +<p>During a few tense seconds the girl prayed for power to play the bitter +part which had been thrust upon her—to play it well for the sake of the +man who loved her, and whom she loved. The words of his mother were +still in her ears. She had to make him think that she did not care for +him. In the last resort she had to fly from him. She had tacitly +promised to do this woeful thing.</p> + +<p>Far enough from her innocent mind was it to dream that the visit of +Rex’s mother had been brought about by her enemies in order to deprive +her of a protector and separate her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>from her lover at the very time +when he was most necessary to save her.</p> + +<p>Carshaw entered in high spirits. “Well, I have news—” he began. “But, +hello! What’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>“With whom?” asked Winifred.</p> + +<p>“You look pale.”</p> + +<p>“Do I? It is nothing.”</p> + +<p>“You have been crying, surely.”</p> + +<p>“Have I?”</p> + +<p>“Tell me. What is wrong?”</p> + +<p>“Why should I tell <i>you</i>, if anything is wrong?”</p> + +<p>He stood amazed at this speech. “Odd words,” said he, looking at her in +a stupor of surprise, almost of anger. “Whom should you tell but me?”</p> + +<p>This touched Winifred, and, struggling with the lump in her throat, she +said, unsteadily: “I am not very well to-day; if you will leave me now, +and come perhaps some other time, you will oblige me.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw strode nearer and caught her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“But what a tone to me! Have I done something wrong, I wonder? Winnie, +what is it?”</p> + +<p>“I have told you I am not very well. I do not desire your +company—to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Whew! What majesty! It must be something <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>outrageous. But what? Won’t +you be dear and kind, and tell me?”</p> + +<p>“You have done nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I have. I think I can guess. I spoke of Helen Tower yesterday as +of an old sweetheart—was that it? And it is all jealousy. Surely I +didn’t say much. What on earth did I say? That she was like a +Gainsborough; that she was rather a beauty; that she was <i>elancée</i> at +twenty-two. But I didn’t mean any harm. Why, it’s jealousy!”</p> + +<p>At this Winifred drew herself up to discharge a thunderbolt, and though +she winced at the Olympian effort, managed to say distinctly:</p> + +<p>“There can be no jealousy where there is no love.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw stood silent, momentarily stunned, like one before whom a +thunderbolt has really exploded. At last, looking at the pattern of a +frayed carpet, he said humbly enough:</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I must be a very unfortunate sort of man, Winifred.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t believe me!” Winifred wished to cry out. But the words were +checked on her white lips. The thought arose in her, “He that putteth +his hand to the plow and looketh back—”</p> + +<p>“It is sudden, this truth that you tell me,” went on Carshaw. “Is it a +truth?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“You are not fond of me, Winnie?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p><p>“I have a liking for you.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all?”</p> + +<p>“That is all.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t say it, dear. I suffer.”</p> + +<p>“Do you? No, don’t suffer. I—can’t help myself.”</p> + +<p>“You are sorry for me, then?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes.”</p> + +<p>“But how came I, then, to have the opposite impression so strongly? I +think—I can’t help thinking—that it was your fault, dear. You made me +hope, perhaps without meaning me to, that—that life was to be happy for +me. When I entered that door just now no man in New York had a lighter +step than I, or a more careless heart. I shall go out of it—different, +dear. You should not have allowed me to think—what I did; and you +should not have told me the truth so—quite so—suddenly.”</p> + +<p>“Sit down. You are not fair to me. I did not know you cared—”</p> + +<p>“You—you did not know that I cared? Come, that’s not true, girl!”</p> + +<p>“Not so much, I mean—not quite so much. I thought that you were +flirting with me, as I—perhaps—was flirting with you.”</p> + +<p>“Who is that I hear speaking? Is it Winifred? The very sound of her +voice seems different. Am I dreaming? She flirting with me? I don’t +realize her—it is a different girl! Oh! <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>this thing comes to me like a +falling steeple. It had no right to happen!”</p> + +<p>“You should sit down, or you should go; better go—better, better go,” +and Winifred clutched wildly at her throat. “Let us part now, and let us +never meet!”</p> + +<p>“If you like, if you wish it,” said Carshaw, still humbly, for he was +quite dazed. “It seems sudden. I am not sure if it is a dream or not. It +isn’t a happy one, if it is. But have we no business to discuss before +you send me away in this fashion? Do you mean to throw off my help as +well as myself?”</p> + +<p>“I shall manage. I have an offer of work here in my hands. I shall soon +be at work, and will then send the amount of the debt which I owe you, +though you care nothing about that, and I know that I can never repay +you for all.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that is true, too, in a way. Am I, then, actually to go?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“But you are not serious? Think of my living on, days and years, and not +seeing you any more. It seems a pitiable thing, too. Even you must be +sorry for me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it seems a pitiable thing!”</p> + +<p>“So—what do you say?”</p> + +<p>“Good-by. Go—go!”</p> + +<p>“But you will at least let me know where you are? Don’t be quite lost to +me.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p><p>“I shall be here for some time. But you won’t come. I mustn’t see you. I +demand that much.”</p> + +<p>“No, no. I won’t come, you may be sure. And you, on your part, promise +that if you have need of money you will let me know? That is the least I +can expect of you.”</p> + +<p>“I will; but go. I will have you in my—memory. Only go from me now, if +you—love—”</p> + +<p>“Good-by, then. I do not understand, but good-by. I am all in, Winnie; +but still, good-by. God bless you—”</p> + +<p>He kissed her hand and went. Her skin was cold to his lips, and, in a +numb way, he wondered why. A moment after he had disappeared she called +his name, but in an awful, hushed voice which he could not hear; and she +fell at her length on the couch.</p> + +<p>“Rex! My love! My dear love,” she moaned, and yet he did not hear, for +the sky had dropped on him.</p> + +<p>There she lay a little while, yet it was not all pain with her. There is +one sweetest sweet to the heart, one drop of intensest honey, sweeter to +it than any wormwood is bitter, which consoled her—the consciousness of +self-sacrifice, of duty done, of love lost for love’s sake. Mrs. Carshaw +had put the girl on what Senator Meiklejohn cynically called “the heroic +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>tack”; and, having gone on that tack, Winifred deeply understood that +there was a secret smile in it, and a surprising light. She lay catching +her breath till Miss Goodman brought up the tea-tray, expecting to find +the cheery Carshaw there as usual, for she had not heard him go out.</p> + +<p>Instead, she found Winifred sobbing on the couch, for Winifred’s grief +was of that depth which ceases to care if it is witnessed by others. The +good landlady came, therefore, and knelt by Winifred’s side, put her arm +about her, and began to console and question her. The consolation did no +good, but the questions did. For, if one is persistently questioned, one +must answer something sooner or later, and the mind’s effort to answer +breaks the thread of grief, and so the commonplace acts as a medicine to +tragedy.</p> + +<p>In the end Winifred was obliged to sit up and go to the table where the +tea-things were. This was in itself a triumph; and her effort to secure +solitude and get rid of Miss Goodman was a further help toward throwing +off her mood of despair. By the time Miss Goodman was gone the storm was +somewhat calmed.</p> + +<p>During that sad evening, which she spent alone, she read once more the +letter making the appointment with her at East Orange. Now, reading it a +second time, she felt a twinge <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>of doubt. Who could it be, she wondered, +whom she would have to see there? East Orange was some way off. A +meeting of this sort usually took place in New York, at an office.</p> + +<p>Her mind was not at all given to suspicions, but on reading over the +letter for the third time, she now noticed that the signature was not in +the handwriting of the agent. She knew his writing quite well, for he +had sent her other letters. This writing was, indeed, something like +his, but certainly not his. It might be a clerk’s; the letter was typed +on his office paper.</p> + +<p>To say that she was actually disturbed by these little rills of doubt +would not be quite true. Still, they did arise in her mind, and left her +not perfectly at ease. The touch of uneasiness, however, made her ask +herself why she should now become a singer at all. It was Carshaw who +had pressed it upon her, because she had insisted on the vital necessity +of doing something quickly, and he had not wished her to work again with +her hands. In reality, he was scheming to gain time.</p> + +<p>Now that they were parted she saw no reason why she should not throw off +all this stage ambition, and toil like other girls as good as she. She +had done it. She was skilled in the bookbinding craft; she might do it +again. She counted her money and saw that she had enough <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>to carry her +on a week, or even two, with economy. Therefore, she had time in which +to seek other work.</p> + +<p>Even if she did not find it she would have not the slightest hesitation +in “borrowing” from Rex; for, after all, all that he had was hers—she +knew it, and he knew it. Before she went to bed she decided to throw up +the singing ambition, not to go to the appointment at East Orange, but +to seek some other more modest occupation.</p> + +<p>About that same hour Rex Carshaw walked desolately to the apartment in +Madison Avenue. He threw himself into a chair and propped his head on a +hand, saying: “Well, mother!” for Mrs. Carshaw was in the room.</p> + +<p>His mother glanced anxiously at him, for though Winifred had promised to +keep secret the fact of her visit, she was in fear lest some hint of it +might have crept out; nor had she foreseen quite so deadly an effect on +her son as was now manifest. He looked care-worn and weary, and the +maternal heart throbbed.</p> + +<p>She came and stood over him. “Rex, you don’t look well,” said she.</p> + +<p>“No; perhaps I’m not very well, mother,” said he listlessly.</p> + +<p>“Can I do anything?”</p> + +<p>“No; I’m rather afraid that the mischief is beyond you, mother.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p><p>“Poor boy! It is some trouble, I know. Perhaps it would do you good to +tell me.”</p> + +<p>“No; don’t worry, mother. I’d rather be left alone, there’s a dear.”</p> + +<p>“Only tell me this. Is it very bad? Does it hurt—much?”</p> + +<p>“Where’s the use of talking? What cannot be cured must be endured. Life +isn’t all a smooth run on rubber tires.”</p> + +<p>“But it will pass, whatever it is. Bear up and be brave.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I suppose it will pass—when I am dead.”</p> + +<p>She tried to smile.</p> + +<p>“Only the young dream of death as a relief,” she said. “But such wild +words hurt, Rex.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right, only leave me alone; you can’t help. Give me a kiss, +and then go.”</p> + +<p>A tear wet his forehead when Mrs. Carshaw laid her lips there.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>ALL ROADS LEAD TO EAST ORANGE</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he next day Winifred set about her new purpose of finding some other +occupation than that connected with the stage, though she rose from bed +that morning feeling ill, having hardly slept throughout the night.</p> + +<p>First, she read over once more the “agent’s” letter, and was again +conscious of an extremely vague feeling of something queer in it when +she reflected on the lateness of the hour of the rendezvous—eight in +the evening. She decided to write, explaining her change of purpose, and +declining the interview with this nebulous “client.” She did not write +at once. She thought that she would wait, and see first the result of +the day’s search for other employment.</p> + +<p>Soon after breakfast she went out, heading for Brown’s, her old +employers in Greenwich Village, who had turned her away after the yacht +affair and the arrest of her aunt.</p> + +<p>As she waited at the crossing where the cars pass, her eyes rested on a +man—a clergyman, apparently—standing on the opposite pavement. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>He was +not at the moment looking that way, and she took little notice of him, +though her subconsciousness may have recognized something familiar in +the lines of his body.</p> + +<p>It was Fowle in a saintly garb, Fowle in a shovel hat, Fowle interested +in the comings and goings of Winifred. Fowle, moreover, in those days, +floated on the high tide of ease, and had plenty of money in his pocket. +He not only looked, but felt like a person of importance, and when +Winifred entered a street-car, Fowle followed in a taxi.</p> + +<p>There was a new foreman at Brown’s now, and he received the girl kindly. +She laid her case before him. She had been employed there and had given +satisfaction. Then, all at once, an event with which she had nothing +more to do than people in China, had caused her to be dismissed. Would +not the firm, now that the whole business had blown over, reinstate her?</p> + +<p>The man heard her attentively through and said:</p> + +<p>“Hold on. I’ll have a talk with the boss.” He left her, and was gone ten +minutes. Then he returned, with a shaking head. “No, Brown’s never take +any one back,” said he; “but here’s a list of bookbinding firms which +he’s written out for you, and he says he’ll give you a recommendation if +any of ’em give you a job.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p><p>With this list Winifred went out, and, determined to lose no time, +started on the round, taking the nearest first, one in Nineteenth +Street. She walked that way, and slowly behind her followed a clergyman. +The firm in Nineteenth Street wanted no new hand. Winifred got into a +Twenty-third Street cross-town car. After her sped a taxi.</p> + +<p>And now, when she stopped at the third bookbinder’s, Fowle knew her +motive. She was seeking work at the old trade. He was puzzled, knowing +that she had wished to become a singer, and being aware, too, of the +appointment for the next night at East Orange. Had she, then, changed +her purpose? Perhaps she was seeking both kinds of employment, meaning +to accept the one which came first. If the bookbinding won out that +might be dangerous to the rendezvous.</p> + +<p>In any case, Fowle resolved to nip the project in the bud. He would go +later in the day to all the firms she had visited, ask if they had +engaged her, and, if so, drop a hint that she had been dismissed from +Brown’s for being connected with the crime committed against Mr. Ronald +Tower. A bogus clergyman’s word was good for something, anyhow.</p> + +<p>From Twenty-third Street, where there was no work, Winifred made her way +to Twenty-ninth Street, followed still by the taxi. Here <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>things turned +out better for her. She was seen by a manager who told her that they +would be short-handed in three or four days, and that, if she could +really produce a reference from Brown’s he would engage her permanently. +Winifred left him her address, so that he might write and tell her when +she could come.</p> + +<p>She lunched in a cheap restaurant and walked to her lodgings. Color +flooded her cheeks, but she was appalled by her loneliness, by the +emptiness of her life. To bind books and to live for binding books, that +was not living. She had peeped into Paradise, but the gate had been shut +in her face, and the bookbinding world seemed an intolerably flat and +stale rag-fair in comparison.</p> + +<p>How was she to live it through, she asked herself. When she went up to +her room the once snug and homely place disgusted her. How was she to +live through the vast void of that afternoon alone in that apartment? +How bridge the vast void of to-morrow? The salt had lost its savor; she +tasted ashes; life was all sand of the desert; she would not see him any +more. The resolution which had carried her through the interview with +Carshaw failed her now, and she blamed herself for the murder of +herself.</p> + +<p>“Oh, how could I have done such a thing!” <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>she cried, bursting into +tears, with her hat still on and her head on the table.</p> + +<p>She had to write a letter to the “agent,” telling him that she did not +mean to keep the rendezvous at East Orange, since she had obtained other +work, and with difficulty summoned the requisite energy. Every effort +was nauseous to her. Her whole nature was absorbed in digesting her one +great calamity.</p> + +<p>Next morning it was the same. Her arms hung listlessly by her side. She +evaded little domestic tasks. Though her clothes were new, a girl can +always find sewing and stitching. A certain shirtwaist needed slight +adjustment, but her fingers fumbled a simple task. She passed the time +somehow till half past four. At that hour there was a ring at the outer +door. In the absorption of her grief she did not hear it, though it was +“his” hour. A step sounded on the stairs, and this she heard; but she +thought it was Miss Goodman bringing tea.</p> + +<p>Then, brusquely, without any knock, the door opened, and she saw before +her Carshaw.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” she screamed, in an ecstasy of joy, and was in his arms.</p> + +<p>The rope which bound her had snapped thus suddenly for the simple reason +that Carshaw had promised never to come again, and was very strict, as +she knew, in keeping his pledged word. Therefore, until the moment when +her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>distraught eyes took in the fact of his presence, she had not the +faintest hope or thought of seeing him for many a day to come, if ever.</p> + +<p>Seeing him all at once in the midst of her desert of despair, her reason +swooned, all fixed principles capsized, and instinct swept her +triumphantly, as the whirlwind bears a feather, to his ready embrace. +He, for his part, had broken his promise because he could not help it. +He had to come—so he came. His dismissal had been too sudden to be +credible, to find room in his brain. It continued to have something of +the character of a dream, and he was here now to convince himself that +the dream was true.</p> + +<p>Moreover, in her manner of sending him away, in some of her words, there +had been something unreal and unconvincing, with broken hints of love, +even as she denied love, which haunted and puzzled his memory. If he had +made a thousand promises he would still have to return to her.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said he, his face alight for joy as she moaned on his breast, +“what is it all about? You unreliable little half of a nerve, Winnie!”</p> + +<p>“I can’t help it; kiss me—only once!” panted Winifred, with tears +streaming down her up-turned face.</p> + +<p>Carshaw needed no bidding. Kiss her once! Well, a man should smile.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p><p>“What is it all about?” he demanded, when Winifred was quite breathless. +“Am I loved, then?”</p> + +<p>Her forehead was on his shoulder, and she did not answer.</p> + +<p>“It seems so,” he whispered. “Silence is said to mean consent. But why, +then, was I not loved the day before yesterday?”</p> + +<p>Still Winifred dared not answer. The frenzy was passing, the moral +nature re-arising, stronger than ever, claiming its own. She had +promised and failed! What she did was not well for him.</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” he urged, with a lover’s eagerness. “You’ll have to, some +time, you know.”</p> + +<p>“You promised not to come. You promised definitely,” said Winifred, +disengaging herself from him.</p> + +<p>“Could I help coming?” cried he. “I was in the greatest bewilderment and +misery!”</p> + +<p>“So you will always come, even if you promise not to?”</p> + +<p>“But I won’t promise not to! Where is the need now? You love me, I love +you!”</p> + +<p>Winifred turned away from him, went to the window and looked out, seeing +nothing, for the eyes of the soul were busy. Her lips were now firmly +set, and during the minute that she stood there a rapid train of thought +and purpose passed through her mind. She had promised <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>to give him up, +and she would go through with it. It was for him—and it was sweet, +though bitter, to be a martyr. But she recognized clearly that so long +as he knew where to find her the thing could never be done. She made up +her mind to be gone from those lodgings by that hour the next day, and +to be buried from him in some other part of the great city. She would +never in that case be able to ask him for help to keep going, without +giving her address, but in a few days she would have work at the new +bookbinder’s. This well settled in her mind, she turned inward to him, +saying:</p> + +<p>“Miss Goodman will soon bring up tea. Come, let us be happy to-day. You +want to know if I love you? Well, the answer is yes, yes; so now you +know, and can never doubt. I want you to stay a long time this +afternoon, and I invite you to be my dear, dear guest on one +condition—that you don’t ask me why I told you that awful fib the day +before yesterday, for I don’t mean to tell you!”</p> + +<p>Of course Carshaw took her again in his arms, and, without breaking her +conditions, stayed with her till nearly six. She was sedately gay all +the time, but, on kissing him good-by, she wept quietly, and as quietly +she said to her landlady when he was gone:</p> + +<p>“Miss Goodman, I am going away to-morrow—for always, I’m afraid.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p><p>Soon after this six o’clock struck. At ten minutes past the hour Miss +Goodman brought up two letters.</p> + +<p>Without looking at the handwriting on the envelopes, Winifred tore open +one, laying the other on a writing-desk, this latter being from the +agent in answer to the one she had written. She had told him that she +did not mean to keep the appointment at East Orange, and he now assured +her that he had certainly never made any appointment for her at East +Orange. The thing was some blunder. New York impresarios did not make +appointments in East Orange. He asked for an explanation.</p> + +<p>Pity that she did not open this letter before the other—or the other +was of a nature to drive the existence of the agent’s letter—of any +letter—out of her head; for days afterward that all-important message +lay on the table unopened.</p> + +<p>The note which Winifred did read was from the bookbinding manager who +had all but engaged her that day. He now informed her that he would have +no use for her services. The clergyman in the taxi had followed very +effectively on Winifred’s trail.</p> + +<p>She was stunned by this final blow. Her eyes gazed into vacancy. What +she was to do now she did not know. The next day she had to go away into +strange lodgings, with hardly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>any money, without any possibility of her +applying again to Rex, without support of any sort. She had never known +real poverty, for her “aunt” had always more or less been in funds; and +the prospect appalled her. She would face it, however, at all costs, +and, the bookbinding failing her, her mind naturally recurred, with a +gasp of hope, to the singing.</p> + +<p>There was the appointment at East Orange at eight. She looked at the +clock; she might have time, though it would mean an instant rush. She +would go. True, she had written the agent to say that she would not, and +he might have so advised his client. But perhaps he had not had time to +do this, since she had written him so late. In any case, there was a +chance that she should meet the person in question, and then she could +explain. Suddenly she leaped up, hurried on her hat and coat, and ran +out of the house. In a few minutes she was at the Hudson Tube, bound for +Hoboken and East Orange.</p> + +<p>Of course it was a mad thing to leave an unopened letter on the table, +but just then poor Winifred was nearly out of her mind.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE CRASH</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">W</span>hen Carshaw came, with lightsome step and heart freed from care—for in +some respects he was irresponsible as any sane man could be—to visit +his beloved Winifred next day, he was met by a frightened and somewhat +incoherent Miss Goodman.</p> + +<p>“Not been home all night! Surely you can offer some explanation further +than that maddening statement?” cried he, when the shock of her news had +sent the color from his face and the joy from his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir, I don’t know what to say. Indeed, I am not to blame.”</p> + +<p>Miss Goodman, kind-hearted soul, was more flurried now by Carshaw’s +manner than by Winifred’s inexplicable disappearance.</p> + +<p>“Blame, my good woman, who is imputing blame?” he blazed at her. “But +there’s a hidden purpose, a convincing motive, in her going out and not +returning. Give me some clue, some reason. A clear thought now, the +right word from you, may save hours of useless search.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p><p>“How can I give any clues?” cried the bewildered landlady. “The dear +young creature was crying all day fit to break her heart after the lady +called—”</p> + +<p>“The lady! What lady?”</p> + +<p>“Your mother, sir. Didn’t she tell you? Mrs. Carshaw was here the day +before yesterday, and she must have spoken very cruelly to Winifred to +make her so downcast for hours. I was that sorry for her—”</p> + +<p>Now, Carshaw had the rare faculty—rare, that is, in men of a +happy-go-lucky temperament—of becoming a human iceberg in moments of +danger or difficulty. The blank absurdity of Miss Goodman’s implied +assertion that Winifred had run away—though, indeed, running away was +uppermost in the girl’s thoughts—had roused him to fiery wrath.</p> + +<p>But the haphazard mention of his mother’s visit, the coincidence of +Winifred’s unexpectedly strange behavior and equally unexpected +transition to a wildly declared love, revealed some of the hidden +sources of events, and over the volcano of his soul he imposed a layer +of ice. He even smiled pleasantly as he begged Miss Goodman to dry her +eyes and be seated.</p> + +<p>“We are at loggerheads, you see,” he said, almost cheerfully. “Just let +us sit down and have a quiet talk. Tell me everything you know, and in +the order in which things happened. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>Tell me facts, and if you are +guessing at probabilities, tell me you are guessing. Then we shall soon +unravel the tangled threads.”</p> + +<p>Thus reassured, Miss Goodman took him through the records of the past +forty-eight hours, so far as she knew them. After the first few words he +required no explanations of his mother’s presence in that middle-class +section of Manhattan. She had gone there in her stately limousine to awe +and bewilder a poor little girl—to frighten an innocent out of loving +her son and thus endangering her own grandiose projects for his future.</p> + +<p>It was pardonable, perhaps, from a worldly woman’s point of view. That +there were other aspects of it she should soon see, with a certain +definiteness, the cold outlines of which already made his mouth stern, +and sent little lines to wrinkle his forehead. He had spared her +hitherto—had hoped to keep on sparing her—yet she had not spared +Winifred! But who had prompted her to this heartless deed? He loved his +mother. Her faults were those of society, her virtues were her own. She +had lived too long in an atmosphere of artificiality not to have lost +much of the fine American womanliness that was her birthright. That +could be cured—he alone knew how. The puzzling query, for a little +while, was the identity of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>cruel, calculating, ruthless enemy who +struck by her hand.</p> + +<p>There was less light shed on Winifred’s own behavior. He recalled her +words: “You want to know if I love you—yes, yes—I want you to stay a +long time this afternoon—don’t ask me why I told you that awful <span style="white-space: nowrap;">fib—”</span></p> + +<p>And then her confession to Miss Goodman: “I am going away to-morrow—for +always, I’m afraid.”</p> + +<p>What did that portend? Ah, yes; she was going to some place where he +could not find her, to bury herself away from his love and because of +her love for him. It was no new idea in woman’s heart, this. For long +ages in India sorrowing wives burned themselves to death on the funeral +pyres of their lords. Poor Winifred only reversed the method of the +sacrifice—its result would be the same.</p> + +<p>“But ‘to-morrow’—to-day, that is. You are quite sure of her words?” he +persisted.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, sir; quite sure. Besides she has left her clothes and letters, +and little knick-knacks of jewelry. Would you care to see them?”</p> + +<p>For an instant he hesitated, for he was a man of refinement, and he +hated the necessity of prying into the little secrets of his dear one. +Then he agreed, and Miss Goodman took him from her own sitting-room to +that tenanted by <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>Winifred. Her presence seemed to linger in the air. +His eyes traveled to the chair from which she rose with that glad +crooning cry when he came to her so few hours earlier.</p> + +<p>On the table lay her tiny writing-case. In it, unopened, and hidden by +the discouraging missive from the bookbinder’s, rested the note from the +dramatic agent, with the thrice-important clue of its plain statement: +“I have made no appointment for you at any house near East Orange.”</p> + +<p>But Miss Goodman had already thrown open the door which led to +Winifred’s bedroom.</p> + +<p>“You can see for yourself, sir,” she said, “the room was not occupied +last night. Nor that she could be in the house without me knowing it, +poor thing. There are her clothes in the wardrobe, and the +dressing-table is tidy. She’s extraordinarily neat in her ways, is Miss +Bartlett—quite different from the empty-headed creatures girls mostly +are nowadays.”</p> + +<p>Miss Goodman spoke bitterly. She was fifty, gray-haired, and a hopeless +old maid. This point of view sours the appearance of saucy eighteen with +the sun shining in its tresses.</p> + +<p>Carshaw swallowed something in his throat. The sanctity of this inner +room of Winifred’s overwhelmed him. He turned away hastily.</p> + +<p>“All right, Miss Goodman,” he said; “we can learn nothing here. Let us +go back to your <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>apartment, and I’ll tell you what I want you to do +now.”</p> + +<p>Passing the writing-desk again he looked more carefully at its contents. +A small packet of bills caught his eye. There were the receipts for such +simple articles as Winifred had bought with his money. Somehow, the mere +act of examining such a list struck him with a sense of profanation. He +could not do it.</p> + +<p>His eyes glazed. Hardly knowing what the words meant, he glanced through +the typed document from the bookbinder. It was obviously a business +letter. He committed no breach of the etiquette governing private +correspondence by reading it. So great was his delicacy in this respect +that he did not even lift the letter from the table, but noted the +address and the curt phraseology. Here, then, was a little explanation. +He would inquire at that place.</p> + +<p>“I want you to telegraph me each morning and evening,” he said to the +landlady. “Don’t depend on the phone. If you have news, of course you +will give it, but if nothing happens say that there is no news. Here is +my address and a five-dollar bill for expenses. Did Miss Bartlett owe +you anything?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. She paid me yesterday when she gave me notice.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p><p>“Ah! Kindly retain her rooms. I don’t wish any other person to occupy +them.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think, sir, she will not come back to-day?”</p> + +<p>“I fear so. She is detained by force. She has been misled by some one. I +am going now to find out who that some one else is.”</p> + +<p>He drove his car, now rejuvenated, with the preoccupied gaze of one who +seeks to pierce a dark and troubled future. From the garage he called up +the Long Island estate where his hacks and polo ponies were housed for +the winter. He gave some instructions which caused the man in charge to +blink with astonishment.</p> + +<p>“Selling everything, Mr. Carshaw!” he said. “D’ye really mean it?”</p> + +<p>“Does my voice sound as if I were joking, Bates?”</p> + +<p>“No-no, sir; I can’t say it does. But—”</p> + +<p>“Start on the catalogue now, this evening. I’ll look after you. Mr. Van +Hofen wants a good man. Stir yourself, and that place is yours.”</p> + +<p>He found his mother at home. She glanced at him as he entered her +boudoir. She saw, with her ready tact, that questions as to his state of +worry would be useless.</p> + +<p>“Will you be dining at home, Rex?” she asked.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p><p>“Yes. And you?”</p> + +<p>“I—have almost promised to dine <i>en famille</i> with the Towers.”</p> + +<p>“Better stop here. We have a lot of things to arrange.”</p> + +<p>“Arrange! What sort of things?”</p> + +<p>“Business affairs for the most part.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, business! Any discussion of—”</p> + +<p>“I said nothing about discussion, mother. For some years past I have +been rather careless in my ways. Now I am going to stop all that. A good +business maxim is to always choose the word that expresses one’s meaning +exactly.”</p> + +<p>“Rex, you speak queerly.”</p> + +<p>“That shows I’m doing well. Your ears have so long been accustomed to +falsity, mother, that the truth sounds strangely.”</p> + +<p>“My son, do not be so bitter with me. I have never in my life had other +than the best of motives in any thought or action that concerned you.”</p> + +<p>He looked at her intently. He read in her words an admission and a +defense.</p> + +<p>“Let us avoid tragedy, mother, at least in words. Who sent you to +Winifred?”</p> + +<p>“Then she has told you?”</p> + +<p>“She has not told me. Women are either angels or fiends. This harmless +little angel has been driven out of her Paradise in the hope that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>her +butterfly wings may be soiled by the rain and mud of Manhattan. Who sent +you to her?”</p> + +<p>“Senator Meiklejohn,” said Mrs. Carshaw defiantly.</p> + +<p>“What, that smug Pharisee! What was his excuse?”</p> + +<p>“He said you were the talk of the clubs—that Helen Tower—”</p> + +<p>“She, too! Thank you. I see the drift of things now. It was heartless of +you, mother. Did not Winifred’s angel face, twisted into misery by your +lies, cause you one pang of remorse?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carshaw rose unsteadily. Her face was ghastly in its whiteness.</p> + +<p>“Rex, spare me, for Heaven’s sake!” she faltered. “I did it for the +best. I have suffered more than you know.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad to hear it. You have a good nature in its depths, but the +canker of society has almost destroyed it. That is why you and I are +about to talk business.”</p> + +<p>“I am feeling faint. Let matters rest a few hours.”</p> + +<p>He strode to the bell and summoned a servant. “Bring some brandy and two +glasses,” he said when the man came.</p> + +<p>It was an unusual order at that hour. Silently the servant obeyed. +Carshaw looked out of the window, while his mother, true to her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>caste, +affected nonchalance before the domestic.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said he when they were alone, “drink this. It will steady your +nerves.”</p> + +<p>She was frightened at last. Her hand shook as it took the proffered +glass.</p> + +<p>“What has happened?” she asked, with quavering voice. She had never seen +her son like this before. There was a hint of inflexible purpose in him +that terrified her. When he spoke the new crispness in his voice shocked +her ears.</p> + +<p>“Mere business, I assure you. Not another word about Winifred. I shall +find her, sooner or later, and we shall be married then, at once. But, +by queer chance, I have been looking into affairs of late. The manager +of our Massachusetts mills tells me that trade is slack. We have been +running at a loss for some years. Our machinery is antiquated, and we +have not the accumulated reserves to replace it. We are in debt, and our +credit begins to be shaky. Think of that, mother—the name of Carshaw +pondered over by bank managers and discounters of trade bills!”</p> + +<p>“Senator Meiklejohn mentioned this vaguely,” she admitted.</p> + +<p>“Dear me! What an interest he takes in us! I wonder why? But, as a +financial magnate, he understands things.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p><p>“Your father always said, Rex, that trade had its cycles—fat years and +lean years, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. He built up our prosperity by hard work, by spending less than +half what he earned, not by living in a town house and gadding about in +society. Do you remember, mother, how he used to laugh at your pretty +little affectations? I think I own my share of the family brains, +though, so I shall act now as he would have acted.”</p> + +<p>“Do you wish to goad me into hysteria? What are you driving at?” she +shrieked.</p> + +<p>“That is the way to reach the heart of the mystery—get at the facts, +eh? They’re simple. The business needs three hundred thousand dollars to +give it solidity and staying power; then four or five years’ good and +economical management will set it right. We have been living at the rate +of fifty thousand dollars a year. For some time we have been executing +small mortgages to obtain this annual income, expecting the business to +clear them. Now the estates must come to the help of the business.”</p> + +<p>“In what way?” she gasped.</p> + +<p>“They must be mortgaged up to the hilt to pay off the small sums and +find the large one. It will take ten years of nursing to relieve them of +the burden. Not a penny must come from the mills.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p><p>“How shall we live?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>“I have arranged that. Your marriage settlement of two thousand five +hundred dollars a year is secured; that is all. How big it seemed in +your eyes when you were a bride! How little now, though your real needs +are less! I shall take a sufficient salary as assistant manager while I +learn the business. It means two thousand dollars a year for +housekeeping, and I have calculated that the sale of all our goods will +pay our personal debts and leave you and me five thousand each to set up +small establishments.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carshaw flounced into a chair. “You must be quite mad!” she cried.</p> + +<p>“No, mother, sane—quite sane—for the first time. Don’t you believe me? +Go to your lawyers; the scheme is really theirs. They are good business +men, and congratulated me on taking a wise step. So you see, mother, I +really cannot afford a fashionable wife.”</p> + +<p>“I am—choking!” she gasped. For the moment anger filled her soul.</p> + +<p>“Now, be reasonable, there’s a good soul. Five thousand in the bank, +twenty-five hundred a year to live on. Why, when you get used to it you +will say you were never so happy. What about dinner? Shall we start +economizing at once? Let’s pay off half a dozen servants before we sit +down to a chop! Eh, tears! Well, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>they’ll help. Sometimes they’re good +for women. Send for me when you are calmer!”</p> + +<p>With a look of real pity in his eyes he bent and kissed her forehead. +She would have kept him with her, but he went away.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said, “no discussion, you remember; and I must fix a whole heap +of things before we dine!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>CLANCY EXPLAINS</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">C</span>arshaw phoned the Bureau, asking for Clancy or the chief. Both were +out.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Steingall will be here to-morrow,” said the official in charge. +“Mr. Clancy asked me to tell you, if you rang up, that he would be away +till Monday next.”</p> + +<p>This was Wednesday evening. Carshaw felt that fate was using him ill, +for Clancy was the one man with whom he wanted to commune in that hour +of agony. He dined with his mother. She, deeming him crazy after a +severe attack of calf-love, humored his mood. She was calm now, +believing that a visit to the lawyers next day, and her own influence +with the mill-manager and the estate superintendent, would soon put a +different aspect on affairs.</p> + +<p>A telegram came late: “No news.”</p> + +<p>He sought Senator Meiklejohn at his apartment, but the fox, scenting +hounds, had broken covert.</p> + +<p>“The Senator will be in Washington next week,” said the discreet +Phillips. “At present, sir, he is not in town.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p><p>Carshaw made no further inquiry; he knew it was useless. In the morning +another telegram: “No news!”</p> + +<p>He set his teeth, and smilingly agreed to accompany his mother to the +lawyers’. She came away in tears. Those serious men strongly approved of +her son’s project.</p> + +<p>“Rex has all his father’s grit,” said the senior partner. “In a little +time you will be convinced that he is acting rightly.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be dead!” she snapped.</p> + +<p>The lawyer lifted his hands with a deprecating smile. “You have no +secrets from me, Mrs. Carshaw,” he said. “You are ten years my junior, +and insurance actuaries give women longer lives than men when they have +attained a certain age.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw visited Helen Tower. She was fluttered. By note he had asked for +a <i>tête-à-tête</i> interview. But his first words undeceived her.</p> + +<p>“Where is Meiklejohn?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean Senator Meiklejohn?” she corrected him.</p> + +<p>“Yes; the man who acted in collusion with you in kidnapping my intended +wife.”</p> + +<p>“How dare you—”</p> + +<p>“Sit down, Helen; no heroics, please. Or perhaps you would prefer that +Ronald should be present?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p><p>“This tone, Rex—to me!” She was crimson with surprise.</p> + +<p>“You are right: it is better that Tower should not be here. He might get +a worse <i>douche</i> than his plunge into the river. Now, about Meiklejohn? +Why did he conspire with you and my mother to carry off Winifred +Bartlett?”</p> + +<p>“I—don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“Surely there was some motive?”</p> + +<p>“You are speaking in enigmas. I heard of the girl from you. I have never +seen her. If your mother interfered, it was for your good.”</p> + +<p>He smiled cynically. The cold, far-away look in his eyes was bitter to +her soul, yet he had never looked so handsome, so distinguished, as in +this moment when he was ruthlessly telling her that another woman +absorbed him utterly.</p> + +<p>“What hold has Meiklejohn over you?” he went on.</p> + +<p>She simulated tears. “You have no right to address me in that manner,” +she protested.</p> + +<p>“There is a guilty bond somewhere, and I shall find it out,” he said +coldly. “My mother was your catspaw. You, Helen, may have been spiteful, +but Meiklejohn—that sleek and smug politician—I cannot understand him. +The story went that owing to an accidental likeness to Meiklejohn your +husband was nearly killed. His assailant was a man named Voles. Voles +was an associate of Rachel Craik, the woman <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>who poses as Winifred’s +aunt. That is the line of inquiry. Do you know anything about it?”</p> + +<p>“Not a syllable.”</p> + +<p>“Then I must appeal to Ronald.”</p> + +<p>“Do so. He is as much in the dark as I am.”</p> + +<p>“I fancy you are speaking the truth, Helen.”</p> + +<p>“Is it manly to come here and insult me?”</p> + +<p>“Was it womanly to place these hounds on the track of my poor Winifred? +I shall spare no one, Helen. Be warned in time. If you can help me, do +so. I may have pity on my friends, I shall have none for my enemies.”</p> + +<p>He was gone. Mrs. Tower, biting her lips and clenching her hands in +sheer rage, rushed to an escritoire and unlocked it. A letter lay there, +a letter from Meiklejohn. It was dated from the Marlborough-Blenheim +Hotel, Atlantic City.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Dear Mrs. Tower,” it ran, “the Costa Rica cotton concession is almost +secure. The President will sign it any day now. But secrecy is more than +ever important. Tell none but Jacob. The market must be kept in the +dark. He can begin operations quietly. The shares should be at par +within a week, and at five in a month. Wire me the one word ‘settled’ +when Jacob says he is ready.”</p></div> + +<p>“At five in a month!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tower was promised ten thousand of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>those shares. Their nominal +value was one dollar. To-day they stood at a few cents. Fifty thousand +dollars! What a relief it would be! Threatening dressmakers, impudent +racing agents asking for unpaid bets, sneering friends who held her I. +O. U.’s for bridge losses, and spoke of asking her husband to settle; +all these paid triumphantly, and plenty in hand to battle in the +whirlpool for years—it was a stake worth fighting for.</p> + +<p>And Meiklejohn? As the price of his help in gaining a concession granted +by a new competitor among the cotton-producing States, he would be given +five shares to her one. Why did he dread this girl? That was a fruitful +affair to probe. But he must be warned. Her lost lover might be +troublesome at a critical stage in the affairs of the cotton market.</p> + +<p>She wrote a telegram: “Settled, but await letter.” In the letter she +gave him some details—not all—of Carshaw’s visit. No woman will ever +reveal that she has been discarded by a man whom she boasted was tied to +her hat-strings.</p> + +<p>Carshaw sought the detective bureau, but Steingall was away now, as well +as Clancy. “You’ll be hearing from one of them” was the enigmatic +message he was given.</p> + +<p>Eating his heart out in misery, he arranged his affairs, received those +two daily telegrams <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>from Miss Goodman with their dreadful words, “No +news,” and haunted the bookbinder’s, and Meiklejohn’s door hoping to see +some of the crew of Winifred’s persecutors. At the bookbinder’s he +learned of the visit of the supposed clergyman, whose name, however, did +not appear in the lists of any denomination.</p> + +<p>At last arrived a telegram from Burlington, Vermont. “Come and see me. +Clancy.” Grown wary by experience, Carshaw ascertained first that Clancy +was really at Burlington. Then he instructed Miss Goodman to telegraph +to him in the north, and quitted New York by the night train.</p> + +<p>In the sporting columns of an evening paper he read of the sale of his +polo ponies. The scribe regretted the suggested disappearance from the +game of “one of the best Number Ones” he had ever seen. The Long Island +estate was let already, and Mrs. Carshaw would leave her expensive flat +when the lease expired.</p> + +<p>Early next day he was greeted by Clancy.</p> + +<p>“Glad to see you, Mr. Carshaw,” said the little man. “Been here before? +No? Charming town. None of the infernal racket of New York about life in +Burlington. Any one who got bitten by that bug here would be afflicted +like the Gadarene swine and rush into Lake Champlain. Walk to the hotel? +It’s a fine <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>morning, and you’ll get some bully views of the Adirondacks +as you climb the hill.”</p> + +<p>“Winifred is gone. Hasn’t the Bureau kept you informed?”</p> + +<p>Clancy sighed.</p> + +<p>“I’ve had Winifred on my mind for days,” he said irritably. “Can’t you +forget her for half an hour?”</p> + +<p>“She’s gone, I tell you. Spirited away the very day I asked her to marry +me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well. Why didn’t you ask her sooner?”</p> + +<p>“I had to arrange my affairs. I am poor now. How could I marry Winifred +under false pretenses?”</p> + +<p>“What, then? Did she love you for your supposed wealth?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Clancy, I am tortured. Why have you brought me here?”</p> + +<p>“To stop you from playing Meiklejohn’s game. I hear that you camp +outside his apartment-house. You and I are going back to New York this +very day, and the Bureau will soon find your Winifred. By the way, how +did you happen onto the Senator’s connection with the affair?”</p> + +<p>Taking hope, Carshaw told his story. Clancy listened while they +breakfasted. Then he unfolded a record of local events.</p> + +<p>“The Bureau has known for some time that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>Senator Meiklejohn’s past +offered some rather remarkable problems,” he said, dropping his +bantering air and speaking seriously. “We have never ceased making +guarded inquiries. I am here now for that very purpose. Some thirty +years ago, on the death of his father, he and his brother, Ralph Vane +Meiklejohn, inherited an old-established banking business in Vermont. +Ralph was a bit of a rake, but local opinion regarded William as a +steady-going, domesticated man who would uphold the family traditions. +There was no ink on the blotter during upward of ten years, and William +was already a candidate for Congress when Ralph was involved in a +scandal which caused some talk at the time. The name of a governess in a +local house was associated with his, and her name was Bartlett.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw glanced at the detective with a quick uneasiness, which Clancy +pretended not to notice.</p> + +<p>“I have no proof, but absolutely no doubt,” he continued, “that this +woman is now known as Rachel Craik. She fell into Ralph Meiklejohn’s +clutches then, and has remained his slave ever since. Two years later +there was a terrific sensation here. A man named Marchbanks was found +lying dead in a lakeside quarry, having fallen or been thrown into it. +This quarry was situated near the Meiklejohn house. Mrs. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>Marchbanks, a +ward of Meiklejohn’s father, died in childbirth as the result of shock +when she heard of her husband’s death, and inquiry showed that all her +money had been swallowed up in loans to her husband for Stock Exchange +speculation. Mrs Marchbanks was a noted beauty, and her fortune was +estimated at nearly half a million dollars. It was all the more amazing +that her husband should have lost such a great sum in reckless gambling, +seeing that those who remember him say he was a nice-mannered gentleman +of the old type, devoted to his wife, and with a passion for cultivating +orchids. Again, why should Mrs. Marchbanks’s bankers and guardians allow +her to be ruined by a thoughtless fool?”</p> + +<p>Clancy seemed to be asking himself these questions; but Carshaw, so far +from New York, and with a mind ever dwelling on Winifred, said +impatiently:</p> + +<p>“You didn’t bring me here to tell me about some long-forgotten mystery?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, quit that hair-trigger business!” snapped Clancy. “You just listen, +an’ maybe you’ll hear something interesting. Ralph Vane Meiklejohn left +Vermont soon afterward. Twelve years ago a certain Ralph Voles was +sentenced to five years in a penitentiary for swindling. Mrs. +Marchbanks’s child lived. It was a girl, and baptized as Winifred. She +was looked after <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>as a matter of charity by William Meiklejohn, and +entrusted to the care of Miss Bartlett, the ex-governess.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw was certainly “interested” now.</p> + +<p>“Winifred! My Winifred!” he cried, grasping the detective’s shoulder in +his excitement.</p> + +<p>“Tut, tut!” grinned Clancy. “Guess the story’s beginning to grip. Yes. +Winifred is ‘the image of her mother,’ said Voles. She must be ‘taken +away from New York.’ Why? Why did this same Ralph vanish from Vermont +after her father’s death ‘by accident’? Why does a wealthy and +influential Senator join in the plot against her, invoking the aid of +your mother and of Mrs. Tower? These are questions to be asked, but not +yet. First, you must get back your Winifred, Carshaw, and take care that +you keep her when you get her.”</p> + +<p>“But how? Tell me how to find her!” came the fierce demand.</p> + +<p>“If you jump at me like that I’ll make you stop here another week,” said +Clancy. “Man alive, I hate humbug as much as any man; but don’t you see +that the Bureau must make sure of its case before it acts? We can’t go +before a judge until we have better evidence than the vague hearsay of +twenty years ago. But, for goodness’ sake, next time you grab Winifred, +rush her to the nearest clergyman <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>and make her Mrs. Carshaw, Jr. +That’ll help a lot. Leave me to get the Senator and the rest of the +bunch. Now, if you’ll be good, I’ll show you the house where your +Winifred was born!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>IN THE TOILS</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">E</span>ast Orange seemed to be a long way from New York when Winifred hastened +to the appointment at “Gateway House,” traveling thither by way of the +Tube and the Lackawanna Railway.</p> + +<p>More and more did it seem strange that a theatrical agent should fix on +such a rendezvous, until a plausible reason suggested itself: possibly, +some noted impresario had chosen this secluded retreat, and the agent +had arranged a meeting there between his client and the great man whose +Olympian nod gave success or failure to aspirants for the stage.</p> + +<p>The letter itself was reassuringly explicit as to the route she should +follow.</p> + +<p>“On leaving the station,” it said, “turn to the right and walk a mile +along the only road that presents itself until you see, on the left, a +large green gate bearing the name ‘Gateway House.’ Walk in. The house +itself is hidden by trees, and stands in spacious grounds. If you follow +these directions, you will have no need to ask the way.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p><p>The description of the place betokened that it was of some local +importance, and hope revived somewhat in her sorrowing heart at the +impression that perhaps, after all, it was better she had failed in +finding work at the bindery.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the charming simplicity of her nature, Winifred would +not be a woman if she did not know she was good-looking. The stage +offered a career; work in the factory only yielded existence. Recent +events had added a certain strength of character to her sweet face; and +Miss Goodman, who happened to be an expert dressmaker, had used the +girl’s leisure in her lodgings to turn her nimble fingers to account. +Hence, Winifred was dressed with neat elegance, and the touch of winter +keenness in the air gave her a splendid color as she hurried out of the +station many minutes late for her appointment.</p> + +<p>Would she be asked to sing, she wondered? She had no music with her, and +had never touched a piano since her music-master’s anxiety to train her +voice had been so suddenly frustrated by Rachel Craik. But she knew many +of the solos from “Faust,” “Rigoletto,” and “Carmen”; surely, among +musical people, there would be some appreciation of her skill if tested +by this class of composition, as compared with the latest rag-time +melody or gushing cabaret ballad.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p><p>Busy with such thoughts, she hastened along the road, until she awoke +with a start to the knowledge that she was opposite Gateway House. +Certainly the retreat was admirable from the point of view of a man +surfeited with life on the Great White Way. Indeed, it looked very like +a private lunatic asylum or home for inebriates, with its lofty walls +studded with broken glass, and its solid gate crowned with iron spikes.</p> + +<p>Winifred tried the door. It opened readily. She was surprised that so +pretentious an abode had no lodge-keeper’s cottage. There were signs of +few vehicles passing over the weed-grown gravel drive, and such marks as +existed were quite recent.</p> + +<p>She was so late, however, that her confused mind did not trouble about +these things, and she sped on gracefully, soon coming in full view of +the house itself. It was now almost dark, and the grounds seemed very +lonely; but the presence of lights in the secluded mansion gave earnest +of some one awaiting her there. She fancied she heard a noise, like the +snapping of a latch or lock behind her. She turned her head, but saw no +one. Fowle, hiding among the evergreens, had run with nimble feet and +sardonic smile to bolt the gate as soon as she was out of sight.</p> + +<p>And now Winifred was at the front door, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>timidly pulling a bell. A man +strolled with a marked limp around the house from a conservatory. He was +a tall, strongly built person, and something in the dimly seen outline +sent a thrill of apprehension through her.</p> + +<p>But the door opened.</p> + +<p>“I have come—” she began.</p> + +<p>The words died away in sheer affright. Glowering at her, with a queer +look of gratified menace, was Rachel Craik!</p> + +<p>“So I see,” was the grim retort. “Come in, Winnie, by all means. Where +have you been all these weeks?”</p> + +<p>“There is some mistake,” she faltered, white with sudden terror and +nameless suspicions. “My agent told me to come here—”</p> + +<p>“Quite right. Be quick, or you’ll miss the last train home,” growled the +voice of Voles behind her.</p> + +<p>Roughly, though not violently, he pushed her inside, and the door +closed.</p> + +<p>He snapped at Rachel: “She’d be yelling for help in another second, and +you never know who may be passing.”</p> + +<p>Now, Winifred was not of the order of women who faint in the presence of +danger. Her love had given her a great strength; her suffering had +deepened her fine nature; and her very soul rebelled against the cruel +subterfuge which had been practised to separate her from her lover. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>She +saw, with the magic intuition of her sex, that the very essence of a +deep-laid plot was that Rex and she should be kept apart.</p> + +<p>The visit of Mrs. Carshaw, then, was only a part of the same determined +scheme? Rex’s mother had been a puppet in the hands of those who carried +her to Connecticut, who strove so determinedly to take her away when +Carshaw put in an appearance, and who had tricked her into keeping this +bogus appointment. She would defy them, face death itself rather than +yield.</p> + +<p>In the America of to-day, nothing short of desperate crime could long +keep her from Rex’s arms. What a weak, silly, romantic girl she had been +not to trust in him absolutely! The knowledge nerved her to a fine +scorn.</p> + +<p>“What right have you to treat me in this way?” she cried vehemently. +“You have lied to me; brought me here by a forged letter. Let me go +instantly, and perhaps my just indignation may not lead me to tell my +agent how you have dared to use his name with false pretense.”</p> + +<p>“Ho, ho!” sang out Voles. “The little bird pipes an angry note. Be +pacified, my sweet linnet. You were getting into bad company. It was the +duty of your relatives to rescue you.”</p> + +<p>“My relatives! Who are they who claim <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>kinship? I see here one who posed +as my aunt for many years—”</p> + +<p>“Posed, Winnie?”</p> + +<p>Miss Craik affected a croak of regretful protest.</p> + +<p>Winifred’s eyes shot lightnings.</p> + +<p>“Yes. I am sure you are not my aunt. Many things I can recall prove it +to me. Why do you never mention my father and mother? What wrong have I +done to any living soul that, ever since you were mixed up in the attack +on Mr. Ronald Tower, you should deal with me as if I were a criminal or +a lunatic, and seek to part me from those who would befriend me?”</p> + +<p>“Hush, little girl,” interposed Voles, with mock severity. “You don’t +know what you’re saying. You are hurting your dear aunt’s feelings. She +is your aunt. I ought to know, considering that you are my daughter!”</p> + +<p>“Your daughter!”</p> + +<p>Now, indeed, she felt ready to dare dragons. This coarse, brutal giant +of a man her father! Her gorge rose at the suggestion. Almost fiercely +she resolved to hold her own against these persecutors who scrupled not +to use any lying device that would suit their purpose.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he cried truculently. “Don’t I come up to your expectations?”</p> + +<p>“If you are my father,” she said, with a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>strange self-possession that +came to her aid in this trying moment, “where is my mother?”</p> + +<p>“Sorry to say she died long since.”</p> + +<p>“Did you murder her as you tried to murder Mr. Tower?”</p> + +<p>The chance shot went home, though it hit her callous hearer in a way she +could not then appreciate. He swore violently.</p> + +<p>“You’re my daughter, I tell you,” he vociferated, “and the first thing +you have to learn is obedience. Your head has been turned, young lady, +by your pretty Rex and his nice ways. I’ll have to teach you not to +address me in that fashion. Take her to her room, Rachel.”</p> + +<p>Driven to frenzy by a dreadful and wholly unexpected predicament, +Winifred cast off the hand her “aunt” laid on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Let me go!” she screamed. “I will not accompany you. I do not believe a +word you say. If you touch me, I shall defend myself.”</p> + +<p>“Spit-fire, eh?” she heard Voles say. There was something of a struggle. +She never knew exactly what happened. She found herself clasped in his +giant arms and heard his half jesting protest:</p> + +<p>“Now, my butterfly, don’t beat your little wings so furiously, or you’ll +hurt yourself.”</p> + +<p>He carried her, screaming, up-stairs, and pushed her into a large room. +Rachel Craik followed, with set face and angry words.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p><p>“Ungrateful girl!” was her cry. “After all I’ve done for you!”</p> + +<p>“You stole me from my mother,” sobbed Winifred despairingly. “I am sure +you did. You are afraid now lest some one should recognize me. I am ‘the +image of my mother’ that horrible man said, and I am to be taken away +because I resemble her. It is you who are frightened, not I. I defy you. +Even Mrs. Carshaw knew my face. I scorn you, I say, and if you think +your devices can deceive me or keep Rex from me, you are mistaken. +Before it is too late, let me go!”</p> + +<p>Rachel Craik was, indeed, alarmed by the girl’s hysterical outpouring. +But Winifred’s taunts worked harm in one way. They revealed most surely +that the danger dreaded by both Voles and Meiklejohn did truly exist. +From that instant Rachel Craik, who felt beneath her rough exterior some +real tenderness for the girl she had reared, became her implacable foe.</p> + +<p>“You had better calm yourself,” she said quietly. “If you care to eat, +food will soon be brought for you and Mr. Grey. He is your +fellow-boarder for a few days!”</p> + +<p>Then Winifred saw, for the first time, that the spacious room held +another occupant. Reclining in a big chair, and scowling at her, was +Mick the Wolf, whose arm Carshaw had broken recently.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p><p>“Yes,” growled that worthy, “I’m not the most cheerful company, missy, +but my other arm is strong enough to put that fellow of yours out o’ +gear if he butts in on me ag’in. So just cool your pretty lil head, will +you? I’m boss here, and if you rile me it’ll be sort o’ awkward for +you.”</p> + +<p>How Winifred passed the next few hours she could scarcely remember +afterward. She noted, in dull agony, that the windows of the +sitting-room she shared with Mick the Wolf were barred with iron. So, +too, was the window of her bedroom. The key and handle of the bedroom +lock had been taken away. Rachel Craik was her jailer, a maimed +scoundrel her companion and assistant-warder.</p> + +<p>But, when the first paroxysms of helpless pain and rage had passed, her +faith returned. She prayed long and earnestly, and help was vouchsafed. +Appeal to her captors was vain, she knew, so she sought the consolation +that is never denied to all who are afflicted.</p> + +<p>Neither Rachel Craik, nor the sullen bandit, nor the loud-voiced rascal +who had dared to say he was her father, could understand the cheerful +patience with which she met them next day.</p> + +<p>“She’s a puzzle,” said Voles in the privacy of the apartment beneath. “I +must dope out some way of fixin’ things. She’ll never come <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>to heel +again, Rachel. That fool Carshaw has turned her head.”</p> + +<p>He tramped to and fro impatiently. His ankle had not yet forgotten the +wrench it received on the Boston Post Road. Suddenly he banged a huge +fist on a sideboard.</p> + +<p>“Gee!” he cried, “that should turn the trick! I’ll marry her off to +Fowle. If it wasn’t for other considerations I’d be almost tempted—”</p> + +<p>He paused. Even his fierce spirit quailed at the venom that gleamed from +Rachel Craik’s eyes.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>MOTHER AND SON</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span> telegram reached Carshaw before he left Burlington with Clancy. He +hoped it contained news of Winifred, but it was of a nature that imposed +one more difficulty in his path.</p> + +<p>“Not later than the twentieth,” wired the manager of the Carshaw Mills +in Massachusetts. Carshaw himself had inquired the latest date on which +he would be expected to start work.</p> + +<p>The offer was his own, and he could not in honor begin the new era by +breaking his pledge. The day was Saturday, November 11. On the following +Monday week he must begin to learn the rudiments of cotton-spinning.</p> + +<p>“What’s up?” demanded Clancy, eying the telegram, for Carshaw’s face had +hardened at the thought that, perhaps, in the limited time at his +disposal his quest might fail. He passed the typed slip to the +detective.</p> + +<p>“Meaning?” said the latter, after a quick glance.</p> + +<p>Carshaw explained. “I’ll find her,” he added, with a catch of the +breath. “I must <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>find her. God in Heaven, man, I’ll go mad if I don’t!”</p> + +<p>“Cut out the stage stuff,” said Clancy. “By this day week the Bureau +will find a bunch of girls who’re not lost yet—only planning it.”</p> + +<p>Touched by the misery in Carshaw’s eyes, he added:</p> + +<p>“What you really want is a marriage license. The minute you set eyes on +Winifred rush her to the City Hall.”</p> + +<p>“Once we meet we’ll not part again,” came the earnest vow. Somehow, the +pert little man’s overweening egotism was soothing, and Carshaw allowed +his mind to dwell on the happiness of holding Winifred in his arms once +more rather than the uncertain prospect of attaining such bliss.</p> + +<p>Indeed, he was almost surprised by the ardor of his love for her. When +he could see her each day, and amuse himself by playing at the pretense +that she was to earn her own living, there was a definite satisfaction +in the thought that soon they would be married, when all this pleasant +make-believe would vanish. But now that she was lost to him, and +probably enduring no common misery, the complacency of life had suddenly +given place to a fierce longing for a glimpse of her, for the sound of +her voice, for the shy glance of her beautiful eyes.</p> + +<p>“Now, let’s play ball,” said Clancy when <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>they were in a train speeding +south. “Has any complete search of Winifred’s rooms been made?”</p> + +<p>“How do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Did you look in every hole and corner for a torn envelope, a twisted +scrap of paper, a car transfer, any mortal thing that might reveal why +she went out and did not return?”</p> + +<p>“I told you of the bookbinder’s note—”</p> + +<p>“You sure did,” broke in Clancy. “You also went to the bookbinder s’teen +times. Are you certain there was nothing else?”</p> + +<p>“No—I didn’t like—how could I peer and pry—”</p> + +<p>“You’d make a bum detective. Imagine that poor girl crying her eyes out +in a cold dark cell all because you were too squeamish to give her +belongings the once over!”</p> + +<p>Carshaw was not misled by Clancy’s manner. He knew that his friend was +only consumed by impatience to be on the trail.</p> + +<p>“You’ve fired plenty of questions at me,” he said quietly. “Now it’s my +turn. I understand why you came to Burlington, but where is Steingall +all this time?”</p> + +<p>“That big stiff! How do I know?”</p> + +<p>In a word, Clancy was uncommunicative during a whole hour. When the mood +passed he spoke of other things, but, although it was ten at night when +they reached New York, he raced <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>Carshaw straight to East Twenty-seventh +Street and Miss Goodman.</p> + +<p>There, in a few seconds, he was reading the agent’s genuine note to +Winifred—that containing the assurance that no appointment had been +made for “East Orange.”</p> + +<p>The letter concluded:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“At first I assumed that a message intended for some other +correspondent had been sent to me by error. Now, on reperusal, +I am almost convinced that you wrote me under some +misapprehension. Will you kindly explain how it arose?”</p></div> + +<p>Clancy, great as ever on such occasions, refrained from saying: “I told +you so.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll call up the agent Monday, just for the sake of thoroughness,” he +said. “Meanwhile, be ready to come with me to East Orange to-morrow at 8 +<small>A.M.</small>”</p> + +<p>“Why not to-night?” urged Carshaw, afire with a rage to be up and doing.</p> + +<p>“What? To sleep there? Young man, you don’t know East Orange. Run away +home to your ma!”</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>“Where have you been?” inquired Mrs. Carshaw when her son entered. Her +air was subdued. She had suffered a good deal these later days.</p> + +<p>“To Vermont.”</p> + +<p>“Still pursuing that girl?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, mother.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p><p>“Have you found her?”</p> + +<p>“No, mother.”</p> + +<p>“Rex, have you driven me wholly from your heart?”</p> + +<p>“No; that would be impossible. Winifred would not wish it, callous as +you were to her.”</p> + +<p>“Do not be too hard on me. I am sore wounded. It is a great deal for a +woman to be cast into the outer darkness.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, mother, you are emerging into light. If your friends are so +ready to drop you because you are poor—with the exceeding poverty of +twenty-five hundred a year—of what value were they as friends? When you +know Winifred you will be glad. You will feel as Dante felt when he +emerged from the Inferno.”</p> + +<p>“So you are determined to marry her?”</p> + +<p>“Unquestionably. And mark you, mother, when the clouds pass, and we are +rich again, you will be proud of your daughter-in-law. She will bear all +your skill in dressing. Gad! how the women of your set will envy her +complexion.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carshaw smiled wanly at that. She knew her “set,” as Rex termed the +Four Hundred.</p> + +<p>“Why is she called Bartlett?” she inquired after a pause, and Rex looked +at her in surprise. “I have a reason,” she continued. “Is that her real +name?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>“Now,” he cried, “I admit you are showing some of your wonted +cleverness.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Then I am right. I have been thinking. Cessation from society +duties is at least restful. Last night, lying awake and wondering where +you were, my thoughts reverted to that girl. I remembered her face. All +at once a long-forgotten chord of memory hummed its note. Twenty years +ago, when you were a little boy, Rex, I met a Mrs. Marchbanks. She was a +sweet singer. Does your Winifred sing?”</p> + +<p>Carshaw drew his chair closer to his mother and placed an arm around her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Rex,” she murmured brokenly, hiding her face, “do you forgive me?”</p> + +<p>“Mother, I ask you to forgive me if I said harsh things.”</p> + +<p>There was silence for a while. Then she raised her eyes. They were wet, +but smiling.</p> + +<p>“This Mrs. Marchbanks,” she went on bravely, “had your Winifred’s face. +She was wealthy and altogether charming. Her husband, too, was a +gentleman. She was a ward of the elder Meiklejohn, the present Senator’s +father. My recollection of events is vague, but there was some scandal +in Burlington.”</p> + +<p>“I know all, or nearly all, about it. That is why I was called to +Vermont. Mother, in future, you will work with me, not against me?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p><p>“I will—indeed I will,” she sobbed.</p> + +<p>“Then you must not drop your car. I have money to pay for that. Keep in +with Helen Tower, and find out what hold she has on Meiklejohn. You are +good at that, you know. You understand your quarry. You will be worth +twenty detectives. First, discover where Meiklejohn is. He has bolted, +or shut himself up.”</p> + +<p>“You must trust me fully, or I shall not see the pitfalls. Tell me +everything.”</p> + +<p>He obeyed. Before he had ended, Mrs. Carshaw was weeping again, but this +time it was out of sympathy with Winifred. Next morning, although it was +Sunday, her smart limousine took her to the Tower’s house. Mrs. Tower +was at home.</p> + +<p>“I have heard dreadful things about you, Sarah,” she purred. “What on +earth is the matter? Why have you given up your place on Long Island?”</p> + +<p>“A whim of Rex’s, my dear. He is still infatuated over that girl.”</p> + +<p>“She must have played her cards well.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed. One does not look for such skill in the lower orders. And +how she deceived me! I went to see her, and she promised better +behavior. Now I find she has gone again, and Rex will not tell me where +she is. Do you know?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p><p>“I? The creature never enters my mind.”</p> + +<p>“Of course not. She does not interest you, but I am the boy’s mother, +and you cannot imagine, Helen, how this affair worries me.”</p> + +<p>“My poor Sarah! It is too bad.”</p> + +<p>“Such a misfortune could not have happened had his father lived. We +women are of no use where a headstrong man is concerned. I am thinking +of consulting Senator Meiklejohn. He is discreet and experienced.”</p> + +<p>“But he is not in town.”</p> + +<p>“What a calamity! Do tell me where I can find him.”</p> + +<p>“I have reason to know that Rex would not brook any interference from +him.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, of course not. It would never do to permit his influence to +appear. I was thinking that the Senator might act with the girl, this +wonderful Winifred. He might frighten her, or bribe her, or something of +the sort.”</p> + +<p>Now, Helen Tower was not in Meiklejohn’s confidence. He was compelled to +trust her in the matter of the Costa Rica concession, but he was far too +wise to let her into any secret where Winifred was concerned. Anxious to +stab with another’s hand, she thought that Mrs. Carshaw might be used to +punish her wayward son.</p> + +<p>“I’m not sure—” She paused doubtfully. “I do happen to know Mr. +Meiklejohn’s whereabouts, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>but it is most important he should not be +troubled.”</p> + +<p>“Helen, you used to like Rex more than a little. With an effort, I can +save him still.”</p> + +<p>“But he may suspect you, have you watched, your movements tracked.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carshaw laughed. “My dear, he is far too much taken up with his +Winifred.”</p> + +<p>“Has he found her, then?”</p> + +<p>“Does he not see her daily?”</p> + +<p>Here were cross purposes. Mrs. Tower was puzzled.</p> + +<p>“If I tell you where the Senator is, you are sure Rex will not follow +you?”</p> + +<p>“Quite certain.”</p> + +<p>“His address is the Marlborough-Blenheim, Atlantic City.”</p> + +<p>“Helen, you’re a dear! I shall go there to-morrow, if necessary. But it +will be best to write him first.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t say I told you.”</p> + +<p>“Above all things, Helen, I am discreet.”</p> + +<p>“I fear he cannot do much. Your son is so wilful.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you understand? Rex is quite unmanageable. I depend wholly on the +girl—and Senator Meiklejohn is just the man to deal with her.”</p> + +<p>They kissed farewell—alas, those Judas kisses of women! Both were +satisfied, each believing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>she had hoodwinked the other. Mrs. Carshaw +returned to her flat to await her son’s arrival. If the trail at East +Orange proved difficult he promised to be home for dinner.</p> + +<p>“There will be a row if Rex meets Meiklejohn,” she communed. “Helen will +be furious with me. What do I care? I have won back my son’s love. I +have not many years to live. What else have I to work for if not for his +happiness?”</p> + +<p>So one woman in New York that night was fairly well <i>content</i>. There may +be, as the Chinese proverb has it, thirty-six different kinds of +mothers-in-law, but there is only one mother.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>THE HUNT</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">S</span>teingall, not Clancy, presented his bulk at Carshaw’s apartment next +morning. He contrived to have a few minutes’ private talk with Mrs. +Carshaw while her son was dressing. Early as it was, he lighted a second +cigar as he stepped into the automobile, for Carshaw thought it an +economy to retain a car.</p> + +<p>“Surprised to see me?” he began. “Well, it’s this way. We may drop in +for a rough-house to-day. Between them, Voles and ‘Mick the Wolf,’ own +three sound legs and three strong arms. I can’t risk Clancy. He’s too +precious. He kicked like a mule, of course, but I made it an order.”</p> + +<p>“What of the local police?” said Carshaw.</p> + +<p>“Nix on the cops,” laughed the chief. “You share the popular delusion +that a policeman can arrest any one at sight. He can do nothing of the +sort, unless he and his superior officers care to face a whacking demand +for damages. And what charge can we bring against Voles and company? +Winifred bolted of her own accord. We must tread lightly, Mr. Carshaw. +Really, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>I shouldn’t be here at all. I came only to help, to put you on +the right trail, to see that Winifred is not detained by force if she +wishes to accompany you. Do you get me?”</p> + +<p>“I believe there is good authority for the statement that the law is an +ass,” grumbled the other.</p> + +<p>“Not the law. Personal liberty has to be safeguarded by the law. +Millions of men have died to uphold that principle. Remember, too, that +I may have to explain in court why I did so-and-so. Strange as it may +sound, I’ve been taught wisdom by legal adversity. Now, let’s talk of +the business in hand. It’s an odd thing, but people who wish to do evil +deeds often select secluded country places to live in. I don’t mind +betting a box of cigars that ‘East Orange’ means a quiet, old-fashioned +locality where there isn’t a crime once in a generation.”</p> + +<p>“Some spot one would never suspect, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, in a sense. But if ever I set up as a crook—which is unlikely, as +my pension is due in eighteen months—I’ll live in a Broadway flat.”</p> + +<p>“I thought the city police kept a very close eye on evil-doers.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, when we know them. But your real expert is not known; once held +he’s done for. Of course he tries again, but he is a marked <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>man—he has +lost his confidence. Nevertheless, he will always try to be with the +crowd. There is safety in numbers.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean that East Orange is a place favorable to our search?”</p> + +<p>“Of course it is. The police, the letter-carriers, and the storekeepers, +know everybody. They can tell us at once of several hundred people who +certainly had nothing to do with the abduction of a young lady. There +will remain a few dozens who might possibly be concerned in such an +affair. Inquiry will soon whittle them down to three or four +individuals. What a different job it would be if we had to search a New +York precinct, which, I take it, is about as populous as East Orange.”</p> + +<p>This was a new point of view to Carshaw, and it cheered him +proportionately. He stepped on the gas, and a traffic policeman at +Forty-second Street and Seventh Avenue cocked an eye at him.</p> + +<p>“Steady,” laughed Steingall. “It would be a sad blow for mother if we +were held for furious driving. These blessed machines jump from twelve +to forty miles an hour before you can wink twice.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw abated his ardor. Nevertheless, they were in East Orange forty +minutes after crossing the ferry.</p> + +<p>Unhappily, from that hour, the pace slackened. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>Gateway House had been +rented from a New York agent for “Mr. and Mrs. Forest,” Westerners who +wished to reside in New Jersey a year or so.</p> + +<p>Its occupants had driven thither from New York. Rachel Craik, heavily +veiled and quietly attired, did her shopping in the nearest suburb, and +had choice of more than one line of rail. So East Orange knew them not, +nor had it even seen them.</p> + +<p>In nowise discouraged, the man from the Bureau set about his inquiry +methodically. He interviewed policemen, railway officials, postmen, and +cabmen. Although the day was Sunday, he tracked men to their homes and +led them to talk. Empty houses, recently let houses, houses tenanted by +people who were “not particular” as to their means of getting a living, +divided his attention with persons who answered to the description of +Voles, Fowle, Rachel, or even the broken-armed Mick the Wolf; while he +plied every man with a minutely accurate picture of Winifred.</p> + +<p>Hither and thither darted the motor till East Orange was scoured and +noted, and among twenty habitations jotted in the detective’s notebook +the name of Gateway House figured. It was slow work, this task of +elimination, but they persisted, meeting rebuff after rebuff, especially +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>in the one or two instances where a couple of sharp-looking strangers +in a car were distinctly not welcome. They had luncheon at a local +hotel, and, by idle chance, were not pleased by the way in which the +meal was served.</p> + +<p>So, when hungry again, and perhaps a trifle dispirited as the day waned +to darkness with no result, they went to another inn to procure a meal. +This time they were better looked after. Instead of a jaded German +waiter they were served by the landlord’s daughter, a neat, befrilled +young damsel, who cheered them by her smile; though, to be candid, she +was anxious to get out for a walk with her young man.</p> + +<p>“Have you traveled far?” she asked, by way of talk while laying the +table.</p> + +<p>“From New York,” said Steingall.</p> + +<p>“At this hour—in a car?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Is that a remarkable thing here?”</p> + +<p>“Not the car; but people in motors either whizz through of a morning +going away down the coast, or whizz back again of an evening returning +to New York.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” put in Carshaw, “here is a pretty head which holds brains. It goes +in for ratiocinative reasoning. Now, I’ll be bound to say that this +pretty head, which thinks, can help us.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p><p>A good deal of this was lost on the girl, but she caught the compliment +and smiled.</p> + +<p>“It all depends on what you want to know,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I really want to find a private prison of some sort,” he said. “The +sort of place where a nice-looking young lady like you might be kept in +against her will by nasty, ill-disposed people.”</p> + +<p>“There is only one house of that kind in the town, and that is out of +it, as an Irishman might say.”</p> + +<p>“And where is it?”</p> + +<p>“It’s called Gateway House—about a mile along the road from the depot.”</p> + +<p>Steingall, inclined at first to doubt the expediency of gossip with the +girl, now pricked up his ears.</p> + +<p>“Who lives in Gateway House?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“No one that I know of at the moment,” she answered. “It used to belong +to a mad doctor. I don’t mean a doctor who was mad, but——”</p> + +<p>“No matter about his sanity. Is he dead?”</p> + +<p>“No, in prison. There was a trial two years ago.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I remember the affair. A patient was beaten to death. So the house +is empty?”</p> + +<p>“It is, unless some one has rented it recently. I was taken through the +place months ago. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>rooms are all right, and it has beautiful +grounds, but the windows frightened me. They were closely barred with +iron, and the doors were covered with locks and chains. There were some +old beds there, too, with straps on them. Oh, I quite shivered!”</p> + +<p>“After we have eaten will you let us drive you in that direction in my +car?” said Carshaw.</p> + +<p>She simpered and blushed slightly. “I’ve an appointment with a friend,” +she admitted, wondering whether the swain would protest too strongly if +she accepted the invitation.</p> + +<p>“Bring him also,” said Carshaw. “I assume it’s a ‘he.’”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’ll be all right!” she cried.</p> + +<p>So in the deepening gloom the automobile flared with fierce eyes along +the quiet road to Gateway House, and in its seat of honor sat the hotel +maid and her young man.</p> + +<p>“That is the place,” she said, after the, to her, all too brief run.</p> + +<p>“Is this the only entrance?” demanded the chief, as he stepped out to +try the gate.</p> + +<p>“Yes. The high wall runs right round the property. It’s quite a big +place.”</p> + +<p>“Locked!” he announced. “Probably empty, too.”</p> + +<p>He tried squinting through the keyhole to catch a gleam of interior +light.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p><p>“No use in doin’ that,” announced the young man. “The house stands way +back, an’ is hidden by trees.”</p> + +<p>“I mean having a look at it, wall or no wall,” insisted Carshaw.</p> + +<p>“But the gate is spiked and the wall covered with broken glass,” said +the girl.</p> + +<p>“Such obstacles can be surmounted by ladders and folded tarpaulins, or +even thick overcoats,” observed Steingall.</p> + +<p>“I’m a plumber,” said the East Orange man. “If you care to run back to +my place, I c’n give you a telescope ladder and a tarpaulin. But perhaps +we may butt into trouble?”</p> + +<p>“For shame, Jim! I thought you’d do a little thing like that to help a +girl in distress.”</p> + +<p>“First I’ve heard of any girl.”</p> + +<p>“My name is Carshaw,” came the prompt assurance. “Here’s my card; read +it by the lamp there. I’ll guarantee you against consequences, pay any +damages, and reward you if our search yields results.”</p> + +<p>“Jim—” commenced the girl reproachfully, but he stayed her with a +squeeze.</p> + +<p>“Cut it out, Polly,” he said. “You don’t wish me to start housebreaking, +do you? But if there’s a lady to be helped, an’ Mr. Carshaw says it’s +O.K., I’m on. A fellow who was with Funston in the Philippines won’t +sidestep a little job of that sort.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p><p>Polly, appeased and delighted with the adventure, giggled. “I’d think +not, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“It is lawbreaking, but I am inclined to back you up,” confided +Steingall to Carshaw when the car was humming back to East Orange. “At +the worst you can only be charged with trespass, as my evidence will be +taken that you had no unlawful intent.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t you come with me?”</p> + +<p>“Better not. You see, I am only helping you. You have an excuse; I, as +an official, have none—if a row springs up and doors have to be kicked +open, for instance. Moreover, this is the State of New Jersey and +outside my bailiwick.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps the joker behind us may be useful.”</p> + +<p>“He will be, or his girl will know the reason why. He may have fought in +every battle in the Spanish War, but she has more pep in her.”</p> + +<p>The soldierly plumber was as good as his word. He produced the ladder +and the tarpaulin, and a steel wrench as well.</p> + +<p>“If you do a thing at all do it thoroughly. That’s what Funston taught +us,” he grinned.</p> + +<p>Carshaw thanked him, and in a few minutes they were again looking at the +tall gate and the dark masses of the garden trees silhouetted <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>against +the sky. They had not encountered many wayfarers during their three +journeys. The presence of a car at the entrance to such a pretentious +place would not attract attention, and the scaling of the wall was only +a matter of half a minute.</p> + +<p>“No use in raising the dust by knocking. Go over,” counseled Steingall. +“Try to open the gate. Then you can return the ladder and tarpaulin at +once. Otherwise, leave them in position. If satisfied that the house is +inhabited by those with whom you have no concern, come away unnoticed, +if possible.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw climbed the ladder, sat on the tarpaulin, and dropped the ladder +on the inner side of the wall. They heard him shaking the gate. His head +reappeared over the wall.</p> + +<p>“Locked,” he said, “and the key gone. I’ll come back and report +quickly.”</p> + +<p>Jim, who had been nudged earnestly several times by his companion, cried +quickly:</p> + +<p>“Isn’t your friend goin’ along, too, mister?”</p> + +<p>“No. I may as well tell you that I am a detective,” put in Steingall.</p> + +<p>“Gee whizz! Why didn’t you cough it up earlier? Hol’ on, there! Lower +that ladder. I’m with you.”</p> + +<p>“Good old U. S. Army!” said Steingall, and Polly glowed with pride.</p> + +<p>Jim climbed rapidly to Carshaw’s side, the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>latter being astride the +wall. Then they vanished.</p> + +<p>For a long time the two in the car listened intently. A couple of +cyclists passed, and a small boy, prowling about, took an interest in +the car, but was sternly warned off by Steingall. At last they caught +the faint but easily discerned sound of heavy blows and broken woodwork.</p> + +<p>“Things are happening,” cried Steingall. “I wish I had gone with them.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I hope my Jim won’t get hurt,” said Polly, somewhat pale now.</p> + +<p>They heard more furious blows and the crash of glass.</p> + +<p>“Confound it!” growled Steingall. “Why didn’t I go?”</p> + +<p>“If I stood on the back of the car against the gate, and you climbed +onto my shoulders, you might manage to stand between the spikes and jump +down,” cried Polly desperately.</p> + +<p>“Great Scott, but you’re the right sort of girl. The wall is too high, +but the gate is possible. I’ll try it,” he answered.</p> + +<p>With difficulty, having only slight knowledge of heavy cars, he backed +the machine against the gate. Then the girl caught the top with her +hands, standing on the back cushions.</p> + +<p>Steingall was no light weight for her soft shoulders, but she uttered no +word until she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>heard him drop heavily on the gravel drive within.</p> + +<p>“Thank goodness!” she whispered. “There are three of them now. I only +wish I was there, too!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>“HE WHO FIGHTS AND RUNS AWAY—”</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span> don’t like the proposition, an’ that’s a fact,” muttered Fowle, +lifting a glass of whisky and glancing furtively at Voles, when the +domineering eyes of the superior scoundrel were averted for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Whether you like it or not, you’ve got to lump it,” was the ready +answer.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see that. I agreed to help you up to a certain point——”</p> + +<p>Voles swung around at him furiously, as a mastiff might turn on a +wretched mongrel.</p> + +<p>“Say, listen! If I’m up to the neck in this business, you’re in it over +your ears. You can’t duck now, you white-livered cur! The cops know you. +They had you in their hands once, and warned you to leave this girl +alone. If I stand in the dock you’ll stand there, too, and I’m not the +man to say the word that’ll save you.”</p> + +<p>“But she’s with her aunt. She’s under age. Her aunt is her legal +guardian. I know a bit about the law, you see. This notion of yours <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>is +a bird of another color. Sham weddings are no joke. It will mean ten +years.”</p> + +<p>“Who wants you to go in for a sham wedding, you swab?”</p> + +<p>“You do, or I haven’t got the hang of things.”</p> + +<p>Voles looked as though he would like to hammer his argument into Fowle +with his fists. He forebore. There was too much at stake to allow a +sudden access of bad temper to defeat his ends.</p> + +<p>He was tired of vagabondage. It was true, as he told his brother long +before, that he hungered for the flesh-pots of Egypt, for the life and +ease and gayety of New York. An unexpected vista had opened up before +him. When he came back to the East his intention was to squeeze funds +out of Meiklejohn wherewith to plunge again into the outer wilderness. +Now events had conspired to give him some chance of earning a fortune +quickly, had not the irony of fate raised the winsome face and figure of +Winifred as a bogey from the grave to bar his path.</p> + +<p>So he choked back his wrath, and shoved the decanter of spirits across +the table to his morose companion. They were sitting in the hall of +Gateway House, about the hour that Carshaw and the detective, tired by +their weary hunt through East Orange, sought the inn.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p><p>“Now look here, Fowle,” he said, “don’t be a poor dub, and don’t kick at +my way of speaking. <i>Por Dios!</i> man, I’ve lived too long in the sage +country to scrape my tongue to a smooth spiel like my—my friend, the +Senator. Let’s look squarely at the facts. You admire the girl?”</p> + +<p>“Who wouldn’t? A pippin, every inch of her.”</p> + +<p>“You’re broke?”</p> + +<p>“Well—er—”</p> + +<p>“You were fired from your last job. You’re in wrong with the police. You +adopted a disguise and told lies about Winifred to those who would +employ her. What chance have you of getting back into your trade, even +if you’d be satisfied with it after having lived like a plute for +weeks?”</p> + +<p>“That goes,” said Fowle, waving his pipe.</p> + +<p>“You’d like to hand one to that fellow Carshaw?”</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t I!”</p> + +<p>“Yet you kick like a steer when I offer you the girl, a soft, well-paid +job, and the worst revenge you can take on Carshaw.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, all damn fine. But the risk—the infernal risk!”</p> + +<p>“That’s where I don’t agree with you. You go away with her and her +father—”</p> + +<p>“Father! You’re not her father!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p><p>“You should be the first to believe it. Her aunt will swear it to you or +to any judge in the country. Once out of the United States, she will be +only too glad to avail herself of the protection matrimony is supposed +to offer. What are you afraid of?”</p> + +<p>“You talked of puttin’ up some guy to pretend to marry us.”</p> + +<p>“Forget it. We can’t keep her insensible or dumb for days. But, in the +company of her loving father and her devoted husband, what can she do? +Who will believe her? Depend on me to have the right sort of boys on the +ship. They’ll just grin at her. By the time she reaches Costa Rica +she’ll be howling for a missionary to come aboard in order to satisfy +her scruples. You can suggest it yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I believe she’d die sooner.”</p> + +<p>“What matter? You only lose a pretty wife. There’s lots more of the same +sort when your wad is thick enough. Why, man, it means a three-months’ +trip and a fortune for life, however things turn out. You’re tossing +against luck with an eagle on both sides of the quarter.”</p> + +<p>Fowle hesitated. The other suppressed a smile. He knew his man.</p> + +<p>“Don’t decide in a minute,” he said seriously. “But, once settled, there +must be no shirking. Make up your mind either to go straight ahead by my +orders or clear out to-night. I’ll give <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>you a ten-spot to begin life +again. After that don’t come near me.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do it,” said Fowle, and they shook hands on their compact.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>It was not in Winifred’s nature to remain long in a state of active +resentment with any human being. A prisoner, watched diligently during +the day, locked into her room at night, she met Rachel Craik’s grim +espionage and Mick the Wolf’s evil temper with an equable cheerfulness +that exasperated the one while mollifying the other.</p> + +<p>She wondered greatly what they meant to do with her. It was impossible +to believe that in the State of New Jersey, within a few miles of New +York, they could keep her indefinitely in close confinement. She knew +that her Rex would move heaven and earth to rescue her. She knew that +the authorities, in the person of Mr. Steingall, would take up the hunt +with unwearying diligence, and she reasoned, acutely enough, that a plot +which embraced in its scope so many different individuals could not long +defy the efforts made to elucidate it.</p> + +<p>How thankful she was now that she had at last written and posted that +long-deferred letter to the agent. Here, surely, was a clue to be +followed—she had quite forgotten, in the first whirlwind of her +distress, the second letter <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>which reached her in the Twenty-seventh +Street lodgings, but pinned her faith to the fact that her own note +concerning the appointment “near East Orange” was in existence.</p> + +<p>Perhaps her sweetheart was already rushing over every road in the place +and making exhaustive inquiries about her. It was possible that he had +passed Gateway House more than once. He might have seen amid the trees +the tall chimneys of the very jail against whose iron bars her spirit +was fluttering in fearful hope. Oh, why was she not endowed with that +power she had read of, whose fortunate possessors could leap time and +space in their astral subconsciousness and make known their thoughts and +wishes to those dear to them?</p> + +<p>She even smiled at the conceit that a true wireless telegraphy did exist +between Carshaw and herself. Daily, nightly, she thought of him and he +of her. But their alphabet was lacking; they could utter only the +thrilling language of love, which is not bound by such earthly things as +signs and symbols.</p> + +<p>Yet was she utterly confident, and her demeanor rendered Rachel Craik +more and more suspicious. Since the girl had scornfully disowned her +kinship, the elder woman had not made further protest on that score. She +frankly behaved as a wardress in a prison, and Winifred as frankly +accepted the rôle of prisoner. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>There remained Mick the Wolf. Under the +circumstances, no doctor or professional nurse could be brought to +attend his injured arm. The broken limb had of course been properly set +after the accident, but it required skilled dressing daily, and this +Winifred undertook. She had no real knowledge of the subject, but her +willingness to help, joined to the instruction given by the man himself, +achieved her object.</p> + +<p>It was well-nigh impossible for this rough, callous rogue, brought in +contact with such a girl for the first time in his life, to resist her +influence. She did not know it, but gradually she was winning him to her +side. He swore at her as the cause of his suffering, yet found himself +regretting even the passive part he was taking in her imprisonment.</p> + +<p>On the very Sunday evening that Voles and Fowle were concocting their +vile and mysterious scheme, Mick the Wolf, their trusted associate, +partner of Voles in many a desperate enterprise in other lands, was +sitting in an armchair up-stairs listening to Winifred reading from a +book she had found in her bedroom. It was some simple story of love and +adventure, and certainly its author had never dreamed that his exciting +situations would be perused under conditions as dramatic as any pictured +in the novel.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p><p>“It’s a queer thing,” said the man after a pause, when Winifred stopped +to light a lamp, “but nobody pipin’ us just now ’ud think we was what we +are.”</p> + +<p>She laughed at the involved sentence. “I don’t think you are half so bad +as you think you are, Mr. Grey,” she said softly. “For my part, I am +happy in the belief that my friends will not desert me.”</p> + +<p>“Lookut here,” he said with gruff sympathy, “why don’t you pull with +your people instead of ag’in’ ’em. I know what I’m talkin’ about. This +yer Voles—but, steady! Mebbe I best shut up.”</p> + +<p>Winifred’s heart bounded. If this man would speak he might tell her +something of great value to her lover and Mr. Steingall when they came +to reckon up accounts with her persecutors.</p> + +<p>“Anything you tell me, Mr. Grey, shall not be repeated,” she said.</p> + +<p>He glanced toward the door. She understood his thought. Rachel Craik was +preparing their evening meal. She might enter the room at any moment, +and it was not advisable that she should suspect them of amicable +relations. Assuredly, up to that hour, Mick the Wolf’s manner admitted +of no doubt on the point. He had been intractable as the animal which +supplied his oddly appropriate nickname.</p> + +<p>“It’s this way,” he went on in a lower tone. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>“Voles an’ Meiklejohn are +brothers born. Meiklejohn, bein’ a Senator, an’ well in with some of the +top-notchers, has a cotton concession in Costa Rica which means a pile +of money. Voles is cute as a pet fox. He winded the turkey, an’ has +forced his brother to make him manager, with a whackin’ salary and an +interest. I’m in on the deal, too. Bless your little heart, you just +stan’ pat, an’ you kin make a dress outer dollar bills.”</p> + +<p>“But what have I to do with all this? Why cannot you settle your +business without pursuing me?” was the mournful question, for Winifred +never guessed how greatly the man’s information affected her.</p> + +<p>“I can’t rightly say, but you’re either with us or ag’in’ us. If you’re +on our side it’ll be a joy-ride. If you stick to that guy, Carshaw—”</p> + +<p>To their ears, as to the ears of those waiting in the car at the gate, +came the sound of violent blows and the wrenching open of the door. In +that large house—in a room situated, too, on the side removed from the +road—they could not catch Carshaw’s exulting cry after a peep through +the window:</p> + +<p>“I have them! Voles and Fowle! There they are! Now you, who fought with +Funston, fight for a year’s pay to be earned in a minute. Here! use this +wrench. You understand it. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>Use it on the head of any one who resists +you. These scoundrels must be taken red-handed.”</p> + +<p>Voles at the first alarm sprang to his feet and whipped out a revolver. +He knew that a vigorous assault was being made on the stout door. +Running to the blind of the nearest window, he saw Carshaw pull out an +iron bar by sheer strength and use it as a lever to pry open a sash. +Tempted though he was to shoot, he dared not. There might be police +outside. Murder would shatter his dreams of wealth and luxury. He must +outwit his pursuers.</p> + +<p>Rachel Craik came running from the kitchen, alarmed by the sudden +hubbub.</p> + +<p>“Fowle,” he said to his amazed confederate, “stand them off for a minute +or two. You, Rachel, can help. You know where to find me when the coast +is clear. They cannot touch you. Remember that. They’re breaking into +this house without a warrant. Bluff hard, and they cannot even frame a +charge against you if the girl is secured—and she will be if you give +me time.”</p> + +<p>Trusting more to Rachel than to vacillating Fowle, he raced up-stairs, +though his injured leg made rapid progress difficult. He ran into a room +and grabbed a small bag which lay in readiness. Then he rushed toward +the room in which Winifred and Mick the Wolf were listening <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>with mixed +feelings to the row which had sprung up beneath.</p> + +<p>He tried the door. It was locked. Rachel had the key in her pocket. A +trifle of that nature did not deter a man like Voles. With his shoulder +he burst the lock, coming face to face with his partner in crime, who +had grasped a poker in his serviceable hand.</p> + +<p>“Atta-boy!” he yelled. “Down-stairs, and floor ’em as they come. You’ve +one sound arm. Go for ’em—they can’t lay a finger on you.”</p> + +<p>Now, it was one thing to sympathize with a helpless and gentle girl, but +another to resist the call of the wild. The dominant note in Mick the +Wolf was brutality, and the fighting instinct conquered even his pain. +With an oath he made his way to the hall, and it needed all of +Steingall’s great strength to overpower him, wounded though he was.</p> + +<p>It took Carshaw and Jim a couple of minutes to force their way in. There +was a lively fight, in which the detective lent a hand. When Mick the +Wolf was down, groaning and cursing because his fractured arm was broken +again; when Fowle was held to the floor, with Rachel Craik, struggling +and screaming, pinned beneath him by the valiant Jim, Carshaw sped to +the first floor.</p> + +<p>Soon, after using hand-cuffs on the man and woman, and leaving Jim in +charge of them and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>Mick the Wolf, Steingall joined him. But, search as +they might, they could not find either Winifred or Voles. Almost beside +himself with rage, Carshaw rushed back to the grim-visaged Rachel.</p> + +<p>“Where is she?” he cried. “What have you done with her? By Heaven, I’ll +kill you—”</p> + +<p>Her face lit up with a malignant joy. “A nice thing!” she screamed. +“Respectable folk to be treated in this way! What have we done, I’d like +to know? Breaking into our house and assaulting us!”</p> + +<p>“No good talking to her,” said the chief. “She’s a deep one—tough as +they make ’em. Let’s search the grounds.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>IN FULL CRY</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">P</span>olly, the maid from the inn, waiting breathlessly intent in the car +outside the gate, listened for sounds which should guide her as to the +progress of events within.</p> + +<p>Steingall left her standing on the upholstered back of the car, with her +hands clutching the top of the gate. She did not descend immediately. In +that position she could best hear approaching footsteps, as she could +follow the running of the detective nearly all the way to the house.</p> + +<p>Great was her surprise, therefore, to find some one unlocking the gate +without receiving any preliminary warning of his advent. She was just in +time to spring back into the tonneau when one-half of the ponderous door +swung open and a man appeared, carrying in his arms the seemingly +lifeless body of a woman.</p> + +<p>It will be remembered that the lamps of the car spread their beams in +the opposite direction. In the gloom, not only of the night but of the +high wall and the trees, Polly could not distinguish features.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p><p>She thought, however, the man was a stranger. Naturally, as the rescuers +had just gone toward the point whence the newcomer came, she believed +that he had been directed to carry the young lady to the waiting car. +Her quick sympathy was aroused.</p> + +<p>“The poor dear!” she cried. “Oh, don’t tell me those horrid people have +hurt her.”</p> + +<p>Voles who had choked Winifred into insensibility with a mixture of +alcohol, chloroform, and ether—a scientific anesthetic used by all +surgeons, rapid in achieving its purpose and quite harmless in its +effects—was far more surprised than Polly. He never expected to be +greeted in this way, but rather to be met by some helper of Carshaw’s +posed there, and he was prepared to fight or trick his adversary as +occasion demanded.</p> + +<p>He had carried Winifred down a servants’ stairs and made his way out of +the house by a back door. The exit was unguarded. In this, as in many +other country mansions, the drive followed a circuitous sweep, but a +path through the trees led directly toward the gate. Hence, his passage +had neither been observed from the hall nor overheard by Polly.</p> + +<p>It was in precisely such a situation as that which faced him now that +Voles was really superb. He was an adroit man, with ready judgment and +nerves of steel.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p><p>“Not much hurt,” he said quietly. “She has fainted from shock, I think.”</p> + +<p>Though he spoke so glibly, his brain was on fire with question and +answer. His eyes glowered at the car and its occupant, and swept the +open road on either hand.</p> + +<p>To Polly’s nostrils was wafted a strange odor, carrying reminiscences of +so-called “painless” dentistry. Winifred, reviving in the open air when +that hateful sponge was removed from mouth and nose, struggled +spasmodically in the arms of her captor. Polly knew that women in a +faint lie deathlike. That never-to-be-forgotten scent, too, caused a +wave of alarm, of suspicion, to creep through her with each heart-beat.</p> + +<p>“Where are the others?” she said, leaning over, and striving to see +Voles’s face.</p> + +<p>“Just behind,” he answered. “Let me place Miss Bartlett in the car.”</p> + +<p>That sounded reasonable.</p> + +<p>“Lift her in here, poor thing,” said Polly, making way for the almost +inanimate form.</p> + +<p>“No; on the front seat.”</p> + +<p>“But why? This is the best place—oh, help, <i>help</i>!”</p> + +<p>For Voles, having placed Winifred beside the steering-pillar, seized +Polly and flung her headlong onto the grass beneath the wall. In the +same instant he started the car with a quick <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>turn of the wrist, for the +engine had been stopped to avoid noise, and there was no time to +experiment with self-starters. He jumped in, released the brakes, +applied the first speed, and was away in the direction to New York. +Polly, angry and frightened, ran after him, screaming at the top of her +voice.</p> + +<p>Voles was in such a desperate hurry that he did not pay heed to his +steering, and nearly ran over a motor-cyclist coming in hot haste to +East Orange. The rider, a young man, pulled up and used language. He +heard Polly, panting and shrieking, running toward him.</p> + +<p>“Good gracious, Miss Barnard, what’s the matter?” he cried, for Polly +was pretty enough to hold many an eye.</p> + +<p>“Is that you, Mr. Petch? Thank goodness! There’s been murder done in +Gateway House. That villain is carrying off the young lady he has +killed. He has escaped from the police. They’re in there now. Oh, catch +him!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Petch, who had dismounted, began to hop back New York-ward, while +the engine emulated a machine-gun.</p> + +<p>“It’s a big car—goes fast—I’ll do my best—” Polly heard him say, and +he, too, was gone. She met Carshaw and the chief half-way up the drive. +To them, in gasps, she told her story.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p><p>“Cool hand, Voles!” said Steingall.</p> + +<p>“The whole thing was bungled!” cried Carshaw in a white heat. “If Clancy +had been here this couldn’t have happened.”</p> + +<p>Steingall took the implied taunt coolly.</p> + +<p>“It would have been better had I followed my original plan and not +helped you,” he said. “You or our East Orange friend might have been +killed, it is true, but Voles could not have carried the girl off so +easily.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw promptly regretted his bitter comment. “I’m sorry,” he said, +“but you cannot realize what all this means to me, Steingall.”</p> + +<p>“I think I can. Cheer up; your car is easily recognizable. We have a +cyclist known to this young lady in close pursuit. Even if he fails to +catch up with Voles, he will at least give us some definite direction +for a search. At present there is nothing for us to do but lodge these +people in the local prison, telephone the ferries and main towns, and go +back to New York. The police here will let us know what happens to the +cyclist; he may even call at the Bureau. I can act best in New York.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean now to arrest those in the house?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sure. That is, I’ll get the New Jersey police to hold them.”</p> + +<p>“On what charge?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p><p>“Conspiracy. At last we have clear evidence against them. Miss Polly +here has actually seen Voles carrying off Miss Bartlett, who had +previously been rendered insensible. If I am not mistaken in my man, +Fowle will turn State’s evidence when he chews on the proposition for a +few hours in a cell.”</p> + +<p>“Pah—the wretch! I don’t want these reptiles to be crushed; what I want +is to recover Miss Bartlett. Would it not be best to leave them their +liberty and watch them?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve always found a seven days’ remand very helpful,” mused the +detective.</p> + +<p>“In ordinary crime, yes. But here we have Rachel Craik, who would suffer +martyrdom rather than speak; Fowle, a mere tool, who knows nothing +except what little he is told; and a thick-headed brute named Mick the +Wolf, who does what his master bids him. Don’t you see that in prison +they are useless. At liberty they may help by trying to communicate with +Voles.”</p> + +<p>“I’m half inclined to agree with you. Now to frighten them. Keep your +face and tongue under control; I’ll try a dodge that seldom fails.”</p> + +<p>They re-entered the house. Jim was doing sentry-go in the hall. The +prisoners were sitting mute, save that Mick the Wolf uttered an +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>occasional growl of pain; his wounded arm was hurting him sorely.</p> + +<p>“We’re not going to worry any more about you,” said Steingall +contemptuously as he unlocked the hand-cuffs with which he had been +compelled to secure Rachel and Fowle.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you will,” was the woman’s defiant cry. “Your outrageous +conduct—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, pull that stuff on some one likely to be impressed by it. It comes +a trifle late in the day when Miss Winifred Marchbanks is in the hands +of her friends and Voles on his way to prison. I don’t even want you, +Rachel Bartlett, unless the State attorney decides that you ought to be +prosecuted.”</p> + +<p>The woman’s eyes gleamed like those of a spiteful cat. The detective’s +cool use of Winifred’s right name, and of the name by which Rachel Craik +herself ought to be known, was positively demoralizing. Fowle, too, was +greatly alarmed. The police-officer said nothing about not wanting him. +With Voles’s superior will withdrawn, he began to quake again. But +Rachel was a dour New Englander, of different metal to a man from the +East Side.</p> + +<p>“If you’re speaking of my niece,” she said, “you have been misled by the +hussy, and by that man of hers there. Mr. Voles is her father. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>I have +every proof of my words. You can bring none of yours.”</p> + +<p>Steingall, eying Fowle, laughed. “You will be able to tell us all about +it in the witness-box, Rachel Bartlett,” he said.</p> + +<p>“How dare you call me by that name?”</p> + +<p>“Because it’s your right one. Craik was your mother’s name. If friend +Voles had only kept his hands clean, or even treated you honorably, you +might now be Mrs. Ralph Meiklejohn, eh?”</p> + +<p>He was playing with her with the affable gambols of a cat toying with a +doomed mouse. Each instant Fowle was becoming more perturbed. He did not +like the way in which the detective ignored him. Was he to be swallowed +at a gulp when his turn came?</p> + +<p>Even Rachel Craik was silenced by this last shot. She wrung her hands; +this stern, implacable woman seemed to be on the point of bursting into +tears. All the plotting and devices of years had failed her suddenly. An +edifice of deception, which had lasted half a generation, had crumbled +into nothingness. This man had callously exposed her secret and her +shame. At that moment her heart was bitter against Voles.</p> + +<p>The detective, skilled in the phases of criminal thought, knew exactly +what was passing through the minds of both Rachel and Fowle. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>Revenge in +the one case, safety in the other, was operating quickly, and a crisis +was at hand.</p> + +<p>But just then the angry voice of the East Orange plumber reached him: +“Just imagine Petch turnin’ up; him, of all men in the world! An’ of +course you talked nicey-nicey, an’ he’s such an obligin’ feller that he +beats it after the car! Petch, indeed!”</p> + +<p>There was a snort of jealous fury. Polly’s voice was raised in protest.</p> + +<p>“Jim, don’t be stupid. How could I tell who it was?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll back you against any girl in East Orange to find another string to +your bow wherever you may happen to be,” was the enraged retort.</p> + +<p>The detective hastened to stop this lovers’ quarrel, which had broken +out after a whispered colloquy. He was too late. Miss Polly was on her +dignity.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Petch is a real man, anyhow,” came her stinging answer. “He’s +after them now, and he won’t let them slip through his fingers like you +did.”</p> + +<p>The sheer injustice of this statement rendered Jim incoherent. Petch was +an old rival. When next they met, gore would flow in East Orange. But +the detective’s angry whisper restored the senses of both.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p><p>“Can’t you two shut up?” he hissed. “Your miserable quarrel has warned +our prisoners. They were on the very point of confessing everything when +you blurted out that the chief rascal had escaped. I’m ashamed of you, +especially after you had behaved so well.”</p> + +<p>His rebuke was merited; they were abashed into silence—too late. When +he returned to the pair in the corner of the room he saw Rachel Craik’s +sour smile and Fowle’s downcast look of calculation.</p> + +<p>“A lost opportunity!” he muttered, but faced the situation quite +pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“You may as well remain here,” he said. “I may want you, and you should +realize without giving further trouble that you cannot hide from the +police. Come, Mr. Carshaw, we have work before us in East Orange. Miss +Winifred should be all right by this time.”</p> + +<p>Rachel Craik actually laughed. She wondered why she had lost faith in +Voles for an instant.</p> + +<p>“I’ll send a doctor,” went on Steingall composedly. “Your friend there +needs one, I guess.”</p> + +<p>“I’d sooner have a six-shooter,” roared Mick the Wolf.</p> + +<p>“Doctors are even more deadly sometimes.”</p> + +<p>So the detective took his defeat cheerfully, and that is the worst thing +a man can do—in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>his opponent’s interests. He was rather silent as he +trudged with Carshaw and the others back to the train, however.</p> + +<p>He was asking himself what new gibe Clancy would spring on him when the +story of the night’s fiasco came out.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>FLANK ATTACKS</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">S</span>omewhat tired, having ridden that day to Poughkeepsie and back, Petch, +nevertheless, put up a great race after the fleeing motor-car.</p> + +<p>His muscles were rejuvenated by Polly Barnard’s exciting news and no +less by admiration for the girl herself. Little thinking that Jim, the +plumber, was performing deeds of derring-do in the hall of Gateway +House, he congratulated himself on the lucky chance which enabled him to +oblige the fair Polly. He dashed into the road to Hoboken, and found, to +his joy, that the dust raised by the passage of the car gave an +unfailing clue to its route. Now, a well-regulated motor-cycle can run +rings round any other form of automobile, no matter how many horses may +be pent in the cylinders, if on an ordinary road and subjected to the +exigencies of traffic.</p> + +<p>Voles, break-neck driver though he was, dared not disregard the traffic +regulations and risk a smash-up. He got the best out of the engine, but +was compelled to go steadily through clusters of houses and around +tree-shaded corners. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>To his great amazement, as he was tearing through +the last habitations before crossing the New Jersey flats, he was hailed +loudly from behind:</p> + +<p>“Hi, you—pull up!”</p> + +<p>He glanced over his shoulder. A motor-cyclist, white with dust, was +riding after him with tremendous energy.</p> + +<p>“Hola!” cried Voles, snatching another look. “What’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>Petch should have temporized, done one of a hundred things he thought of +too late; but he was so breathless after the terrific sprint in which he +overtook Voles that he blurted out:</p> + +<p>“I know you—you can’t escape—there’s the girl herself—I see her!”</p> + +<p>“Hell!”</p> + +<p>Voles urged on the car by foot and finger. After him pelted Petch, with +set teeth and straining eyes. The magnificent car, superb in its +energies, swept through the night like the fiery dragon of song and +fable, but with a speed never attained by dragon yet, else there would +be room on earth for nothing save dragons. And the motor-cycle leaped +and bounded close behind, stuttering its resolve to conquer the monster +in front.</p> + +<p>The pair created a great commotion as they whirred past scattered houses +and emerged <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>into the keen, cold air of the marshland. A few cars met en +route actually slowed up, and heads were thrust out to peer in wonder. +Women in them were scared, and enjoined drivers to be careful, while men +explained laughingly that a couple of joy-riders were being chased by a +motor “cop.”</p> + +<p>It was neck or nothing now for Voles, and when these alternatives +offered, he never hesitated as to which should be chosen. He knew he was +in desperate case.</p> + +<p>The pace; the extraordinary appearance of a hatless man and a girl with +her hair streaming wild—for Winifred’s abundant tresses had soon shed +all restraint of pins and twists before the tearing wind of their +transit—would create a tumult in Hoboken. Something must be done. He +must stop the car and shoot that pestiferous cyclist, who had sprung out +of the ground as though one of Medusa’s teeth had lain buried there +throughout the ages, and become a panoplied warrior at a woman’s cry.</p> + +<p>He looked ahead. There was no car in sight. He peered over his shoulder. +There was no cyclist! Petch had not counted on this frenzied race, and +his petrol-tank was empty. He had pulled up disconsolately half a mile +away, and was now borrowing a gallon of gas from an Orange-bound car, +explaining excitedly that he was “after” a murderer!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p><p>Voles laughed. The fiend’s luck, which seldom fails the fiend’s +votaries, had come to his aid in a highly critical moment. There +remained Winifred. She, too, must be dealt with. Now, all who have +experienced the effect of an anesthetic will understand that after the +merely stupefying power of the gas has waned there follows a long period +of semi-hysteria, when actual existence is dreamlike, and impressions of +events are evanescent. Winifred, therefore, hardly appreciated what was +taking place until the car stopped abruptly, and the stupor of cold +passed almost simultaneously with the stupor of anesthesia.</p> + +<p>But Voles had his larger plan now. With coolness and daring he might +achieve it. All depended on the discretion of those left behind in +Gateway House. It was impossible to keep Winifred always in durance, or +to prevent her everlastingly from obtaining help. That fool of a +cyclist, for instance, had he contented himself with riding quietly +behind until he reached the ferry, would have wrecked the exploit beyond +repair.</p> + +<p>There remained one last move, but it was a perfect one in most ways. +Would Fowle keep his mouth shut? Voles cursed Fowle in his thought. Were +it not for Fowle there would have been no difficulty. Carshaw would +never have met Winifred, and the girl would have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>been as wax in the +hands of Rachel Craik. He caught hold of Winifred’s arm.</p> + +<p>“If you scream I’ll choke you!” he said fiercely.</p> + +<p>Shaken by the chloroform mixture, benumbed as the outcome of an +unprotected drive, the girl was physically as well as mentally unable to +resist. He coiled her hair into a knot, gagged her dexterously with a +silk handkerchief—Voles knew all about gags—and tied her hands behind +her back with a shoe-lace. Then he adjusted the hood and side-screens.</p> + +<p>He did these things hurriedly, but without fumbling. He was losing +precious minutes, for the telephone-wire might yet throttle him; but the +periods of waiting at the ferry and while crossing the Hudson must be +circumvented in some way or other. His last act before starting the car +was to show Winifred the revolver he never lacked.</p> + +<p>“See this!” he growled into her ear. “I’m not going to be held by any +cop. At the least sign of a move by you to attract attention I’ll put +the first bullet through the cop, the second through you, and the third +through myself, if I can’t make my get-away. Better believe that. I mean +it.”</p> + +<p>He asked for no token of understanding on her part. He was stating only +the plain facts. In a word, Voles was born to be a great man, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>and an +unhappy fate had made him a scoundrel. But fortune still befriended him. +Rain fell as he drove through Hoboken. The ferry was almost deserted, +and the car was wedged in between two huge mail-vans on board the boat.</p> + +<p>Hardened rascal though he was, Voles breathed a sigh of relief as he +drove unchallenged past a uniformed policeman on arriving at Christopher +Street. He guessed his escape was only a matter of minutes. In reality, +he was gone some ten seconds when the policeman was called to the phone. +As for Petch, that valorous knight-errant crossed on the next boat, and +the Hoboken police were already on the <i>qui vive</i>.</p> + +<p>Every road into and out of New York was soon watched by sharp eyes on +the lookout for a car bearing a license numbered in the tens of +thousands, and tenanted by a hatless man and a girl in indoor costume. +Quickly the circles lessened in concentric rings through the agencies of +telephone-boxes and roundsmen.</p> + +<p>At half past nine a patrolman found a car answering the description +standing outside an up-town saloon on the East Side. Examining the +register number he saw at once that blacking had been smeared over the +first and last figures. Then he knew. But there was no trace of the +driver. Voles and Winifred had vanished into thin air.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p><p>Mrs. Carshaw, breakfasting with a haggard and weary son, revealed that +Senator Meiklejohn was at Atlantic City. He kissed her for the news.</p> + +<p>“Meiklejohn must wait, mother,” he said. “Winifred is somewhere in New +York. I cannot tear myself away to Atlantic City to-day. When I have +found her, I shall deal with Meiklejohn.”</p> + +<p>Then came Steingall, and he and Mrs. Carshaw exchanged a glance which +the younger man missed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carshaw, sitting a while in deep thought after the others had gone, +rang up a railway company. Atlantic City is four hours distant from New +York. By hurrying over certain inquiries she wished to make, she might +catch a train at midday.</p> + +<p>She drove to her lawyers. At her request a smart clerk was lent to her +for a couple of hours. They consulted various records. The clerk made +many notes on foolscap sheets in a large, round hand, and Mrs. Carshaw, +seated in the train, read them many times through her gold-mounted +lorgnette.</p> + +<p>It was five o’clock when a taxi brought her to the Marlborough-Blenheim +Hotel, and Senator Meiklejohn was the most astonished man on the Jersey +coast at the moment when she entered unannounced, for Mrs. Carshaw had +simply <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>said to the elevator-boy: “Take me to Senator Meiklejohn’s +sitting-room.”</p> + +<p>Undeniably he was startled; but playing desperately for high stakes had +steadied him somewhat. Perhaps the example of his stronger brother had +some value, too, for he rose with sufficient affability.</p> + +<p>“What a pleasant <i>rencontré</i>, Mrs. Carshaw,” he said. “I had no notion +you were within a hundred miles of the Board Walk.”</p> + +<p>“That is not surprising,” she answered, sinking into a comfortable +chair. “I have just arrived. Order me some sandwiches and a cup of tea. +I’m famished.”</p> + +<p>He obeyed.</p> + +<p>“I take it you have come to see me?” he said, quietly enough, though +aware of a queer fluttering about the region of his heart.</p> + +<p>“Yes. I am so worried about Rex.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me! The girl?”</p> + +<p>“It is always a woman. How you men must loathe us in your sane moments, +if you ever have any.”</p> + +<p>“I flatter myself that I am sane, yet how could I say that I loathe +<i>your</i> sex, Mrs. Carshaw?”</p> + +<p>“I wonder if your flattery will bear analysis. But there! No serious +talk until I am refreshed. Do ring for some biscuits; sandwiches are apt +to be slow in the cutting.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p><p>Thus by pretext she kept him from direct converse until a tea-tray, with +a film of <i>paté de fois</i> coyly hidden in thin bread and butter, formed, +as it were, a rampart between them.</p> + +<p>“How did you happen on my address?” he asked smilingly.</p> + +<p>It was the first shell of real warfare, and she answered in kind: “That +was quite easy. The people at the detective bureau know it.”</p> + +<p>The words hit him like a bullet.</p> + +<p>“The Bureau!” he cried.</p> + +<p>“Yes. The officials there are interested in the affairs of Winifred +Marchbanks.”</p> + +<p>He went ashen-gray, but essayed, nevertheless, to turn emotion into mere +amazement. He was far too clever a man to pretend a blank negation. The +situation was too strenuous for any species of ostrich device.</p> + +<p>“I seem to remember that name,” he said slowly, moistening his lips with +his tongue.</p> + +<p>“Of course you do. You have never forgotten it. Let us have a friendly +chat about her, Senator. My son is going to marry her. That is why I am +here.”</p> + +<p>She munched her sandwiches and sipped her tea. This experienced woman of +the world, now boldly declared on the side of romance, was far too +astute to force the man to desperation unless it was necessary. He must +be given <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>breathing-time, permitted to collect his wits. She was sure of +her ground. Her case was not legally strong. Meiklejohn would discover +that defect, and, indeed, it was not her object to act legally. If +others could plot and scheme, she would have a finger in the pie—that +was all. And behind her was the clear brain of Steingall, who had camped +for days near the Senator in Atlantic City, and had advised the mother +how to act for her son.</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. She ate steadily.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you will be good enough to state explicitly why you are here, +Mrs. Carshaw,” said Meiklejohn at last.</p> + +<p>She caught the ring of defiance in his tone. She smiled. There was to be +verbal sword-play, and she was armed <i>cap-à-pie</i>.</p> + +<p>“Just another cup of tea,” she pleaded, and he wriggled uneasily in his +chair. The delay was torturing him. She unrolled her big sheets of +notes. He looked over at them with well-simulated indifference.</p> + +<p>“I have an engagement—” he began, looking at his watch.</p> + +<p>“You must put it off,” she said, with sudden heat. “The most important +engagement of your life is here, now, in this room, William Meiklejohn. +I mentioned the detective bureau when I entered. Which do you prefer to +encounter—me or an emissary of the police?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p><p>He paled again. Evidently this society lady had claws, and would use +them if annoyed.</p> + +<p>“I do not think that I have said anything to warrant such language to +me,” he murmured, striving to smile deprecatingly. He succeeded but +poorly.</p> + +<p>“You sent me to drive out into the world the girl whom my son loved,” +was the retort. “You made a grave mistake in that. I recognized her, +after a little while. I knew her mother. Now, am I to go into details?”</p> + +<p>“I—really—I—”</p> + +<p>“Very well. Eighteen years ago your brother, Ralph Vane Meiklejohn, +murdered a man named Marchbanks, who had discovered that you and your +brother were defrauding his wife of funds held by your bank as her +trustees. I have here the records of the crime. I do not say that your +brother, who has since been a convict and is now assisting you under the +name of Ralph Voles, could be charged with that crime. Maybe ‘murderer’ +is too strong a word for him where Marchbanks was concerned; but I do +say that any clever lawyer could send you and him to the penitentiary +for robbing a dead woman and her daughter, the girl whom you and he have +kidnapped within the last week.”</p> + +<p>Here was a broadside with a vengeance. Meiklejohn could not have endured +a keener <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>agony were he facing a judge and jury. It was one thing to +have borne this terrible secret gnawing at his vitals during long years, +but it was another to find it pitilessly laid bare by a woman belonging +to that very society for which he had dared so much in order to retain +his footing.</p> + +<p>He bent his head between his hands. For a few seconds thoughts of +another crime danced in his surcharged brain. But Mrs. Carshaw’s +well-bred syllables brought him back to sanity with chill +deliberateness.</p> + +<p>“Shall I go on?” she said. “Shall I tell you of Rachel Bartlett; of the +scandal to be raised about your ears, not only by this falsified trust, +but by the outrageous attack on Ronald Tower?”</p> + +<p>He raised his pallid face. He was a proud man, and resented her +merciless taunts.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” he muttered, “I deny everything you have said. But, if it +were true, you must have some ulterior motive in approaching me. What is +it?”</p> + +<p>“I am glad you see that. I am here to offer terms.”</p> + +<p>“Name them.”</p> + +<p>“You must place this girl, Winifred Marchbanks, under my care—where she +will remain until my son marries her—and make restitution of her +mother’s property.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p><p>“No doubt you have a definite sum in your mind?”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly. My lawyers tell me you ought to refund the interest as +well, but Winifred may content herself with the principal. You must hand +her half a million dollars!”</p> + +<p>He sprang to his feet, livid. “Woman,” he yelled, “you are crazy!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>THE BITER BIT</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>rs. Carshaw focused him again through her gold-rimmed eye-glasses. +“Crazy?” she questioned calmly. “Not a bit of it—merely an old woman +bargaining for her son. Rex would not have done it. After thrashing you +he would have left you to the law, and, were the law to step in, you +would surely be ruined. I, on the other hand, do not scruple to compound +a felony—that is what my lawyers call it. My extravagance and +carelessness have contributed to encumber Rex’s estates with a heavy +mortgage. If I provide his wife with a dowry which pays off the mortgage +and leaves her a nice sum as pin-money, I shall have done well.”</p> + +<p>“Half a million! I—I repudiate your statements. Even if I did not, I +have no such sum at command.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you have, or will have, which is the same thing. Shall I give you +details of the Costa Rica cotton concession, arranged between you, and +Jacob, and Helen Tower? They’re here. As for repudiation, perhaps I have +hurried matters. Permit me to go through <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>my story at some length, +quoting chapter and verse.”</p> + +<p>She spread open her papers again, after having folded them.</p> + +<p>“Stop this wretched farce,” he almost screamed, for her coolness broke +up his never too powerful nervous system. “If—I agree—what guarantee +is there—”</p> + +<p>“Ah! now you’re talking reasonably. I can ensure the acceptance of my +terms. First, where is Winifred?”</p> + +<p>He hesitated. Here was the very verge of the gulf. Any admission implied +the truth of Mrs. Carshaw’s words. She did not help him. He must take +the plunge without any further impulsion. But the Senator’s nerve was +broken. They both knew it.</p> + +<p>“At Gateway House, East Orange,” he said sullenly. “I must tell you that +my—my brother is a dare-devil. Better leave me to——”</p> + +<p>“I am glad you have told the truth,” she interrupted. “She is not at +Gateway House now. Rex and a detective were there last night. There was +a fight. Your brother, a resourceful scoundrel evidently, carried her +off. You must find him and her. A train leaves for New York in half an +hour. Come back with me and help look for her. It will count toward your +regeneration.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p><p>He glanced at his watch abstractedly. He even smiled in a sickly way as +he said:</p> + +<p>“You timed your visit well.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. A woman has intuition, you know. It takes the place of brains. I +shall await you in the hall. Now, don’t be stupid, and think of +revolvers, and poisons, and things. You will end by blessing me for my +interference. Will you be ready in five minutes?”</p> + +<p>She sat in the lounge, and soon saw some baggage descending. Then +Meiklejohn joined her. She went to the office and asked for a telegraph +form. The Senator had followed.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do?” he asked suspiciously.</p> + +<p>“I’m wiring Rex to say that you and I are traveling to New York +together, and advising him to suspend operations until we arrive. That +will be helpful. You will not be tempted to act foolishly, and he will +not do anything to prejudice your future actions.”</p> + +<p>He gave her a wrathful glance. Mrs. Carshaw missed no point. A man +driven to desperation might be tempted to bring about an “accident” if +he fancied he could save himself in that way. But, clever as a mother +scheming for her son’s welfare proved herself, there was one thing she +could not do. Neither she nor any other human being can prevent the +unexpected from happening occasionally. Sound <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>judgment and astute +planning will often gain a repute for divination; yet the prophet is +decried at times. Steingall had discovered this, and Mrs. Carshaw +experienced it now.</p> + +<p>It chanced that Mick the Wolf, lying in Gateway House on a bed of pain, +his injuries aggravated by the struggle with the detective, and his +temper soured by Rachel Craik’s ungracious ministrations, found his +thoughts dwelling on the gentle girl who had forgotten her own sorrows +and tended him, her enemy.</p> + +<p>Such moments come to every man, no matter how vile he may be, and this +lorn wolf was a social castaway from whom, during many years, all +decent-minded people had averted their faces. His slow-moving mind was +apt to be dominated by a single idea. He understood enough of the Costa +Rican project to grasp the essential fact that there was money in it for +all concerned, and money honestly earned, if honesty be measured by the +ethics of the stock manipulator.</p> + +<p>He realized, too, that neither Voles nor Rachel Craik could be moved by +argument, and he rightly estimated Fowle as a weak-minded nonentity. So +he slowly hammered out a conclusion, and, having appraised it in his +narrow circle of thought, determined to put it into effect.</p> + +<p>An East Orange doctor, who had received his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>instructions from the +police, paid a second visit to Mick the Wolf shortly before the hour of +Mrs. Carshaw’s arrival in Atlantic City.</p> + +<p>“Well, how is the arm feeling now?” he said pleasantly, when he entered +the patient’s bedroom.</p> + +<p>The answer was an oath.</p> + +<p>“That will never do,” laughed the doctor. “Cheerfulness is the most +important factor in healing. Ill-temper causes jerky movements and +careless—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, shucks,” came the growl. “Say, listen, boss! I’ve been broke up +twice over a slip of a girl. I’ve had enough of it. The whole darn thing +is a mistake. I want to end it, an’ I don’t give a hoorah in Hades who +knows. Just tell her friends that if they look for her on board the +steamer <i>Wild Duck</i>, loadin’ at Smith’s Pier in the East River, they’ll +either find her or strike her trail. That’s all. Now fix these bandages, +for my arm’s on fire.”</p> + +<p>The doctor wisely put no further questions. He dressed the wounded limb +and took his departure. A policeman in plain clothes, hiding in a +neighboring barn, saw him depart and hailed him: “Any news, Doc?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” was the reply. “If my information is correct you’ll not be kept +there much longer.”</p> + +<p>He motored quickly to the police-station. Within the hour Carshaw, with +frowning face <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>and dreams of wreaking physical vengeance on the burly +frame of Voles, was speeding across New York with Steingall in his +recovered car. He simply hungered for a personal combat with the man who +had inflicted such sufferings on his beloved Winifred.</p> + +<p>The story told by Polly Barnard, and supplemented by Petch, revealed +very clearly the dastardly trick practised by Voles the previous +evening, while the dodge of smearing out two of the figures on the +automobile’s license plate explained the success attained in traversing +the streets unnoticed by the police.</p> + +<p>Steingall was inclined to theorize.</p> + +<p>“The finding of the car puzzled me at first, I admit,” he said. “Now, +assuming that Mick the Wolf has not sent us off on a wild-goose chase, +the locality of the steamer explains it. Voles drove all the way to the +East Side, quitted the car in the neighborhood of the pier, deposited +Miss Bartlett on board the vessel under some plausible pretext, and +actually risked the return journey into the only part of New York where +the missing auto might not be noticed at once. He’s a bold rogue, and no +mistake.”</p> + +<p>But Carshaw answered not. The chief glanced at him sideways, and smiled. +There was a lowering fire in his companion’s eyes that told its own +story. Thenceforward, the run <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>was taken in silence. But Steingall had +decided on his next move. When they neared Smith’s Pier Carshaw wished +to drive straight there.</p> + +<p>“Nothing of the sort,” was the sharp official command. “We have failed +once. Perhaps it was my fault. This time there shall be no mistakes. +Turn along the next street to the right. The precinct station is three +blocks down.”</p> + +<p>Somewhat surprised by Steingall’s tone, the other obeyed. At the +station-house a policeman, called from the men’s quarters, where he was +quietly reading and smoking, stated that he was on duty in the +neighborhood between eight o’clock the previous evening and four o’clock +that morning. He remembered seeing a car, similar to the one standing +outside, pass about 9.15 <small>P.M.</small> It contained two people, he believed, but +could not be sure, as the screens were raised owing to the rain. He did +not see the car again; some drunken sailors required attention during +the small hours.</p> + +<p>The local police captain and several men in plain clothes were asked to +assemble quietly on Smith’s Pier. A message was sent to the river +police, and a launch requisitioned to patrol near the <i>Wild Duck</i>.</p> + +<p>Finally, Steingall, who was a born strategist, and whose long experience +of cross-examining counsel rendered him wary before he took irrevocable +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>steps in cases such as this, where a charge might fail on unforeseen +grounds, made inquiries from a local ship’s chandler as to the <i>Wild +Duck</i>, her cargo, and her destination.</p> + +<p>There was no secret about her. She was loading with stores for Costa +Rica. The consignees were a syndicate, and both Carshaw and Steingall +recognized its name as that of the venture in which Senator Meiklejohn +was interested.</p> + +<p>“Do you happen to know if there is any one on board looking after the +interests of the syndicate?” asked the detective.</p> + +<p>“Yes. A big fellow has been down here once or twice. He’s going out as +the manager, I guess. His name was—let me see now—”</p> + +<p>“Voles?” suggested Steingall.</p> + +<p>“No, that wasn’t it. Oh, I’ve got it—Vane, it was.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw, dreadfully impatient, failed to understand all this preliminary +survey; but the detective had no warrant, and ship’s captains become +crusty if their vessels are boarded in a peremptory manner without +justification. Moreover, Steingall quite emphatically ordered Carshaw to +remain on the wharf while he and others went on board.</p> + +<p>“You want to strangle Voles, if possible,” he said. “From what I’ve +heard of him he would meet the attempt squarely, and you two <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>might do +each other serious injury. I simply refuse to permit any such thing. You +have a much more pleasant task awaiting you when you meet the young +lady. No one will say a word if you hug her as hard as you like.”</p> + +<p>Carshaw, agreeing to aught but delay, promised ruefully not to +interfere. When the river police were at hand a nod brought several +powerfully built officers closing in on the main gangway of the <i>Wild +Duck</i>. The police-captain, in uniform, accompanied Steingall on board.</p> + +<p>A deck hand hailed them and asked their business.</p> + +<p>“I want to see the captain,” said the detective.</p> + +<p>“There he is, boss, lookin’ at you from the chart-house now.”</p> + +<p>They glanced up toward a red-faced, hectoring sort of person who +regarded them with evident disfavor. Some ships, loading for Central +American ports at out-of-the-way wharves, do not want uniformed police +on their decks.</p> + +<p>The two climbed an iron ladder. Men at work in the forehold ceased +operations and looked up at them. Their progress was followed by many +interested eyes from the wharf. The captain glared angrily. He, too, had +noted the presence of the stalwart contingent near the gangway, nor had +he missed the police boat.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span></p><p>“What the—” he commenced; but the detective’s stern question stopped an +outburst.</p> + +<p>“Have you a man named Voles or Vane on board?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Vane—yes.”</p> + +<p>“Did he bring a young woman to this ship late last night?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see—”</p> + +<p>“Let me explain, captain. I’m from the detective bureau. The man I am +inquiring for is wanted on several charges.”</p> + +<p>The steady official tone caused the skipper to think. Here was no +cringing foreigner or laborer to be brow-beaten at pleasure.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m—” he growled. “Here, you,” roaring at a man beneath, “go aft +and tell Mr. Vane he’s wanted on the bridge.”</p> + +<p>The messenger vanished.</p> + +<p>“I assume there <i>is</i> a young lady on board?” went on Steingall.</p> + +<p>“I’m told so. I haven’t seen her.”</p> + +<p>“Surely you know every one who has a right to be on the ship?”</p> + +<p>“Guess that’s so, mister, an’ who has more right than the daughter of +the man who puts up the dough for the trip? Strikes me you’re makin’ a +hash of things. But here’s Mr. Vane. He’ll soon put you where you +belong.”</p> + +<p>Advancing from the after state-rooms came Voles. He was looking at the +bridge, but the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>police-captain was hidden momentarily by the +chart-room. He gazed at Steingall with bold curiosity. He had a foot on +the companion ladder when he heard a sudden commotion on the wharf. +Turning, he saw Fowle, livid with terror, writhing in Carshaw’s grasp.</p> + +<p>Then Voles stood still. The shades of night were drawing in, but he had +seen enough to give him pause. Perhaps, too, other less palpable shadows +darkened his soul at that moment.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<h3>THE SETTLEMENT</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he chief disliked melodrama in official affairs. Any man, even a crook, +ought to know when he is beaten, and take his punishment with a stiff +upper lip. But Voles’s face was white, and in one of his temperament, +that was as ominous a sign as the bloodshot eyes of a wild boar. +Steingall had hoped that Voles would walk quietly into the chart-room, +and, seeing the folly of resistance, yield to the law without a +struggle. Perhaps, under other conditions, he might have done so. It was +the coming of Fowle that had complicated matters.</p> + +<p>The strategic position was simple enough. Voles had the whole of the +after-deck to himself. In the river, unknown to him, was the police +launch. On the wharf, plain in view, were several policemen, whose +clothes in nowise concealed their character. On the bridge, visible now, +was the uniformed police-captain. Above all, there was Fowle, wriggling +in Carshaw’s grasp, and pointing frantically at him, Voles.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p><p>“Come right along, Mr. Vane,” said Steingall encouragingly; “we’d like a +word with you.”</p> + +<p>The planets must have been hostile to the Meiklejohn family in that +hour. Brother William was being badly handled by Mrs. Carshaw in +Atlantic City, and Brother Ralph was receiving a polite request to come +up-stairs and be cuffed.</p> + +<p>But Ralph Vane Meiklejohn faced the odds creditably. People said +afterward it was a pity he was such a fire-eater. Matters might have +been arranged much more smoothly. As it was, he looked back, perhaps, +through a long vista of misspent years, and the glance was not +encouraging. Of late, his mind had dwelt with somewhat unpleasant +frequency on the finding of a dead body in the quarry near his Vermont +home.</p> + +<p>His first great crime had found him out when he was beginning to forget +it. He had walked that moment from the presence of a girl whose +sorrowful, frightened face reminded him of another long-buried victim of +that quarry tragedy. He knew, too, that this girl had been defrauded by +him and his brother of a vast sum of money, and a guilty conscience made +the prospect blacker than it really was. And then, he was a man of +fierce impulses, of ungovernable rage, a very tiger when his baleful +passions <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>were stirred. A wave of madness swept through him now. He saw +the bright prospect of an easily-earned fortune ruthlessly replaced by a +more palpable vision of prison walls and silent, whitewashed corridors. +Perhaps the chair of death itself loomed through the red mist before his +eyes.</p> + +<p>Yet he retained his senses sufficiently to note the police-captain’s +slight signal to his men to come on board, and again he heard +Steingall’s voice:</p> + +<p>“Don’t make any trouble, Voles. It’ll be all the worse for you in the +end.”</p> + +<p>The detective’s warning was not given without good cause. He knew the +faces of men, and in the blazing eyes of this man he read a maniacal +fury.</p> + +<p>Voles glanced toward the river. It was nearly night. He could swim like +an otter. In the sure confusion he might—Then, for the first time, he +noticed the police launch. His right hand dropped to his hip.</p> + +<p>“Ah, don’t be a fool, Voles!” came the cry from the bridge. “You’re only +making matters worse.”</p> + +<p>A bitter smile creased the lips of the man who felt the world slipping +away beneath him. His hand was thrust forward, not toward the occupants +of the bridge, but toward the wharf. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>Fowle saw him and yelled. A report +and the yell merged into a scream of agony. Voles was sure that Fowle +had betrayed him, and took vengeance. There was a deadly certainty in +his aim.</p> + +<p>Steingall, utterly fearless when action was called for, swung himself +down by the railings. He was too late. A second report, and Voles +crumpled up.</p> + +<p>His bold spirit had not yielded nor his hand failed him in the last +moment of his need. A bullet was lodged in his brain. He was dead ere +the huge body thudded on the deck.</p> + +<p>When Carshaw found Winifred in a cabin—to open the door they had to +obtain the key from Voles’s pocket—the girl was sobbing pitifully. She +heard the revolver shots, and knew not what they betokened. She was so +utterly shaken by these last dreadful hours that she could only cling to +her lover and cry in a frightened way that went to his heart:</p> + +<p>“Oh, take me away, Rex! It was all my fault. Why did I not trust you? +Please, take me away!”</p> + +<p>He fondled her hair and endeavored to kiss the tears from her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Don’t cry, little one!” he whispered. “All your troubles have ended +now.”</p> + +<p>It was a simple formula, but effective. When <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>repeated often enough, +with sufficiently convincing caresses, she became calmer. When he +brought her on deck all signs of the terrible scene enacted there had +been removed. She asked what had caused the firing, and he told her that +Voles was arrested. It was sufficient. So sensitive was she that the +mere sound of the dead bully’s name made her tremble.</p> + +<p>“I remember now,” she whispered. “I was sure he had killed you. I knew +you would follow me, Rex. When I saw you I forgot all else in the joy of +it. Are you sure you are not injured?”</p> + +<p>At another time he would have laughed, but her worn condition demanded +the utmost forbearance.</p> + +<p>“No, dearest,” he assured her. “He did not even try to hurt me. Now let +me take you to my mother.”</p> + +<p>The captain, thoroughly scared by the events he had witnessed, came +forward with profuse apologies and offers of the ship’s hospitality. +Carshaw felt that the man was not to blame, but the <i>Wild Duck</i> held no +attractions for him. He hurried Winifred ashore.</p> + +<p>Steingall came with them. The district police would make the official +inquiries as a preliminary to the inquest which would be held next day. +Carshaw must attend, but Winifred would probably be excused by the +authorities. He conveyed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>this information in scraps of innuendo. +Winifred did not know of Voles’s death or the shooting of Fowle till +many days had passed.</p> + +<p>Fowle did not die. He recovered, after an operation and some months in a +hospital. Then Carshaw befriended him, obtained a situation for him, and +gave him money to start life in an honest way once more.</p> + +<p>There was another scene when Mrs. Carshaw brought Meiklejohn to her +apartment and found Rex and Winifred awaiting them. Winifred, of course, +had never seen the Senator, and there was nothing terrifying to her in +the sight of a haggard, weary-looking, elderly gentleman. She was far +more fluttered by meeting Rex’s mother, who figured in her mind as a +domineering, cruel, old lady, elegantly merciless, and gifted with a +certain skill in torture by words.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carshaw began to dispel that impression promptly.</p> + +<p>“My poor child!” she cried, with a break in her voice, “what you have +undergone! Can you ever forgive me?”</p> + +<p>Carshaw, ignoring Meiklejohn, whispered to his mother that Winifred +should be sent to bed. She was utterly worn out. One of the maids should +sleep in her room in case she awoke in fright during the night.</p> + +<p>When left alone with Meiklejohn he intended <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>to scarify the man’s soul. +But he was disarmed at the outset. The Senator’s spirit was broken. He +admitted everything; said nought in palliation. He could have taken no +better line. When Mrs. Carshaw hastened back, fearing lest her plans +might be upset, she found her son giving Winifred’s chief persecutor a +stiff dose of brandy.</p> + +<p>The tragedy of Smith’s Pier was allowed to sink into the obscurity of an +ordinary occurrence. Fowle’s unhappily-timed appearance was explained by +Rachel Craik when her frenzy at the news of Voles’s death had subsided.</p> + +<p>A chuckling remark by Mick the Wolf that “There’d been a darned sight +too much fuss about that slip of a girl, an’ he had fixed it,” alarmed +her.</p> + +<p>She sent Fowle at top speed to Smith’s Pier to warn Voles. He arrived in +time to be shot for his pains.</p> + +<p>Carshaw and Winifred were married quietly. Their honeymoon consisted of +the trip to Massachusetts when he began work in the cotton mill. +Meiklejohn fulfilled his promise. When the Costa Rica cotton concession +reached its zenith he sold out, resigned his seat in the Senate and +transferred to Winifred railway cash and gilt-edged bonds to the total +value of a half a million dollars. So the young bride enriched her +husband, but Carshaw refused to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>desert his business. He will die a +millionaire, but he hopes to live like one for a long time.</p> + +<p>Petch and Jim fought over Polly. There was talk about it in East Orange, +and Polly threw both over; the latest gossip is that she is going to +marry a police-inspector.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carshaw, Sr., still visits her “dear friend,” Helen Tower. Both of +them speak highly of Meiklejohn, who lives in strict seclusion. He is +very wealthy; since he ceased to strive for gold it has poured in on +him.</p> + +<p>Winifred secured an allowance for Rachel Craik sufficient to live on, +and Mick the Wolf, whose arm was never really sound again, was given a +job on the Long Island estate as a watcher.</p> + +<p>Quite recently, when the young couple came in to New York for a +week-end’s shopping—rendered necessary by the establishment of day and +night nurseries—they entertained Steingall and Clancy at dinner in the +Biltmore. Naturally, at one stage of a pleasant meal, the talk turned on +those eventful months, October and November, 1913. As usual, Clancy +waxed sarcastic at his chief’s expense.</p> + +<p>“He’s as vain as a star actor in the movies,” he cackled. “Hogs all the +camera stuff. Wouldn’t give me even a flash when the big scene was put +on.”</p> + +<p>Steingall pointed a fat cigar at him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p><p>“Do you know what happened to a frog when he tried to emulate a bull?” +he said.</p> + +<p>“I know what happened to a bull one night in East Orange,” came the +ready retort.</p> + +<p>“The solitary slip in an otherwise unblemished career,” sighed the +chief. “Make the most of it, little man. If I allowed myself to dwell on +your many blunders I’d lie down and die.”</p> + +<p>Winifred never really understood these two. She thought their bickering +was genuine.</p> + +<p>“Why,” she cried, “you are wonderful, both of you! From the very +beginning you peered into the souls of those evil men. You, Mr. Clancy, +seemed to sense a great mystery the moment you heard Rachel Craik speak +to the Senator outside the club that night. As for you, Mr. Steingall, +do you know what the lawyers told Rex and me soon after our marriage?”</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am,” said Steingall.</p> + +<p>“They said that if you hadn’t sent Rex’s mother to Atlantic City we +might never have recovered a cent of the stolen money. Sheer bluff, they +called it. We would have had the greatest difficulty in establishing a +legal case.”</p> + +<p>Steingall weighed the point for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes I’m inclined to think that the police know more about human +nature than any other set of men,” he said, at last, evidently <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>choosing +his words with care. “Perhaps I might except doctors. They, too, see us +as we are. But the dry legal mind does not allow sufficiently for what +is called in every-day speech a guilty conscience. In this case these +people knew they had done you and your father and mother a great wrong, +and that knowledge was never absent from their thoughts. It colored +every word they uttered, governed every action. That’s a heavy handicap, +ma’am. It’s the deciding factor in the never-ending struggle between the +police and the criminal classes. The most callous crook walking Broadway +in freedom to-night—a man who would scoff at the notion that he is +bothered by any conscience at all—never passes a policeman without an +instinctive sense of danger. And that is what beats him in the long run. +Crime may be a form of lunacy—indeed, I look on it in that light +myself—but, luckily for mankind, crime cannot stifle conscience.”</p> + +<p>The chief’s tone had become serious; he appeared to awake to its gravity +when he found the young wife’s eyes fixed on his with a certain awe. He +broke off the lecture suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Why,” he cried, smiling broadly, and jerking the cigar toward Clancy, +“why, ma’am, if we cops hadn’t some sort of a pull, what chance would a +shrimp like him have against any one of real intelligence?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p><p>“That’s what he regards as handing me a lemon for my Orange,” grinned +Clancy.</p> + +<p>Winifred laughed. The curtain can drop on the last act of her adventures +to the mirthful music of her happiness.</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h3><span class="smcap">Transcriber’s Note:</span></h3> + +<p>Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters’ errors; otherwise, +every effort has been made to remain true to the author’s words and +intent.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bartlett Mystery, by Louis Tracy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BARTLETT MYSTERY *** + +***** This file should be named 31949-h.htm or 31949-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/9/4/31949/ + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/31949-h/images/i001.jpg b/31949-h/images/i001.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b1cf62 --- /dev/null +++ b/31949-h/images/i001.jpg diff --git a/31949.txt b/31949.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bbbd503 --- /dev/null +++ b/31949.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8584 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bartlett Mystery, by Louis Tracy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Bartlett Mystery + +Author: Louis Tracy + +Release Date: April 11, 2010 [EBook #31949] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BARTLETT MYSTERY *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + THE + BARTLETT MYSTERY + + BY + + LOUIS TRACY + + Author of + + "The Wings of the Morning," "Number Seventeen," + etc., etc. + + NEW YORK + + EDWARD J. CLODE + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY + + EDWARD J. CLODE + + All rights reserved + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + +_By_ LOUIS TRACY + + + THE WINGS OF THE MORNING + THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS + THE WHEEL O' FORTUNE + A SON OF THE IMMORTALS + CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR + THE MESSAGE + THE STOWAWAY + THE PILLAR OF LIGHT + THE SILENT BARRIER + THE "MIND THE PAINT" GIRL + ONE WONDERFUL NIGHT + THE TERMS OF SURRENDER + FLOWER OF THE GORSE + THE RED YEAR + THE GREAT MOGUL + MIRABEL'S ISLAND + THE DAY OF WRATH + HIS UNKNOWN WIFE + THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER + THE REVELLERS + DIANA OF THE MOORLAND + NUMBER SEVENTEEN + THE BARTLETT MYSTERY + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. A GATHERING AT A CLUB 1 + II. A DARING CRIME 12 + III. WINIFRED BARTLETT HEARS SOMETHING 24 + IV. FURTHER SURPRISES 39 + V. PERSECUTORS 54 + VI. BROTHER RALPH 67 + VII. STILL MERE MYSTERY 81 + VIII. THE DREAM FACE 92 + IX. THE FLIGHT 102 + X. CARSHAW TAKES UP THE CHASE 115 + XI. THE TWO CARS 128 + XII. THE PURSUIT 140 + XIII. THE NEW LINK 150 + XIV. A SUBTLE ATTACK 162 + XV. THE VISITOR 173 + XVI. WINIFRED DRIFTS 181 + XVII. ALL ROADS LEAD TO EAST ORANGE 191 + XVIII. THE CRASH 201 + XIX. CLANCY EXPLAINS 214 + XX. IN THE TOILS 225 + XXI. MOTHER AND SON 235 + XXII. THE HUNT 245 + XXIII. "HE WHO FIGHTS AND RUNS + AWAY--" 257 + XXIV. IN FULL CRY 269 + XXV. FLANK ATTACKS 280 + XXVI. THE BITER BIT 293 + XXVII. THE SETTLEMENT 304 + + + + +THE BARTLETT MYSTERY + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A GATHERING AT A CLUB + + +That story of love and crime which figures in the records of the New +York Detective Bureau as "The Yacht Mystery" has little to do with +yachts and is no longer a mystery. It is concerned far more intimately +with the troubles and trials of pretty Winifred Bartlett than with +the vagaries of the restless sea; the alert, well-groomed figure of +Winifred's true lover, Rex Carshaw, fills its pages to the almost total +exclusion of the portly millionaire who owned the _Sans Souci_. Yet, +such is the singular dominance exercised by the trivial things of life +over the truly important ones, some hundreds of thousands of people in +the great city on the three rivers will recall many episodes of the nine +days' wonder known to them as "The Yacht Mystery" though they may never +have heard of either Winifred or Rex. + +It began simply, as all major events do begin, and, of course, at the +outset, neither of these two young people seemed to have the remotest +connection with it. + +On the evening of October 5, 1913--that is the date when the first entry +appears in the diary of Mr. James Steingall, chief of the Bureau--the +stream of traffic in Fifth Avenue was interrupted to an unusual degree +at a corner near Forty-second Street. The homeward-bound throng going +up-town and the equally dense crowd coming down-town to restaurants and +theater-land merely chafed at a delay which they did not understand, but +the traffic policeman knew exactly what was going on, and kept his head +and his temper. + +A few doors down the north side of the cross street a famous club +was ablaze with lights. Especially did three great windows on the +first floor send forth hospitable beams, for the spacious room within +was the scene of an amusing revel. Mr. William Pierpont Van Hofen, +ex-commodore of the New York Yacht Club, owner of the _Sans Souci_, +and multi-millionaire, had just astonished his friends by one of the +eccentric jests for which he was famous. + +The _Sans Souci_, notable the world over for its size, speed, and +fittings, was going out of commission for the winter. Van Hofen had +marked the occasion by widespread invitations to a dinner at his club, +"to be followed by a surprise party," and the nature of the "surprise" +was becoming known. Each lady had drawn by lot the name of her dinner +partner, and each couple was then presented with a sealed envelope +containing tickets for one or other of the many theaters in New York. +Thus, not only were husbands, wives, eligible bachelors, and smart +debutantes inextricably mixed up, but none knew whither the oddly +assorted pairs were bound, since the envelopes were not to be opened +until the meal reached the coffee and cigarette stage. + +There existed, too, a secret within a secret. Seven men were bidden +privately to come on board the _Sans Souci_, moored in the Hudson +off the Eighty-sixth Street landing-stage, and there enjoy a quiet +session of auction bridge. + +"We'll duck before the trouble gets fairly started," explained Van Hofen +to his cronies. "You'll see how the bunch is sorted out at dinner, but +the tangle then will be just one cent in the dollar to the pandemonium +when they find out where they're going." + +Of course, everybody was acquainted with everybody else, or the joke +might have been in bad taste. Moreover, as the gathering was confined +exclusively to the elect of New York society, the host had notified the +Detective Bureau, and requested the presence of one of their best men +outside the club shortly before eight o'clock. None realized better than +he that where the carcass is there the vultures gather, and he wanted no +untoward incident to happen during the confusion which must attend the +departure of so many richly bejeweled ladies accompanied by unexpected +cavaliers. + +Thus it befell that Detective-Inspector Clancy was detailed for the +job. Steingall and he were the "inseparables" of the Bureau, yet no two +members of a marvelously efficient service were more unlike, physically +and mentally. Steingall was big, blond, muscular, a genial giant whose +qualities rendered him almost popular among the very criminals he +hunted, whereas those same desperadoes feared the diminutive Clancy, +the little, slight, dark-haired sleuth of French-Irish descent. He, +they were aware instinctively, read their very souls before Steingall's +huge paw clutched their quaking bodies. + +Idle chance alone decided that Clancy should undertake the half-hour's +vigil at the up-town club that evening. All unknowing, he became thereby +the controlling influence in many lives. + +At eight o'clock an elderly man emerged from the building and edged +his way through the cheery, laughing people already grouped about the +doorway and awaiting automobiles. Mr. William Meiklejohn might have been +branded with the word "Senator," so typical was he of the upper house +at Washington. The very cut of his clothes, the style of his shoes, the +glossiness of his hat, even the wide expanse of pearl-studded white +linen marked him as a person of consequence. + +A uniformed policeman, striving to keep the pavement clear of loiterers, +recognized and saluted him. The salute was returned, though its +recipient's face seemed to be gloomy, preoccupied, almost disturbed. +Therefore he did not notice a gaunt, angular-jawed woman--one whose +carriage and attire suggested better days long since passed--who had +been peering eagerly at the revellers pouring out of the club, and now +stepped forward impetuously as if to intercept him. + +She failed. The policeman barred her progress quietly but effectually, +and the woman, if bent on achieving her purpose, must have either called +after the absorbed Meiklejohn or entered into a heated altercation with +the policeman when accident came to her aid. + +Mrs. Ronald Tower, strikingly handsome, richly gowned and cloaked, with +an elaborate coiffure that outvied nature's best efforts, was crossing +the pavement to enter a waiting car when she stopped and drew her hand +from her escort's arm. + +"Senator Meiklejohn!" she cried. + +The elderly man halted. He doffed his hat with a flourish. + +"Ah, Helen," he said smilingly. "Whither bound?" + +"To see Belasco's latest. Isn't that lucky? The very thing I wanted. +Poor Ronald! I don't know what has become of him, or into what net he +may have fallen." + +The Senator beamed. He knew that Ronald Tower was one of the eight +bridge-players, but was pledged to secrecy. + +"I only hailed you to jog your memory about that luncheon to-morrow," +went on Mrs. Tower. + +"How could I forget?" he retorted gallantly. "Only two hours ago I +postponed a business appointment on account of it." + +"So good of you, Senator," and Mrs. Tower's smile lent a tinge of +sarcasm to the words. "I'm awfully anxious that you should meet Mr. +Jacob. I'm deeply interested, you know." + +Meiklejohn glanced rather sharply at the lady's companion, who, however, +was merely a vacuous man about town. It struck Clancy that the Senator +resented this incautious using of names. The shabby-genteel woman, +hovering behind the policeman, was following the scene with hawklike +eyes, and Clancy kept her, too, under close observation. + +The Senator coughed, and lowered his voice. + +"I shall be most pleased to discuss matters with him," he said. "It +will be a pleasure to render him a service if you ask it." + +Mrs. Tower laughed lightly. "One o'clock," she said. "Don't be late! +Come along, Mr. Forrest. Your car is blocking the way." + +Mr. Meiklejohn flourished his hat again. He turned and found himself +face to face with the hard-featured woman who had been waiting and +watching for this very opportunity. She barred his further +progress--even caught his arm. + +Had the Senator been assaulted by the blue-coated guardian of law and +order he could not have displayed more bewilderment. + +"You, Rachel?" he gasped. + +The policeman was about to intervene, but it was the Senator, not the +shabbily dressed woman, who prevented him. + +"It's all right, officer," he stammered vexedly. "I know this lady. She +is an old friend." + +The man saluted again and drew aside. Clancy moved a trifle nearer. No +one would take notice of such an insignificant little man. Though he had +his back to this strangely assorted pair, he heard nearly every syllable +they uttered. + +"He is here," snapped the woman without other preamble. "You must see +him." + +"It is quite impossible," was the answer, and, though the words were +frigid and unyielding, Clancy felt certain that Senator Meiklejohn had +to exercise an iron self-control to keep a tremor out of his utterance. + +"You dare not refuse," persisted the woman. + +The Senator glanced around in a scared way. Clancy thought for an +instant that he meant to dart back into the security of the club. After +an irresolute pause, however, he moved somewhat apart from the crowd of +sightseers. The two stood together on the curb, and clear of the flood +of light pouring through the open doors. Clancy edged after them. He +gathered a good deal, not all, of what they said, as both voices were +harsh and tinged with excitement. + +"This very night," the woman was saying. "Bring at least five hundred +dollars--If the police.... Says he will confess everything.... Do you +get me? This thing can't wait." + +The Senator did not even try now to conceal his agitation. He looked at +the gaping mob, but it was wholly absorbed in the stream of fashionable +people pouring out of the club, while the snorting of scores of +automobiles created a din which meant comparative safety. + +"Yes, yes," he muttered. "I understand. I'll do anything in reason. I'll +give _you_ the money, and you----" + +"No. He means seeing you. You need not be afraid. He says you are going +to Mr. Van Hofen's yacht at nine o'clock----" + +"Good Lord!" broke in Meiklejohn, "how can he possibly know that?" Again +he peered at the press of onlookers. A dapper little man who stood near +was raised on tiptoe and craning his neck to catch a glimpse of a noted +beauty who had just appeared. + +"Oh, pull yourself together!" and there was a touch of scorn in the +woman's manner as she reassured this powerfully built man. "Isn't he +clever and fertile in device? Haven't the newspapers announced your +presence on the _Sans Souci_? And who will stop a steward's tongue +from wagging? At any rate, he knows. He will be on the Hudson in a small +boat, with one other man. At nine o'clock he will come close to the +landing-stage at Eighty-sixth Street. There is a lawn north of the +clubhouse, he says. Walk to the end of it and you will find him. You +can have a brief talk. Bring the money in an envelope." + +"On the lawn--at nine!" repeated the Senator in a dazed way. + +"Yes. What better place could he choose? You see, he is willing to play +fair and be discreet. But, quick! I must have your answer. Time is +passing. Do you agree?" + +"What is the alternative?" + +"Capture, and a mad rage. Then others will share in his downfall." + +"Very well. I'll be there. I'll not fail him, or you." + +"He says it's his last request. He has some scheme----" + +"Ah, his schemes! If only I could hope that this will be the end!" + +"That is his promise." + +The woman dropped the conversation abruptly. She darted through the +line of cars and made off in the direction of Sixth Avenue. Senator +Meiklejohn gazed after her dubiously, but her tall figure was soon lost +in the traffic. Then, with bent head, and evidently a prey to harassing +thoughts, he crossed Fifth Avenue. + +Clancy sauntered after him, and saw him enter a block of residential +flats in a side street. Then the detective strolled back to the club. + +Most of Van Hofen's guests had gone. The policeman grinned and muttered +in Clancy's ear: + +"The Senator's a giddy guy. Two of 'em at wanst. Mrs. Tower's a +good-looker, but I didn't think much of the other wan." + +Clancy nodded. His black and beady eyes had just clashed with those of a +notorious crook, who suddenly remembered an urgent appointment +elsewhere. + +Fifteen minutes later Senator Meiklejohn returned. He entered the club +without being waylaid a second time. Clancy consulted his watch. + +"Keep a sharp lookout here, Mac," he said, _sotto voce_. "While I was +away just now Broadway Jim showed up. He's got cold feet, and there'll +be nothing more doing to-night, I think. Anyhow, I'm going up-town." + +In Fifth Avenue he boarded a Riverside Drive bus. The weather was mild, +and he mounted to the roof. + +"Now, who in the world will Senator Meiklejohn meet on the +landing-stage?" he mused. "Seems to me the chief may be interested. Five +hundred dollars, too! I wonder!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +A DARING CRIME + + +It was no part of Detective Clancy's business to pry into the private +affairs of Senator Meiklejohn. Senators are awkward fish to handle, +being somewhat similar to whales caught in nets designed to capture +mackerel. But the Bureau is no respecter of persons. Men much higher up +in politics and finance than William Meiklejohn would be disagreeably +surprised if they could read certain details entered opposite their +names in the _dossiers_ kept by the police department. Still, it +behooved Clancy to tread warily. + +As it happened, he was just the man for this self-imposed duty. Two +Celtic strains mingled in his blood, while American birth and training +had not only quickened his intelligence but imparted a quality of +wide-eyed shrewdness to a daring initiative. When he and the bluff +Steingall worked together the malefactor on whose heels they pressed had +a woeful time. As one blood-stained rascal put it in a bitter moment +before the electric chair claimed him for the expiation of his last and +worst crime: + +"Them two guys give a reg'lar fellow no chanst. When they're trailin' +you every road leads straight to Sing Sing. The big guy has a punch like +Jess Willard, an' the lil 'un a nose like a Montana wolf." + +It was Clancy's nose for the more subtle elements in crime which brought +him to the small chalet on the private pier at the foot of Eighty-sixth +Street that night. He could not guess what game he might flush, but he +was keen as a bloodhound in the chase. + +Meanwhile, Senator Meiklejohn encountered Ronald Tower the moment he +re-entered the palatial club. By this time he seemed to have regained +his customary air of geniality, being one of those rather uncommon men +whose apparent characteristics are never so marked as when they are +acting a part. + +"H'lo, Ronnie," he cried affably, "I met Helen as she left for the +theater. She has an inquiring mind, but I headed her off. By the way, +will you be at this luncheon to-morrow?" + +"Not I," laughed Tower. "I'm barred. She says I have no head for +business, and some deep-laid plan for filling the family coffers is +in hand." + +The Senator obviously disliked these outspoken references to +money-making. He squirmed, but smiled as though Tower had made an +excellent joke. + +"Try and get the ukase lifted," he urged. "I want you to be there." + +"Nothing doing," and the other grinned. "Helen says I resemble you in +everything but brain power, Senator. I'm a good-looker as a husband, but +a poor mutt in Wall Street." + +They laughed at the conceit. The two men were curiously alike in face +and figure, though a close observer like Clancy would have classed them +as opposite as the poles in character and temperament. Meiklejohn's +features were cast in the stronger mold. They showed lines which Ronald +Tower's placid existence would never produce. The Senator was suave, +too. He seldom pressed a point to the limit. + +"Helen's good opinion is doubly flattering," he said. "She is a bright +woman, and knows how to command her friends." + +Tower glanced at a clock in the hall. + +"Time we were off," he announced. "Come with me. I'm taking Johnny Bell, +I think." + +"Sorry. I have an important letter to write. But I'll join before the +crowd cuts in." + +The Senator hurried up-stairs. He must take the journey alone, and +snatch an opportunity to attend that mysterious rendezvous while the +_Sans Souci's_ gig was ferrying some of the bridge-players to +the yacht. + +Owing to a slight misunderstanding Tower missed the other man, and +traveled alone in his car. On that trivial circumstance hinged events +which not only affected many lives but disturbed New York society more +than any other incident within a decade. + +Few among the thousands of summer promenaders who enjoy the magnificent +panorama of the North River from the wooded heights of the Drive know of +the pier at Eighty-sixth Street. For one thing, the clubhouse itself is +an unpretentious structure; for another, the narrow and winding stairway +leading down the side of the cliff gives no indication of its specific +purpose. Moreover, a light foot-bridge across the tracks is hardly +noticeable through the screen of trees and shrubs above, and the +water-front lies yet fifty yards farther on. + +At night the approach is not well lighted. In fact, no portion of the +beautiful and precipitous riparian park is more secluded than the short +stretch between the landing-stage and the busy thoroughfare on the +crest. + +That evening, as has been seen, Mr. Van Hofen was taking no risks for +himself or his guests. A patrolman from the local precinct was stationed +at the iron-barred gate on the landward end of the foot-bridge. + +Clancy, on descending from the bus, stood for a few seconds and surveyed +the scene. The night was dark and the sky overcast, but the myriad +lights on the New Jersey shore were reflected in the swift current of +the Hudson. The superb _Sans Souci_ was easily distinguishable. All her +ports were a-glow; lamps twinkled beneath the awnings on her after deck, +and a boarding light indicated the lowered gangway. + +The yacht was moored about three hundred feet from the landing-stage. +Her graceful outlines were clearly discernible against the black, moving +plain of the river. Just in that spot shone her radiance, lending a +sense of opulence and security. For the rest, that part of New York's +great waterway was dim and impalpable. + +Try as he might, the detective could see no small craft afloat. The +yacht's gig, waiting at the clubhouse, was hidden from view. He sped +rapidly down the steps, and found the patrolman. + +"That you, Nolan?" he said. + +The man peered at him. + +"Oh, Mr. Clancy, is it?" he replied. + +"You know Senator Meiklejohn by sight?" + +"Sure I do." + +"When he comes along hail him. Say 'Good evening, Senator.' I'll hear +you." + +Clancy promptly moved off along the path which runs parallel with the +railway. Nolan, though puzzled, put no questions, being well aware he +would be told nothing more. + +Three gentlemen came down the cliff, and crossed the bridge. One was Van +Hofen himself. Now, the fates had willed that Ronald Tower should come +next, and alone. He was hurrying. He had seen figures entering the club, +and wanted to join them in the gig. + +The policeman made the same mistake as many others. + +"Good evenin', Senator," he said. + +Tower nodded and laughed. He had no time to correct the harmless +blunder. Even so, he was too late for the boat, which was already well +away from the stage when he reached it. He lighted a cigarette, and +strolled along the narrow terrace between river and lawn. + +Clancy, on receiving his cue, followed Tower. An attendant challenged +him at the iron gate, but Nolan certified that this diminutive stranger +was "all right." + +It was on the tip of the detective's tongue to ask if Mr. Meiklejohn had +gone into the clubhouse when he saw, as he imagined, the Senator's tall +form silhouetted against the vague carpet of the river; so he passed on, +and this minor incident contributed its quota to a tragic occurrence. He +heard some one behind him on the bridge, but paid no heed, his wits +being bent on noting anything that took place in the semi-obscurity of +the river's edge. + +Meanwhile, the patrolman, encountering a double of Senator Meiklejohn, +was dumbfounded momentarily. He sought enlightenment from the attendant. + +"An', for the love of Mike, who was the first wan?" he demanded, when +assured that the latest arrival was really the Senator. + +"Mr. Ronald Tower," said the man. "They're like as two peas in a pod, +ain't they?" + +Nolan muttered something. He, too, crossed the bridge, meaning to find +Clancy and explain his error. Thus, the four men were not widely +separated, but Tower led by half a minute--long enough, in fact, to be +at the north end of the terrace before Meiklejohn passed the gate. + +There, greatly to his surprise, he looked down into a small motor-boat, +with two occupants, keeping close to the sloping wall. The craft and its +crew could have no reasonable business there. They suggested something +sinister and furtive. The engine was stopped, and one of the men, +huddled up in the bows, was holding the boat against the pull of the +tide by using a boathook as a punting pole. + +Tower, though good-natured and unsuspicious, was naturally puzzled by +this apparition. He bent forward to examine it more definitely, and +rested his hands on a low railing. Then he was seen by those below. + +"That you?" growled the second man, standing up suddenly. + +"It is," said Tower, speaking with strict accuracy, and marveling now +who on earth could have arranged a meeting at such a place and in such +bizarre conditions. + +"Well, here I am," came the gruff announcement. "The cops are after me. +Some one must have tipped them off. If it was you I'll get to know and +even things up, P. D. Q. Chew on that during the night's festivities, I +advise you. Brought that wad?" + +Tower was the last man breathing to handle this queer situation +discreetly. He ought to have temporized, but he loathed anything in the +nature of vulgar or criminal intrigue. Being quick-tempered withal, if +deliberately insulted, he resented this fellow's crude speech. + +"No," he cried hotly. "What you really want is a policeman, and there's +one close at hand--Hi! Officer!" he shouted: "Come here at once. There +are two rascals in a boat--" + +Something swirled through the darkness, and his next word was choked in +a cry of mortal fear, for a lasso had fallen on his shoulders and was +drawn taut. Before he could as much as lift his hands he was dragged +bodily over the railing and headlong into the river. + +Clancy, forced by circumstances to remain at a distance, could only +overhear Tower's share in the brief conversation. The tones in the voice +perplexed him, but the preconcerted element in the affair seemed to +offer proof positive that Senator Meiklejohn had kept his appointment. +He was just in time to see Tower's legs disappearing, and a loud splash +told what had happened. He was not armed. He never carried a revolver +unless the quest of the hour threatened danger or called for a display +of force. In a word, he was utterly powerless. + +Senator Meiklejohn, alive to the vital fact that some one on the terrace +had discovered the boat, hung back dismayed. He was joined by Nolan, who +could not understand the sudden commotion. + +"What's up?" Nolan asked. "Didn't some wan shout?" + +Clancy, in all his experience of crime and criminals, had never before +encountered such an amazing combination of unforeseen conditions. The +boat's motor was already chugging breathlessly, and the small craft was +curving out into the gloom. He saw a man hauling in a rope from the +stern, and well did he know why the cord seemed to be attached to a +heavy weight. Not far away he made out the yacht's gig returning to the +stage. + +"_Sans Souci_ ahoy!" he almost screamed. "Head off that launch! +There's murder done!" + +It was a hopeless effort, of course, though the sailors obeyed +instantly, and bent to their oars. Soon they, too, vanished in the murk, +but, finding they were completely outpaced, came back seeking for +instructions which could not be given. The detective thought he was +bewitched when he ran into Senator Meiklejohn, pallid and trembling, +standing on the terrace with Nolan. + +"You?" he shrieked in a shrill falsetto. "Then, in heaven's name, who is +the man who has just been pulled into the river?" + +"Tower!" gasped the Senator. "Mr. Ronald Tower. They mistook him for +me." + +"Faith, an' I did that same," muttered the patrolman, whose slow-moving +wits could assimilate only one thing at a time. + +Clancy, afire with rage and a sense of inexplicable failure, realized +that Meiklejohn's admission and its now compulsory explanation could +wait a calmer moment. The club attendant, attracted by the hubbub, raced +to the lawn, and the detective tackled him. + +"Isn't there a motor launch on the yacht?" he asked. + +"Yes, sir, but it'll be all sheeted up on deck." + +"Have you a megaphone?" + +"Yes." + +The man ran and grabbed the instrument from its hook, so Clancy bellowed +the alarming news to Mr. Van Hofen and the others already on board the +_Sans Souci_ that Ronald Tower had been dragged into the river and +probably murdered. But what could they do? The speedy rescue of Tower, +dead or alive, was simply impossible. + +The gig arrived. Clancy stormed by telephone at a police station-house +and at the up-river station of the harbor police, but such vain efforts +were the mere necessities of officialdom. None knew better than he that +an extraordinary crime had been carried through under his very eyes, yet +its daring perpetrators had escaped, and he could supply no description +of their appearance to the men who would watch the neighboring ferries +and wharves. + +Van Hofen and his friends, startled and grieved, came ashore in the gig, +and Clancy was striving to give them some account of the tragedy without +revealing its inner significance when his roving glance missed +Meiklejohn from the distraught group of men. + +"Where is the Senator?" he cried, turning on the gaping Nolan. + +"Gee, he's knocked out," said the policeman. "He axed me to tell you +he'd gone down-town. Ye see, some wan has to find Mrs. Tower." + +Clancy's black eyes glittered with fury, yet he spoke no word. A blank +silence fell on the rest. They had not thought of the bereaved wife, but +Meiklejohn had remembered. That was kind of him. The Senator always did +the right thing. And how he must be suffering! The Towers were his +closest friends! + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +WINIFRED BARTLETT HEARS SOMETHING + + +Early next morning a girl attired in a neat but inexpensive costume +entered Central Park by the One Hundred and Second Street gate, and +walked swiftly by a winding path to the exit on the west side at One +Hundredth Street. + +She moved with the easy swing of one to whom walking was a pleasure. +Without hurry or apparent effort her even, rapid strides brought her +along at a pace of fully four miles an hour. And an hour was exactly the +time Winifred Bartlett needed if she would carry out her daily program, +which, when conditions permitted, involved a four-mile detour by way of +Riverside Drive and Seventy-second Street to the Ninth Avenue "L." This +morning she had actually ten minutes in hand, and promised herself an +added treat in making little pauses at her favorite view-points on the +Hudson. + +To gain this hour's freedom Winifred had to practise some harmless +duplicity, as shall be seen. She was obliged to rise long before the +rest of her fellow-workers in the bookbinding factory of Messrs. Brown, +Son & Brown, an establishment located in the least inviting part of +Greenwich Village. + +But she went early to bed, and the beams of the morning sun drew her +forth as a linnet from its nest. Unless the weather was absolutely +prohibitive she took the walk every day, for she revelled in the +ever-changing tints of the trees, the music of the songbirds, and the +gambols of the squirrels in the park, while the broad highway of the +river, leading to and from she hardly knew what enchanted lands, brought +vague dreams of some delightful future where daily toil would not claim +her and she might be as those other girls of the outer world to whom +existence seemed such a joyous thing. + +Winifred was not discontented with her lot--the ichor of youth and good +health flowed too strongly in her veins. But at times she was bewildered +by a sense of aloofness from the rest of humanity. + +Above all did she suffer from the girls she met in the warehouse. +Some were coarse, nearly every one was frivolous. Their talk, their +thinly-veiled allusions to a night life in which she bore no part, +puzzled and disturbed her. True, the wild revels of which they boasted +did not sound either marvelous or attractive when analyzed. A couple of +hours at the movies, a frolic in a dance hall, a quarrel about some +youthful gallant, violent fluctuations from arm-laced friendship to +sparkling-eyed hatred and back again to tears and kisses--these joys +and cankers formed the limited gamut of their emotions. + +For all that, Winifred could not help asking herself with ever +increasing insistence why she alone, among a crude, noisy sisterhood of +a hundred young women of her own age, should be with them yet not of +them. She realized that her education fitted her for a higher place in +the army of New York workers than a bookbinder's bench. She could soon +have acquired proficiency as a stenographer. Pleasant, well-paid +situations abounded in the stores and wholesale houses. There was even +some alluring profession called "the stage," where a girl might actually +earn a living by singing and dancing, and Winifred could certainly sing +and was certain she could dance if taught. + +What queer trick of fate, then, had brought her to Brown, Son & Brown's +in the spring of that year, and kept her there? She could not tell. She +could not even guess why she dwelt so far up-town, while every other +girl in the establishment had a home either in or near Greenwich +Village. + +Heigho! Life was a riddle. Surely some day she would solve it. + +Her mind ran on this problem more strongly than usual that morning. +Still pondering it, she diverged for a moment at the Soldiers' and +Sailors' Monument, and stood on the stone terrace which commands such a +magnificent stretch of the silvery Hudson, with the green heights of the +New Jersey shore directly opposite, and the Palisades rearing their +lofty crests away to the north. + +Suddenly she became aware that a small group of men had gathered there, +and were displaying a lively interest in two motor boats on the river. +Something out of the common had stirred them; voices were loud and +gestures animated. + +"Look!" said one, "they've gotten that boat!" + +"You can't be sure," doubted another, though his manner showed that he +wanted only to be convinced. + +"D'ye think a police launch 'ud be foolin' around with a tow at this +time o' day if it wasn't something special?" persisted the first +speaker. "Can't yer see it's empty? There's a cop pointin' now to the +clubhouse." + +"Good for you," pronounced the doubtful one. The pointing cop had +clinched the argument. + +"An' they're headin' that way," came the cry. + +Off raced the men. Winifred found that people on top of motor-omnibuses +scurrying down-town were also watching the two craft. Opposite the end +of Eighty-sixth Street such a crowd assembled as though by magic that +she could not see over the railings. She could not imagine why people +should be so worked up by the mere finding of an empty boat. She heard +allusions to names, but they evoked no echo in her mind. At last, +approaching a girl among the sightseers, she put a timid question: + +"Can you tell me what is the matter?" she said. + +"They've found the boat," came the ready answer. + +"Yes, but what boat? Why any boat?" + +"Haven't you read about the murder last night. Mr. Van Hofen, who owns +that yacht there, the _San Sowsy_, had a party of friends on board, an' +one of 'em was dragged into the river an' drowned. Nice goin's on. _San +Sowsy_--it's a good name for the whole bunch, I guess." + +Winifred did not understand why the girl laughed. + +"What a terrible thing!" she said. "Perhaps it was only an accident; +and sad enough at that if some poor man lost his life." + +"Oh, no. It's a murder right enough. The papers are full of it. I was +walkin' here at nine o'clock with a fellow. It might ha' been done under +me very nose. What d'ye know about that?" + +"It's very sad," repeated Winifred. "Such dreadful things seem to be +almost impossible under this blue sky and in bright sunshine. Even the +river does not look cruel." + +She went on, having no time for further dawdling. Her informant glanced +after her curiously, for Winifred's cheap clothing and worn shoes were +oddly at variance with her voice and manner. + +At Seventy-second Street Winifred bought a newspaper, which she read +instead of the tiny volume of Browning's poems carried in her hand-bag. +She always contrived to have a book or periodical for the train +journeys, since men had a way of catching her eye when she glanced +around thoughtlessly, and such incidents were annoying. She soon learned +the main details of "The Yacht Mystery." The account of Ronald Tower's +dramatic end was substantially accurate. It contained, of course, no +allusion to Senator Meiklejohn's singular connection with the affair, +but Clancy had taken care that a disturbing paragraph should appear +with the rest of a lurid write-up. + +"Sinister rumors are current in clubland," read Winifred. "These warrant +the belief that others beside the thugs in the boat are implicated in +the tragedy. Indeed, it is whispered that a man high in the political +world can, if he chooses, throw light on what is, at this writing, an +inexplicable crime, a crime which would be incredible if it had not +actually taken place." + +The reporter did not know, and Clancy did not tell him, just what this +innuendo meant. The detective was anxious that Senator Meiklejohn should +realize the folly of refusing all information to the authorities, and +this thinly-veiled threat of publicity was one way of bringing him to +his senses. + +Winifred had never before come into touch, so to speak, with any deed of +criminal violence. She was so absorbed in the story of the junketing at +a fashionable club, with its astounding sequel in a locality familiar to +her eyes, that she hardly noticed a delay on the line. + +She did not even know that she would be ten minutes late until she saw +a clock at Fourteenth Street. Then she raced to the door of a big, +many-storied building. A timekeeper shook his head at her, but, punctual +as a rule, on wet mornings she was invariably the first to arrive, so +the watch-dog compromised on the give-and-take principle. When she +emerged from the elevator at the ninth floor her cheeks were still +suffused with color, her eyes were alight, her lips parted under the +spell of excitement and haste. In a word, she looked positively +bewitching. + +Two people evidently took this view of her as she advanced into the +workroom after hanging up her hat and coat. + +"You're late again, Bartlett," snapped Miss Agatha Sugg, a forewoman, +whose initials suggested an obvious nickname among the set of flippant +girls she ruled with a severity that was also ungracious. "I'll not +speak to you any more on the matter. Next time you'll be fired. See?" + +Winifred's high color fled before this dire threat. Even the few dollars +a week she earned by binding books was essential to the up-keep of her +home. At any rate this fact was dinned into her ears constantly, and +formed a ready argument against any change of employment. + +"I'm sorry, Miss Sugg," she stammered. "I didn't think I had lost any +time. Indeed, I started out earlier than usual." + +"Rubbish!" snorted Miss Sugg. "What're givin' me? It's a fine day." + +"Yes," said Winifred timidly, "but unfortunately I stopped a while on +Riverside Drive to watch the police bringing in the boat from which Mr. +Tower was mur--pulled into the river last night." + +"Riverside Drive!" snapped the forewoman. "Your address is East One +Hundred and Twelfth Street, ain't it? What were you doing on Riverside +Drive?" + +"I walk that way every morning unless it is raining." + +Miss Sugg looked incredulous, but felt that she was traveling outside +her own territory. + +"Anyhow," she said, "that's your affair, not mine, an' it's no excuse +for bein' late." + +"Oh, come now," intervened a man's voice, "this young lady is not so far +behind time as to cause such a row. She can pull out a bit and make up +for it." + +Miss Sugg wheeled wrathfully to find Mr. Fowle, manager on that floor, +gazing at Winifred with marked approval. Fowle, a shifty-eyed man of +thirty, compactly built, and somewhat of a dandy, seldom gave heed to +any of the girls employed by Brown, Son & Brown. His benevolent attitude +toward Winifred was a new departure. + +"Young lady!" gasped the forewoman. She was in such a temper that other +words failed. + +"Yes, she isn't an old one," smirked Fowle. "That's all right, Miss +Bartlett, get on with your work. Miss Sugg's bark is worse than her +bite." + +Though he had poured oil on the troubled waters his air was not +altogether reassuring. Winifred went to her bench in a flurry of +trepidation. She dreaded the vixenish Miss Sugg less than the too +complaisant manager. Somehow, she fancied that he would soon speak to +her again; when, a few minutes later, he drew near, and she felt rather +than saw that he was staring at her boldly, she flushed to the nape of +her graceful neck. + +Yet he put a quite orthodox question. + +"Did I get your story right when you came in?" he said. "I think you +told Miss Sugg that the harbor police had picked up the motor-boat in +that yacht case." + +"So I heard," said Winifred. She was in charge of a wire-stitching +machine, and her deft fingers were busy. Moreover, she was resolved not +to give Fowle any pretext for prolonging the conversation. + +"Who told you?" + +The manager's tone grew a trifle less cordial. He was not accustomed to +being held at arm's length by any young woman in the establishment whom +he condescended to notice. + +"I really don't know," and Winifred began placing her array of work in +sorted piles. "Indeed, I spoke carelessly. No one told me. I saw a +commotion on Riverside Drive, and heard a man arguing with others that a +boat then being towed by a police launch must be the missing one." + +Fowle's whiff of annoyance had passed. He had jumped to the conclusion +that such an extremely pretty girl would surely own a sweetheart who +escorted her to and from work each day. He did not suspect that every +junior clerk downstairs had in turn offered his services in this regard, +but with such lack of success that each would-be suitor deemed Winifred +conceited. + +"I wish I had been there," he said. "Do you go home the same way?" + +"No." + +Winifred was aware that the other girls were watching her furtively and +exchanging meaning looks. + +"You take the Third Avenue L, I suppose?" persisted Fowle. Then Winifred +faced him squarely. For some reason her temper got the better of her. + +"It is a house rule, Mr. Fowle," she said, "that the girls are forbidden +to talk during working hours." + +"Nonsense," laughed Fowle. "I'm in charge here, an' what I say goes." + +He left her, however, and busied himself elsewhere. Apparently, he was +even forgiving enough to call Miss Sugg out of the room and detain her +all the rest of the morning. + +Winifred was promptly rallied by some of her companions. + +"I must say this for you, Winnie Bartlett, you don't think you're the +whole shootin' match," said a stout, red-faced creature, who would have +been more at home on a farm than in a New York warehouse, "but it gets +my goat when you hand the mustard to Fowle in that way. If he made +goo-goo eyes at me, I'd play, too." + +"I wish little Carlotta was a blue-eyed, golden-haired queen," sighed +another, a squat Neapolitan with the complexion of a Moor. "She's give +Fowle a chance to dig into his pocketbook, believe me." + +The youthful philosopher won a chorus of approval. All the girls liked +Winifred. They even tacitly admitted that she belonged to a different +order, and seldom teased her. Fowle's obvious admiration, however, +imposed too severe a strain, and their tongues ran freely. + +The luncheon-hour came, and Winifred hurried out with the others. They +patronized a restaurant in Fourteenth Street. At a news-stand she +purchased an evening paper, a rare event, since she had to account for +every cent of expenditure. Though allowed books, she was absolutely +forbidden newspapers! + +But this forlorn girl, who knew so little of the great city in whose +life she was such an insignificant item, felt oddly concerned in "The +Yacht Mystery." It was the first noteworthy event of which she had even +a remote first-hand knowledge. That empty launch, its very abandonment +suggesting eeriness and fatality, was a tangible thing. Was she not one +of the few who had literally seen it? So she invested her penny, and +after reading of the discovery of the boat--it was found moored to a +wharf at the foot of Fort Lee--breathlessly read: + + As the outcome of information given by a well-known Senator, + the police have obtained an important clue which leads + straight to a house in One Hundred and Twelfth Street. + +"Well," mused Winifred, wide-eyed with astonishment. "Fancy that! The +very street where I live!" + +She read on: + + The arrest of at least one person, a woman, suspected of + complicity in the crime may occur at any moment. Detectives + are convinced that the trail of the murderers will soon be + clearer. + + Every effort is being made to recover Mr. Tower's body, which, + it is conceivable, may have been weighted and sunk in the + river near the spot where the boat was tied. + +Winifred gave more attention to the newspaper report than to her frugal +meal. Resolving, however, that Miss Sugg should have no further cause +for complaint that day, she returned to the factory five minutes before +time. An automobile was standing outside the entrance, but she paid no +heed to it. + +The checker tapped at his little window as she passed. + +"The boss wants you," he said. + +"Me!" she cried. Her heart sank. Between Miss Sugg and Mr. Fowle she had +already probably lost her situation! + +"Yep," said the man. "You're Winifred Bartlett, I guess. Anyhow, if +there's another peach like you in the bunch I haven't seen her." + +She bit her lip and tears trembled in her eyes. Perhaps the gruff +Cerberus behind the window sympathized with her. He lowered his voice to +a hoarse whisper: "There's a cop in there, an' a 'tec,' too." + +Winifred was startled out of her forebodings. + +"They cannot want me!" she said amazedly. + +"You never can tell, girlie. Queer jinks happen sometimes. I wouldn't +bat an eyelid if they rounded up the boss hisself." + +She was sure now that some stupid mistake had been made. At any rate, +she no longer dreaded dismissal, and the first intuition of impending +calamity yielded to a nervous curiosity as she pushed open a door +leading to the general office. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +FURTHER SURPRISES + + +A clerk, one of the would-be swains who had met with chilling +discouragement after working-hours, was evidently on the lookout for +her. An ignoble soul prompted a smirk of triumph now. + +"Go straight in," he said, jerking a thumb. "A cop's waitin' for you." + +Winifred did not vouchsafe him even an indignant glance. Holding her +head high, she passed through the main office, and made for a door +marked "Manager." She knocked, and was admitted by Mr. Fowle. Grouped +around a table she saw one of the members of the firm, the manager, a +policeman, and a dapper little man, slight of figure, who held himself +very erect. He was dressed in blue serge, and had the ivory-white +face and wrinkled skin of an actor. She was conscious at once of the +penetration of his glance. His eyes were black and luminous. They +seemed to pierce her with an X-ray quality of comprehension. + +"This is the girl," announced Mr. Fowle deferentially. + +The little man in the blue suit took the lead forthwith. + +"You are Winifred Bartlett?" he said, and by some subtle inter-flow of +magnetism Winifred knew instantly that she had nothing to fear from this +diminutive stranger. + +"Yes," she replied, looking at him squarely. + +"You live in East One Hundred and Twelfth Street?" + +"Yes." + +"With a woman described as your aunt, and known as Miss Rachel Craik?" + +"Yes." + +Each affirmative marked a musical crescendo. Especially was Winifred +surprised by the sceptical description of her only recognized relative. + +"Well," went on Clancy, suppressing a smile at the girl's naive +astonishment, "don't be alarmed, but I want you to come with me to +Mulberry Street." + +Now, Winifred had just been reading about certain activities in Mulberry +Street, and her eyebrows rounded in real amazement. + +"Isn't that the Police Headquarters?" she asked. + +Fowle chuckled, whereupon Clancy said pleasantly: + +"Yes. One man here seems to know the address quite intimately. But that +fact need not set your heart fluttering. The chief of the Detective +Bureau wishes to put a few questions. That is all." + +"Questions about what?" + +Winifred's natural dignity came to her aid. She refused to have this +grave matter treated as a joke. + +"Take my advice, Miss Bartlett, and don't discuss things further until +you have met Mr. Steingall," said Clancy. + +"But I have never even heard of Mr. Steingall," she protested. "What +right have you or he to take me away from my work to a police-station? +What wrong have I done to any one?" + +"None, I believe." + +"Surely I have a right to some explanation." + +"If you insist I am bound to answer." + +"Then I do insist," and Winifred's heightened color and wrathful eyes +only enhanced her beauty. Clancy spread his hands in a gesture inherited +from a French mother. + +"Very well," he said. "You are required to give evidence concerning the +death of Mr. Ronald Tower. Now, I cannot say any more. I have a car +outside. You will be detained less than an hour. The same car will bring +you back, and I think I can guarantee that your employers will raise no +difficulty." + +The head of the firm growled agreement. As a matter of fact the staid +respectability of Brown, Son & Brown had sustained a shock by the mere +presence of the police. Murder has an ugly aspect. It was often bound up +in the firm's products, but never before had it entered that temple of +efficiency in other guise. + +Clancy sensed the slow fermentation of the pharisaical mind. + +"If I had known what sort of girl this was I would never have brought a +policeman," he muttered into the great man's ear. "She has no more to do +with this affair than you have." + +"It is very annoying--very," was the peevish reply. + +"What is? Assisting the police?" + +"Oh, no. Didn't mean that, of course." + +The detective thought he might do more harm than good by pressing for a +definition of the firm's annoyance. He turned to Winifred. + +"Are you ready, Miss Bartlett?" he said. "The only reason the Bureau has +for troubling you is the accident of your address." + +Almost before the girl realized the new and astounding conditions which +had come into her life she was seated in a closed automobile and +speeding swiftly down-town. + +She was feminine enough, however, to ply Clancy with questions, and he +had to fence with her, as it was all-important that such information as +she might be able to give should be imparted when he and Steingall could +observe her closely. The Bureau hugged no delusions. Its vast experience +of the criminal world rendered misplaced sympathy with erring mortals +almost impossible. Young or old, rich or poor, beautiful or ugly, the +strange procession which passes in unending review before the police +authorities is subjected to impartial yet searching analysis. Few of the +guilty ones escape suspicion, no matter how slight the connecting clue +or scanty the evidence. On the other hand, Steingall and his trusty aid +seldom made a mistake when they decided, as Clancy had already done in +Winifred's case, that real innocence had come under the shadow of crime. + +Steingall shared Clancy's opinion the instant he set eyes on the new +witness. He gazed at her with a humorous dismay that was wholly genuine. + +"Sit there, Miss Bartlett," he said, rising to place a chair for her. +"Please don't feel nervous. I am sure you understand that only those who +have broken the law need fear it. Now, _you_ haven't killed anybody, +have you?" + +Winifred smiled. She liked this big man's kindly manner. Really, the +police were not such terrifying ogres when you came to close quarters +with them. + +"No, indeed," she said, little guessing that Clancy had indulged in a +Japanese grimace behind her back, thereby informing his chief that "The +Yacht Mystery" was still maintaining its claim to figure as one of the +most sensational crimes the Bureau had investigated during many a year. + +Steingall, wishing to put the girl wholly at ease, affected to consult +some notes on his desk, but Winifred was too wrought up to keep silent. + +"The gentleman who brought me here told me that I would be required to +give evidence concerning the murder of Mr. Ronald Tower," she said. +"Believe me, sir, that unfortunate gentleman's name was unknown to me +before I read it in this morning's paper. I have no knowledge of the +manner of his death other than is contained in the account printed here +in this newspaper." + +She proffered the newspaper purchased before lunch, which she still held +in her left hand. The impulsive action broadened Steingall's smile. He +was still utterly at a loss to account for this well-mannered girl's +queer environment. + +"Why," he cried, "I quite understand that. Mr. Clancy didn't tell you we +regarded you as a desperate crook, did he?" + +Winifred yielded to the chief's obvious desire to lift their talk out of +the rut of formality. She could not help being interested in these two +men, so dissimilar in their characteristics, yet each so utterly unlike +the somewhat awesome personage she would have sketched if asked to +define her idea of a "detective." Clancy, who had taken a chair at the +side of the table, sat on it as though he were an automaton built of +steel springs and ready to bounce instantly in any given direction. +Steingall's huge bulk lolled back indolently. He had been smoking when +the others entered, and a half-consumed cigar lay on an ash-tray. +Winifred thought it would be rather amusing if she, in turn, made things +comfortable. + +"Please don't put away your cigar on my account," she said. "I like the +smell of good tobacco." + +"Ha!" cackled Clancy. + +"Thank you," said Steingall, tucking the Havana into a corner of his +mouth. The two men exchanged glances, and Winifred smiled. Steingall's +look of tolerant contempt at his assistant was distinctly amusing. + +"That little shrimp can't smoke, Miss Bartlett," he explained, "so he is +an anti-tobacco maniac." + +"You wouldn't care to take poison, would you?" and Clancy shot the words +at Winifred so sharply that she was almost startled. + +"No. Of course not," she agreed. + +"Yet that is what that mountain of brawn does during fourteen hours out +of the twenty-four. Nicotine is one of the deadliest poisons known to +science. Even when absorbed into the tissues in minute doses it corrodes +the brain and atrophies the intellect. Did you see how he grinned when +you described that vile weed as 'good tobacco'? Now, you don't know +good, meaning real, tobacco from bad, do you?" + +"I know whether or not I like the scent of it," persisted Winifred. She +began to think that officialdom in Mulberry Street affected the methods +of the court circles frequented by Alice and the Mad Hatter. + +"Don't mind him," put in Steingall genially. "He's a living example of +the close alliance between insanity and genius. On the tobacco question +he's simply cracked, and that is all there is to it. Now we're wasting +your time by this chatter. I'll come to serious business by asking a +question which you will not find embarrassing for a good many years yet +to come. How old are you?" + +"Nineteen last birthday." + +"When were you born?" + +"On June 6, 1894." + +"And where?" + +Winifred reddened slightly. + +"I don't know," she said. + +"What?" + +Steingall seemed to be immensely surprised, and Winifred proceeded +forthwith to throw light on this singular admission, which was exactly +what he meant her to do. + +"That is a very odd statement, but it is quite true," she said +earnestly. "My aunt would never tell me where I was born. I believe it +was somewhere in the New England States, but I have only the vaguest +grounds for the opinion. What I mean is that aunty occasionally reveals +a close familiarity with Boston and Vermont." + +"What is her full name?" + +"Rachel Craik." + +"She has never been married?" + +Winifred's sense of humor was keen. She laughed at the idea of "Aunt +Rachel" having a husband. + +"I don't think aunty will ever marry anybody now," she said. "She holds +the opposite sex in detestation. No man is ever admitted to our house." + +"It is a small, old-fashioned residence, but very large for the +requirements of two women?" continued Steingall. He took no notes, and +might have been discussing the weather, now that the first whiff of +wonderment as to Winifred's lack of information about her birth-place +had passed. + +"Yes. We have several rooms unoccupied." + +"And unfurnished?" + +"Say partly furnished." + +"Ever had any boarders?" + +"No." + +"No servants, of course?" + +"No." + +"And how long have you been employed in Messrs. Brown, Son & Brown's +bookbinding department?" + +"About six months." + +"What do you earn?" + +"Eight dollars a week." + +"Is that the average amount paid to the other girls?" + +"Slightly above the average. I am supposed to be quick and accurate." + +"Well now, Miss Bartlett, you seem to be a very intelligent and +well-educated young woman. How comes it that you are employed in such +work?" + +"It was the best I could find," she volunteered. + +"No doubt. But you must be well aware that few, if any, among the girls +in the bookbinding business can be your equal in education, and, may I +add, in refinement. Now, if you were a bookkeeper, a cashier or a +typist, I could understand it; but it does seem odd to me that you +should be engaged in this kind of job." + +"It was my aunt's wish," said Winifred simply. + +"Ah!" + +Steingall dwelt on the monosyllable. + +"What reason did she give for such a singular choice?" he went on. + +"I confess it has puzzled me," was the unaffected answer. "Although +aunty is severe in her manner she is well educated, and she taught me +nearly all I know, except music and singing, for which I took lessons +from Signor Pecci ever since I was a tiny mite until about two years +ago. Then, I believe, aunty lost a good deal of money, and it became +necessary that I should earn something. Signor Pecci offered to get me a +position in a theater, but she would not hear of it, nor would she allow +me to enter a shop or a restaurant. Really, it was aunty who got me work +with Messrs. Brown, Son & Brown." + +"In other words," said Steingall, "you were deliberately reared to fill +a higher social station, and then, for no assignable reason, save a +whim, compelled to sink to a much lower level?" + +"I do not know. I never disputed aunty's right to do what she thought +best." + +"Well, well, it is odd. Do you ever entertain any visitors?" + +"None whatever. We have no acquaintances, and live very quietly." + +"Do you mean to say that your aunt never sees any one but yourself and +casual callers, such as tradespeople?" + +"So far as I know, that is absolutely the case." + +"Very curious," commented Steingall. "Does your aunt go out much?" + +"She leaves the house occasionally after I have gone to bed at ten +o'clock, but that is seldom, and I have no idea where she goes. Every +week-day, you know, I am away from home between seven in the morning and +half past six at night, excepting Saturday afternoons. If possible, I +take a long walk before going to work." + +"Do you go straight home?" + +Winifred remembered Mr. Fowle's query, and smiled again. + +"Yes," she said. + +"Now last night, for instance, was your aunt at home when you reached +the house?" + +"No; she was out. She did not come in until half past nine." + +"Did she go out again last night?" + +"I do not know. I was tired. I went to bed rather early." + +Steingall bent over his notes for the first time since Winifred +appeared. His lips were pursed, and he seemed to be weighing certain +facts gravely. + +"I think," he said at last, "that I need not detain you any longer, +Miss Bartlett. By the way, I'll give you a note to your employers to say +that you are in no way connected with the crime we have under +investigation. It may, perhaps, save you needless annoyance." + +"Thank you, sir," said the girl. "But won't you tell me why you have +asked me so many questions about my aunt and her ways?" + +Steingall looked at her thoughtfully before he answered: "In the first +place, Miss Bartlett, tell me this. I assume Miss Craik is your mother's +sister. When did your mother die?" + +Winifred blushed with almost childish discomfiture. "It may seem very +stupid to say such a thing," she admitted, "but I have never known +either a father or a mother. My aunt has always refused to discuss our +family affairs in any way whatever. I fear her view is that I am +somewhat lucky to be alive at all." + +"Few people would be found to agree with her," said the chief gallantly. +"Now I want you to be brave and patient. A very extraordinary crime has +been committed, and the police occasionally find clues in the most +unexpected quarters. I regret to tell you that Miss Craik is believed to +be in some way connected with the mysterious disappearance, if not the +death, of Mr. Ronald Tower, and she is being held for further +inquiries." + +Winifred's face blanched. "Do you mean that she will be kept in prison?" +she said, with a break in her voice. + +"She must be detained for a while, but you need not be so alarmed. Her +connection with this outrage may be as harmless as your own, though I +can inform you that, without your knowledge, your house last night +certainly sheltered two men under grave suspicion, and for whom we are +now searching." + +"Two men! In our house!" cried the amazed girl. + +"Yes. I tell you this to show you the necessity there is for calmness +and reticence on your part. Don't speak to any one concerning your visit +here. Above all else, don't be afraid. Have you any one with whom you +can go to live until Miss Craik is"--he corrected himself--"until +matters are cleared up a bit?" + +"No," wailed Winifred, her pent-up feelings breaking through all +restraint. "I am quite alone in the world now." + +"Come, come, cheer up!" said Steingall, rising and patting her on the +shoulder. "This disagreeable business may only last a day or two. You +will not want for anything. If you are in any trouble all you need do is +to let me know. Moreover, to save you from being afraid of remaining +alone in the house at night, I'll give special instructions to the +police in your precinct to watch the place closely. Now, be a brave +girl and make the best of it." + +The house in One Hundred and Twelfth Street would, of course, be an +object of special interest to the police for other reasons apart from +those suggested by the chief. Nevertheless, his kindness had the desired +effect, and Winifred strove to repress her tears. + +"Here is your note," he said, "and I advise you to forget this temporary +trouble in your work. Mr. Clancy will accompany you in the car if you +wish." + +"Please--I would rather be alone," she faltered. She was far from +Mulberry Street before she remembered that she had said nothing about +seeing the boat that morning! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +PERSECUTORS + + +During the brief run up-town Winifred managed to dry her tears, yet the +mystery and terror of the circumstances into which she was so suddenly +plunged seemed to become more distressful the longer she puzzled over +them. She could not find any outlet from a labyrinth of doubt and +uncertainty. She strove again to read the printed accounts of the crime, +in order to wrest from them some explanation of the extraordinary charge +brought against her aunt, but the words danced before her eyes. At last, +with an effort, she threw the paper away and bravely resolved to follow +Steingall's parting advice. + +When she reached the warehouse she was naturally the object of much +covert observation. Neither Miss Sugg nor Mr. Fowle spoke to her, but +Winifred thought she saw a malicious smile on the forewoman's face. The +hours passed wearily until six o'clock. She was about to quit the +building with her companions--many of whom meant bombarding her with +questions at the first opportunity--when she was again requested to +report at the office. + +A clerk handed her one of the firm's pay envelopes. + +"What's comin' to you up to date," he blurted out, "and a week's salary +instead of notice." + +She was dismissed! + +Some girls might have collapsed under this final blow, but not so +Winifred Bartlett. Knowing it was useless to say anything to the clerk, +she spiritedly demanded an interview with the manager. This was refused. +She insisted, and sent Steingall's letter to the inner sanctum, having +concluded that the dismissal was in some way due to her visit to the +detective bureau. + +The clerk came back with the note and a message: "The firm desire me to +tell you," he said, "that they quite accept your explanation, but they +have no further need of your services." + +Explanation! How could a humble employee explain away the unsavory fact +that the smug respectability of Brown, Son & Brown had been outraged by +the name of the firm appearing in the evening papers as connected, even +in the remotest way, with the sensational crime now engaging the +attention of all New York? + +Winifred walked into the street. Something in her face warned even the +most inquisitive of her fellow-workers to leave her alone. Besides, the +poor always evince a lively sympathy with others in misfortune. These +working-class girls were consumed with curiosity, yet they respected +Winifred's feelings, and did not seek to intrude on her very apparent +misery by inquiry or sympathetic condolence. A few among them watched, +and even followed her a little way as she turned the corner into +Fourteenth Street. + +"She goes home by the Third Avenue L," said Carlotta. "Sometimes I've +walked with her that far. H'lo! Why's Fowle goin' east in a taxi! He +lives on West Seventeenth. Betcher a dime he's after Winnie." + +"Whadda ya mean--after her?" cried another girl. + +"Why, didn't you hear how he spoke up for her this mornin' when Ole +Mother Sugg handed her the lemon about bein' late?" + +"But he got her fired." + +"G'wan!" + +"He did, I tell you. I heard him phonin' a newspaper. He made 'em wise +about Winnie's bein' pinched, and then took the paper to the boss. I was +below with a packin' check when he went in, so I saw that with my own +eyes, an' that's just as far as I'd trust Fowle." + +The cynic's shrewd surmise was strictly accurate. Fowle had, indeed, +secured Winifred's dismissal. Her beauty and disdain had stirred his +lewd impulses to their depths. His plan now was to intercept her before +she reached her home, and pose as the friend in need who is the most +welcome of all friends. Knowing nothing whatsoever of her domestic +surroundings he deemed it advisable to make inquiries on the spot. His +crafty and vulpine nature warned him against running his head into a +noose, since Winifred might own a strong-armed father or brother, but no +one could possibly resent a well-meant effort at assistance. + +The mere sight of her graceful figure as she hurried along with pale +face and downcast eyes inflamed him anew when his taxi sped by. She +could not avoid him now. He would go up-town by an earlier train, and +await her at the corner of One Hundred and Twelfth Street. + +But the wariest fox is apt to find his paw in a trap, and Fowle, though +foxy, was by no means so astute as he imagined himself. Once again that +day Fate was preparing a surprise for Winifred, and not the least +dramatic feature thereof connoted the utter frustration and undoing of +Fowle. + +About the time that Winifred caught her train it befell that Rex +Carshaw, gentleman of leisure, the most industrious idler who ever +extracted dividends from a business he cared little about, drove a +high-powered car across the Harlem River by the Willis Avenue Bridge, +and entered that part of Manhattan which lies opposite Randall's Island. + +This was a new world to the eyes of the young millionaire. Nor was it +much to his liking. The mixed citizenry of New York must live somewhere, +but Carshaw saw no reason why he and his dainty car should loiter in a +district which seemed highly popular with all sorts of undesirable +folks; so, after skirting Thomas Jefferson Park he turned west, meaning +to reach the better roadway and more open stretches of Fifth Avenue. + +A too hasty express wagon, however, heedless of the convenience of +wealthy automobilists, bore down on Carshaw like a Juggernaut car, and +straightway smashed the differential, besides inflicting other grievous +injuries on a complex mechanism. A policeman, the proprietor of a +neighboring garage, and a greatly interested crowd provided an impromptu +jury for the dispute between Carshaw and the express man. + +The latter put up a poor case. It consisted almost entirely of the +bitter and oft-repeated plaint: + +"What was a car like that doin' here, anyhow?" + +The question sounded foolish. It was nothing of the kind. Only the +Goddess of Wisdom could have answered it, and she, being invisible, was +necessarily dumb. + +At last, when the damaged car was housed for the night, Carshaw set out +to walk a couple of blocks to the elevated railway, his main objective +being dinner with his mother in their apartment on Madison Avenue. He +found himself in a comparatively quiet street, wherein blocks of cheap +modern flats alternated with the dingy middle-class houses of a by-gone +generation. He halted to light a cigarette, and, at that moment, a girl +of remarkable beauty passed, walking quickly, yet without apparent +effort. She was pallid and agitated, and her eyes were swimming with +ill-repressed tears. + +As a matter of fact, Winifred nearly broke down at sight of her empty +abode. It was a cheerless place at best, and now the thought of being +left there alone had induced a sense of feminine helplessness which +overcame her utterly. + +Carshaw was distinctly impressed. In the first place, he was young and +good-looking, and human enough to try and steal a second glance at such +a lovely face, though the steadily decreasing light was not altogether +favorable. Secondly, he thought he had never seen any girl who carried +herself with such rhythmic grace. Thirdly, here was a woman in distress, +and, to one of Carshaw's temperament and upbringing, that in itself +formed a convincing reason why he should wish to help her. + +He racked his brain for a fitting excuse to offer his services. He could +find none. Above all else, Rex Carshaw was a gentleman. + +Of course, he could not tell that the way was being made smooth for +knight-errantry by a certain dragon named Fowle. He did not even quicken +his pace, and was musing on the curious incongruity of the maid in +distress with the rather squalid district in which she had her being +when he saw a man bar her path. + +This was Fowle, who, with lifted hat, was saying deferentially: "Miss +Bartlett, may I have a word?" + +Winifred stopped as though she had run into an unseen obstruction. She +even recoiled a step or two. + +"What do you want?" she said, and there was a quality of scorn, perhaps +of fear, in her voice that sent Carshaw, now five yards away, into the +open doorway of a block of flats. He was an impulsive young man. He +liked the girl's face, and quite as fixedly disliked Fowle's. So he +adopted the now world-famous policy of watchful waiting, being not +devoid of a dim belief that the situation might evolve an overt act. + +"I want to tell you how sorry I am for what happened to-day," said +Fowle, trying to speak sympathetically, but not troubling to veil the +bold admiration of his stare. "I tried hard to stop unpleasantness, and +even risked a row with the boss. But it was no use. I couldn't do a +thing." + +"But why are you here?" demanded Winifred, and those sorrow-laden eyes +of hers might have won pity from any but one of Fowle's order. + +"To help, of course," came the ready assurance. "I can get you a far +better job than stitchin' octavos at Brown's. You're not meanin' to stay +home with your folks, I suppose?" + +"That is kind of you," said Winifred. "I may have to depend altogether +on my own efforts, so I shall need work. I'll write to you for a +reference, and perhaps for advice." + +She had unwittingly told Fowle just what he was eager to know--that she +was friendless and alone. He prided himself on understanding the ways of +women, and lost no more time in coming to the point. + +"Listen, now, Winnie," he said, drawing nearer, "I'd like to see you +through this worry. Forget it. You can draw down twice or three times +the money as a model in Goldberg's Store. I know Goldberg, an' can fix +things. An', say, why mope at home evenings? I often get orders for two +for the theaters an' vaudeville shows. What about comin' along down-town +to-night? A bit of dinner an' a cabaret'd cheer you up after to-day's +unpleasantness." + +Winifred grew scarlet with vexation. The man had always been a repulsive +person in her eyes, and, unversed though she was in the world's wiles, +she knew instinctively that his present pretensions were merely a cloak +for rascality. One should be fair to Winifred, too. Like every other +girl, she had pictured the Prince Charming who would come into her life +some day. But--Fowle! Her gorge rose. + +"How dare you follow me here and say such vile things?" she cried +hysterically. + +"What's up now?" said Fowle in mock surprise. "What have I said that you +should fly off the trolley in that way?" + +"I take it that this young lady is telling you to quit," broke in +another voice. "Go, now! Go while the going is good." + +Quietly but firmly elbowing Fowle aside, Rex Carshaw raised his hat and +spoke to Winifred. + +"If this fellow is annoying you he can soon be dealt with," he said. "Do +you live near? If so, he can stop right here. I'll occupy his mind till +you are out of sight." + +The discomfited masher was snarling like a vicious cur. The first swift +glance that measured the intruder's proportions did not warrant any +display of active resentment on his part. Out of the tail of his eye, +however, he noticed a policeman approaching on the opposite side of the +street. The sight lent a confidence which might have been lacking +otherwise. + +"Why are you buttin' in?" he cried furiously. "This young lady is a +friend of mine. I'm tryin' to pull her out of a difficulty, but she's +got me all wrong. Anyhow, what business is it of yours?" + +Fowle's anger was wasted, since Carshaw seemed not to hear. Indeed, why +should a chivalrous young man pay heed to Fowle when he could gaze his +fill into Winifred's limpid eyes and listen to her tuneful voice? + +"I am very greatly obliged to you," she was saying, "but I hope Mr. +Fowle understands now that I do not desire his company and will not seek +to force it on me." + +"Sure he understands. Don't you, Fowle?" and Carshaw gave the +disappointed wooer a look of such manifest purpose that something had to +happen quickly. Something did happen. Fowle knew the game was up, and +behaved after the manner of his kind. + +"You're a cute little thing, Winifred Bartlett," he sneered, with a +malicious glance from the girl to Carshaw, while a coarse guffaw +imparted venom to his utterance. "Think you're taking an easier road to +the white lights, I guess?" + +"Guess again, Fowle," said Carshaw. + +He spoke so quietly that Fowle was misled, because the pavement rose and +struck him violently on the back of his head. At least, that was his +first impression. The second and more lasting one was even more +disagreeable. When he sat up, and fumbled to recover his hat, he was +compelled to apply a handkerchief to his nose, which seemed to have been +reduced to a pulp. + +"Too bad you should be mixed up in this disturbance," Carshaw was +assuring Winifred, "but a pup of the Fowle species can be taught manners +in only one way. Now, suppose you hurry home!" + +The advice was well meant, and Winifred acted on it at once. Fowle had +scrambled to his feet and the policeman was running up. From east and +west a crowd came on the scene like a well-trained stage chorus rushing +in from the wings. + +"Now, then, what's the trouble?" demanded the law, with gruff +insistency. + +"Nothing. A friend of mine met with a slight accident--that's all," said +Carshaw. + +"It's--it's--all right," agreed Fowle thickly. Some glimmer of reason +warned him that an expose in the newspapers would cost him his job with +Brown, Son & Brown. The policeman eyed the damaged nose. He grinned. + +"If you care to take a wallop like that as a friendly tap it's your +affair, not mine," he said. "Anyhow, beat it, both of you!" + +Carshaw was not interested in Fowle or the policeman. He had been +vouchsafed one expressive look by Winifred as she hurried away, and he +watched the slim figure darting up half a dozen steps to a small +brown-stone house, and opening the door with a latch-key. Oddly enough, +the policeman's attention was drawn by the girl's movements. His air +changed instantly. + +"H'lo," he said, evidently picking on Fowle as the doubtful one of these +two. "This must be inquired into. What's your name?" + +"No matter. I make no charge." + +Fowle was turning away, but the policeman grabbed him. + +"You come with me to the station-house," he said determinedly. "An' you, +too," he added jerking his head at Carshaw. + +"Have you gone crazy with the heat?" inquired Carshaw. + +"I hold you for fighting in the public street, an' that's all there is +to it," was the firm reply. "You can come quietly or be 'cuffed, just as +you like. Clear off, the rest of you." + +An awe-stricken mob backed hastily. Fowle was too dazed even to +protest, and Carshaw sensed some hidden but definite motive behind +the policeman's strange alternation of moods. He looked again at the +brown-stone house, but night was closing in so rapidly that he could +not distinguish a face at any of the windows. + +"Let us get there quickly--I'll be late for dinner," he said, and the +three returned by the way Carshaw had come. + +Thus it was that Rex Carshaw, eligible young society bachelor, was drawn +into the ever-widening vortex of "The Yacht Mystery." He did not +recognize it yet, but was destined soon to feel the force of its +swirling currents. + +Gazing from a window of the otherwise deserted house Winifred saw both +her assailant and her protector marched off by the policeman. It was +patent, even to her benumbed wits, that they had been arrested. The +tailing-in of the mob behind the trio told her as much. + +She was too stunned to do other than sink into a chair. For a while she +feared she was going to faint. With lack-lustre eyes she peered into a +gulf of loneliness and despair. Then outraged nature came to her aid, +and she burst into a storm of tears. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +BROTHER RALPH. + + +Clancy forced Senator Meiklejohn's hand early in the fray. He was at the +Senator's flat within an hour of the time Ronald Tower was dragged into +the Hudson, but a smooth-spoken English man-servant assured the +detective that his master was out, and not expected home until two or +three in the morning. + +This arrangement obviously referred to the Van Hofen festivity, so +Clancy contented himself with asking the valet to give the Senator a +card on which he scribbled a telephone number and the words, "Please +ring up when you get this." + +Now, he knew, and Senator Meiklejohn knew, the theater at which Mrs. +Tower was enjoying herself. He did not imagine for an instant that the +Senator was discharging the mournful duty of announcing to his friend's +wife the lamentable fate which had overtaken her husband. Merely as a +perfunctory duty he went to the theater and sought the manager. + +"You know Mrs. Ronald Tower?" he said. + +"Sure I do," said the official. "She's inside now. Came here with Bobby +Forrest." + +"Anybody called for her recently?" + +"I think not, but I'll soon find out." + +No. Mrs. Tower's appreciation of Belasco's genius had not been disturbed +that evening. + +"Anything wrong?" inquired the manager. + +Clancy's answer was ready. + +"If Senator Meiklejohn comes here within half an hour, see that the lady +is told at once," he said. "If he doesn't show up in that time, send for +Mr. Forrest, tell him that Mr. Tower has met with an accident, and leave +him to look after the lady." + +"Wow! Is it serious? Why wait?" + +"The slight delay won't matter, and the Senator can handle the situation +better than Forrest." + +Clancy gave some telephonic instruction to the man on night duty at +headquarters. He even dictated a paragraph for the press. Then he went +straight to bed, for the hardiest detectives must sleep, and he had a +full day's work before him when next the sun rose over New York. + +He summed up Meiklejohn's action correctly. The Senator did not +communicate with Mulberry Street during the night, so Clancy was an +early visitor at his apartment. + +"The Senator is ill and can see no one," said the valet. + +"No matter how ill he may be, he must see me," retorted Clancy. + +"But he musn't be disturbed. I have my orders." + +"Take a fresh set. He's going to be disturbed right now, by you or me. +Choose quick!" + +The law prevailed. A few minutes later Senator Meiklejohn entered the +library sitting-room, where the little detective awaited him. He looked +wretchedly ill, but his sufferings were mental, not physical. Examined +critically now, in the cold light of day, he was a very different man +from the spruce, dandified politician and financier who figured so +prominently among Van Hofen's guests the previous evening. Yet Clancy +saw at a glance that the Senator was armed at all points. Diplomacy +would be useless. The situation demanded a bludgeon. He began the attack +at once. + +"Why didn't you ring up Mulberry Street last night, Senator?" he said. + +"I was too upset. My nerves were all in." + +"You told the patrolman at Eighty-sixth Street that you were hurrying +away to break the news to Mrs. Tower, yet you did not go near her?" + +Meiklejohn affected to consult Clancy's card to ascertain the +detective's name. + +"Perhaps I had better get in touch with the Bureau now," he said, and a +flush of anger darkened his haggard face. + +"No need. The Bureau is right here. Let us get down to brass tacks, +Senator. A woman named Rachel met you outside the Four Hundred Club at +eight o'clock as you were coming out. You had just spoken to Mrs. Tower, +when this woman told you that you must meet two men who would await you +at the Eighty-sixth landing-stage at nine. You were to bring five +hundred dollars. At nine o'clock these same men killed Mr. Tower, and +you yourself admitted to me that they mistook him for you. Now, will you +be good enough to fill in the blanks? Who is Rachel? Where does she +live? Who were the two men? Why should you give them five hundred +dollars, apparently as blackmail?" + +Clancy was exceedingly disappointed by the result of this thunderbolt. +Any ordinary man would have shrivelled under its crushing impact. If +the police knew so much that might reasonably be regarded as secret, +of what avail was further concealment? Yet Senator Meiklejohn bore up +wonderfully. He showed surprise, as well he might, but was by no means +pulverized. + +"All this is rather marvelous," he said slowly, after a long pause. He +had avoided Clancy's gaze after the first few words, and sank into an +armchair with an air of weariness that was not assumed. + +"Simple enough," commented the detective readily. Above all else he +wanted Meiklejohn to talk. "I was on duty outside the club, and heard +almost every word that passed between you and Rachel." + +"Well, well." + +The Senator arose and pressed an electric bell. + +"If you don't mind," he explained suavely, "I'll order some coffee and +rolls. Will you join me?" + +This was the parry of a skilled duelist to divert an attack and gain +breathing-time. Clancy rather admired such adroitness. + +"Sorry, I can't on principle," he countered. + +"How--on principle?" + +"You see, Senator, I may have to arrest you, and I never eat with any +man with whom I may clash professionally." + +"You take risks, Mr. Clancy." + +"I love 'em. I'd cut my job to-day if it wasn't for the occasional +excitement." + +The valet appeared. + +"Coffee and rolls for two, Phillips," said Meiklejohn. He turned to +Clancy. "Perhaps you would prefer toast and an egg?" + +"I have breakfasted already, Senator," smiled the detective, "but I may +dally with the coffee." + +When the door was closed on Phillips, his master glanced at a clock on +the mantelpiece. The hour was eight-fifteen. Some days elapsed before +Clancy interpreted that incident correctly. + +"You rose early," said the Senator. + +"Yes, but worms are coy this morning." + +"Meaning that you still await answers to your questions. I'll deal with +you fully and frankly, but I'm curious to know on what conceivable +ground you could arrest me for the murder of my friend Ronald Tower." + +"As an accessory before the act." + +"But, consider. You have brains, Mr. Clancy. I am glad the Bureau sent +such a man. How can a bit of unthinking generosity on my part be +construed as participation in a crime?" + +"If you explain matters, Senator, the absurdity of the notion may become +clear." + +"Ah, that's better. Let me assure you that my coffee will not affect +your fine sensibilities. Miss Rachel Craik is a lady I have known nearly +all my life. I have assisted her, within my means. She resides in East +One Hundred and Twelfth Street, and the man about whom she was so +concerned last night is her brother. He committed some technical offense +years ago, and has always been a ne'er-do-well. To please his sister, +and for no other reason, I undertook to provide him with five hundred +dollars, and thus enable him to start life anew. I have never met the +man. I would not recognize him if I saw him. I believe he is a desperate +character; his maniacal behavior last night seems to leave no room for +doubt in that respect. Don't you see, Mr. Clancy, that it was I, and not +poor Tower, whom he meant attacking? But for idle chance, it is my +corpse, not Tower's, that would now be floating in the Hudson. You heard +what Tower said. I did not. I assume, however, that some allusion was +made to the money--which, by the way, is still in my pocketbook--and +Tower scoffed at the notion that he had come there to hand over five +hundred dollars. There you have the whole story, in so far as I can tell +it." + +"For the present, Senator." + +"How?" + +"It should yield many more chapters. Is that all you're going to say? +For instance, did you call on Rachel Craik after leaving Eighty-sixth +Street?" + +Meiklejohn's jaws closed like a steel trap. He almost lost his temper. + +"No," he said, seemingly conquering the desire to blaze into anger at +this gadfly of a detective. + +"Sure?" + +"I said 'no.' That is not 'yes.' I was so overcome by Tower's miserable +fate that I dismissed my car and walked home. I could not face any one, +least of all Helen--Mrs. Tower." + +"Or the Bureau?" + +"Mr. Clancy, you annoy me." + +Clancy stood up. + +"I must duck your coffee, Senator," he said cheerfully. "Is Miss Craik +on the phone?" + +"No. She is poor, and lives alone--or, to be correct, with a niece, I +believe." + +"Well, think matters over. I'll see you again soon. Then you may be able +to tell me some more." + +"I have told you everything." + +"Perhaps _I_ may do the telling." + +"Now, as to this poor woman, Miss Craik. You will not adopt harsh +measures, I trust?" + +"We are never harsh, Senator. If she speaks the truth, and all the +truth, she need not fear." + +In the hall Clancy met the valet, carrying a laden tray. + +"Do you make good coffee, Phillips?" he inquired. + +"I try to," smiled the other. + +"Ah, that's modest--that's the way real genius speaks. Sorry I can't +sample your brew to-day. So few Englishmen know the first thing about +coffee." + +"Nice, friendly little chap," was Phillips's opinion of the detective. +Senator Meiklejohn's description of the same person was widely +different. When Clancy went out, he, too, rose and stretched his stiff +limbs. + +"I got rid of that little rat more easily than I expected," he +mused--that is to say, the Senator's thoughts may be estimated in some +such phrase. But he was grievously mistaken in his belief. Clancy was no +rat, but a most stubborn terrier when there were rats around. + +While Meiklejohn was drinking his coffee the telephone rang. It was Mrs. +Tower. She was heartbroken, or professed to be, since no more selfish +woman existed in New York. + +"Are you coming to see me?" she wailed. + +"Yes, yes, later in the day. At present I dare not. I am too unhinged. +Oh, Helen, what a tragedy! Have you any news?" + +"News! My God! What news can I hope for except that Ronald's poor, +maimed body has been found?" + +"Helen, this is terrible. Bear up!" + +"I'm doing my best. I can hardly believe that this thing has really +happened. Help me in one small way, Senator. Telephone Mr. Jacob and +explain why our luncheon is postponed." + +"Yes, I'll do that." + +Meiklejohn smiled grimly as he hung up the receiver. In the midst of +her tribulations Helen Tower had not forgotten Jacob and the little +business of the Costa Rica Cotton Concession! The luncheon was only +"postponed." + +An inquiry came from a newspaper, whereupon he gave a curt order that no +more calls were to be made that day, as the apartment would be empty. He +dressed, and devoted himself forthwith to the task of overhauling +papers. He had a fire kindled in the library. + +Hour after hour he worked, until the grate was littered with the ashes +of destroyed documents. Sending for newspapers, he read of Rachel +Craik's arrest. At last, when the light waned, he looked at his watch. +Should he not face his fellow-members at the Four Hundred Club? Would it +not betray weakness to shirk the ordeal of inquiry, of friendly scrutiny +and half-spoken wonder that he, the irreproachable, should be mixed up +in such a weird tragedy. Once he sought support from a decanter of +brandy. + +"Confound it!" he muttered, "why am I so shaky. _I_ didn't murder Tower. +My whole life may be ruined by one false step!" + +He was still pondering irresolutely a visit to the club when Phillips +came. The valet seemed flurried. + +"There's a gentleman outside, sir, who insists on seeing you," he said +nervously. "He's a very violent gentleman, sir. He said if I didn't +announce him he----" + +"What name?" interrupted Meiklejohn. + +"Name of Voles, sir." + +"Voles?" + +"Yes, sir, but he says you'll recognize him better by the initials R. V. +V." + +Men of Meiklejohn's physique--big, fleshy, with the stamp of success on +them--are rare subjects for nervous attacks. They seem to defy events +which will shock the color out of ordinary men's cheeks, yet Meiklejohn +felt that if he dared encounter the eyes of his discreet servant he +would do something outrageous--shriek, or jump, or tear his hair. He +bent over some papers on the table. + +"Send Mr. Voles in," he murmured. "If any other person calls, say I'm +engaged." + +The man who was ushered into the room was of a stature and demeanor +which might well have cowed the valet. Tall, strongly built, altogether +fitter and more muscular than the stalwart Senator, he carried with him +an impression of truculence, of a savage forcefulness, not often clothed +in the staid garments of city life. Were his skin bronze, were he decked +in the barbaric trappings of a Pawnee chief, his appearance would be +more in accord with the chill and repellant significance of his +personality. His square, hard features might have been chiseled out of +granite. A pair of singularly dark eyes blazed beneath heavy and +prominent eyebrows. A high forehead, a massive chin, and a well-shaped +nose lent a certain intellectuality to the face, but this attribute was +negatived by the coarse lines of a brutal mouth. + +From any point of view the visitor must invite attention, while +compelling dislike--even fear. In a smaller frame, such qualities might +escape recognition, but this man's giant physique accentuated the evil +aspect of eyes and mouth. Hardly waiting till the door was closed, he +laughed sarcastically. + +"You are well fixed here, brother o' mine," he said. + +The man whom he addressed as "brother" leaned with his hands on the +table that separated them. His face was quite ghastly. All his +self-control seemed to have deserted him. + +"You?" he gasped. "To come here! Are you mad?" + +"Need you ask? It will not be the first time you have called me a +lunatic, nor will it be the last, I reckon." + +"But the risk, the infernal risk! The police know of you. Rachel is +arrested. A detective was here a few hours ago. They are probably +watching outside." + +"Bosh!" was the uncompromising answer. "I'm sick of being hunted. Just +for a change I turn hunter. Where's the mazuma you promised Rachel?" + +Meiklejohn, using a hand like one in a palsy, produced a pocketbook and +took from it a bundle of notes. + +"Here!" he quavered. "Now, for Heaven's sake----" + +"Just the same old William," cried the stranger, seating himself +unceremoniously. "Always ready to do a steal, but terrified lest the law +should grab him. No, I'm not going. It will be good nerve tonic for you +to sit down and talk while you strain your ears to hear the tramp of +half a dozen cops in the hall. What a poor fish you are!" he continued, +voice and manner revealing a candid contempt, as Meiklejohn did indeed +start at the slamming of a door somewhere in the building. "Do you think +I'd risk my neck if I were likely to be pinched? Gad! I know my way +around too well for that." + +"But you don't understand," whispered the other in mortal terror. "By +some means the detective bureau may know of your existence. Rachel +promised to be close-lipped, but--" + +"Oh, take a bracer out of that decanter. At the present moment I am +registered in a big Fifth Avenue hotel, a swell joint which they +wouldn't suspect in twenty years." + +"How can that be? Rachel said you were in desperate need." + +"So I was until I went through that idiot's pockets. He had two hundred +dollars in bills and chicken-feed. I knew I'd get another wad from you +to-night." + +"Why did you want to murder me, Ralph?" + +"Murder! Oh, shucks! I didn't want to kill anybody. But I don't trust +you, William. I'm always expecting you to double-cross me. Last night it +was a lasso. To-night it is this." And he suddenly whipped out a +revolver. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +STILL MERE MYSTERY + + +Meiklejohn pushed his chair back so quickly that it caught the fender +and brought down some fire-irons with a crash. + +"More nerves!" croaked his grim-visaged relative, but the revolver +disappeared. + +"Tell me," said the tortured Meiklejohn; "why have you returned to New +York? Above all, why did you straightway commit a crime that cannot fail +to stir the whole country?" + +"That's better. You are showing some sort of brotherly interest. I came +back because I was sick of mining camps and boundless sierras. I had a +hankering after the old life--the theaters, dinners, race-meetings, wine +and women. As to 'the crime,' I thought that fool was you. He called for +the cops." + +"For the police! Why?" + +"Because my line of talk was a trifle too rough, I suppose." + +"Did he know you were there to meet me?" + +"Can't say. The whole thing was over like a flash. I am quick on the +trigger." + +"But if you had killed me what other goose would lay golden eggs?" + +"You forget that the goose was unwilling to lay any more eggs. I only +meant scaring you. To haul you neck and crop into the river was a good +scheme. You see, we haven't met for some years." + +"Then why--why murder Ronald Tower?" + +"There you go again. Murder! How you chew on the word. I never touched +the man, only to haul him into the boat and go through his pockets. I +guess he had a weak heart, due to over-eating, and the cold water upset +him." + +"But you left him in the river?" + +"Wrong every time. I chucked him into a barge and covered him tenderly +with a tarpaulin." + +Meiklejohn sprang upright. "Good God," he cried, "he may be alive!" + +"Sit down, William, sit down," was the cool response. "If he's alive, +he'll turn up. In any case, he'll be found sooner or later. Shout the +glad news now and you go straight to the Tombs." + +This was obviously so true that the Senator collapsed into his chair +again, and in so doing disturbed the fire-irons a second time. + +The incident amused the unbidden guest. "I see you won't be happy till I +leave you," he laughed, "so let's go on with the knitting. That +girl--she is becoming a woman--what is to be done with her?" + +"Rachel takes every care--" + +"Rachel is excellent in her way. But she is growing old. She may die. +The girl is the living image of her mother. It's a queer world, and a +small one at times. For instance, who would have expected your double to +walk onto the terrace at the landing-stage at nine o'clock precisely +last night? Well, some one may recognize the likeness. Inquiries might +be instituted. That would be very awkward for you." + +"Far more awkward for you." + +"Not a bit of it. I've lived with my neck in the loop for eighteen +years. I'm getting used to it. But you, William, with your Senatorship +and high record in Wall Street--really the downfall would be terrible!" + +"What can we do with her? Murder her, as you--" + +"The devil take you and your parrotlike repetition of one word!" roared +brother Ralph, bringing his clenched fist down on the table with a bang. +"I never laid violent hands on a woman yet, whatever I may have done to +men. Who has reaped the reward of my misdeeds, I'd like to know--I, an +outcast and a wanderer, or you, living here like Lord Tomnoddy? None of +your preaching to me, you smug Pharisee! We're six of one and half a +dozen of the other." + +When this self-proclaimed adventurer was really aroused he dropped the +rough argot of the plains. His diction showed even some measure of +culture. + +Meiklejohn walked unsteadily to the door. He opened it. There was no one +in the passage without. + +"I'm sorry," he said in a strangely subdued voice. "What do you want? +What do you suggest?" + +"This," came the instant reply. "It was a piece of folly on Rachel's +part to educate the girl the way she did. You stopped the process too +late. In a year or two Miss Winifred will begin to think and ask +questions, if she hasn't done so already. She must leave the +East--better quit America altogether." + +"Very well. When this affair of Tower's blows over I'll arrange it." + +The other man seemed to be somewhat mollified. He lighted a cigarette. +"That rope play was sure a mad trick," he conceded sullenly, "but I +thought you were putting the cops on my trail." + +A bell rang and the Senator started. Many callers, mostly reporters, had +been turned away by Phillips already that day, but brother Ralph's +untimely visit had made the position peculiarly dangerous. Moreover, +the valet's protests had proved unavailing this time. The two heard his +approaching footsteps. + +Meiklejohn's care-worn face turned almost green with fright, and even +his hardier companion yielded to a sense of peril. He leaped up, moving +catlike on his toes. + +"Where does that door lead to?" he hissed, pointing. + +"A bedroom. But I've given orders--" + +"You dough-faced dub, don't you see you create suspicion by refusing to +meet people? And, listen! If this is a cop, bluff hard! I'll shoot up +the whole Bureau before they get me!" + +He vanished, moving with a silence and celerity that were almost uncanny +in so huge a man. Phillips knocked and thrust his head in. He looked +scared yet profoundly relieved. + +"Mr. Tower to see you, sir," he said breathlessly. + +"What?" shrieked the Senator in a shrill falsetto. + +"Yes, sir. It's Mr. Tower himself, sir." + +"H'lo, Bill!" came a familiar voice. "Here I am! No spook yet, thank +goodness!" + +Meiklejohn literally staggered to the door and nearly fell into Ronald +Tower's arms. Of the two men, the Senator seemed nearer death at that +moment. He blubbered something incoherent, and had to be assisted to a +chair. Even Tower was astonished at the evident depth of his friend's +emotion. + +"Cheer up, old sport!" he cried affectionately. "I had no notion you +felt so badly about my untimely end, as the newspapers call it. I tried +to get you on the phone, but you were closed down, the exchange said, so +Helen packed me off here when she was able to sit up and take +nourishment. Gad! Even my wife seems to have missed me!" + +Many minutes elapsed before Senator Meiklejohn's benumbed brain could +assimilate the facts of a truly extraordinary story. Tower, after being +whisked so unceremoniously into the Hudson, remembered nothing further +until he opened his eyes in numb semi-consciousness in the cubbyhole of +a tug plodding through the long Atlantic rollers off the New Jersey +coast. + +When able to talk he learned that the captain of the tug _Cygnet_, +having received orders to tow three loaded barges from a Weehawken pier +to Barnegat City, picked up his "job" at nine-thirty the previous night, +and dropped down the river with the tide. In the early morning he was +amazed by the sight of a man crawling from under the heavy tarpaulin +that sheeted one of the barges--a man so dazed and weak that he nearly +fell into the sea. + +"Cap' Rickards slowed up and took me aboard," explained Tower volubly. +"Then he filled me with rock and rye and packed me in blankets. Gee, how +they smelt, but how grateful they were! What between prime old whiskey +inside and greasy wool outside I dodged a probable attack of pneumonia. +When the _Cygnet_ tied up at Barnegat at noon to-day I was fit as a +fiddle. Cap' Rickards rigged me out in his shore-going suit and lent me +twenty dollars, as that pair of blackguards in the launch had robbed me +of every cent. They even took a crooked sixpence I found in London +twenty years ago, darn 'em! I phoned Helen, of course, but didn't +realize what a hubbub my sad fate had created until I read a newspaper +in the train. When I reached home poor Helen was so out of gear that she +hadn't told a soul of my escape. I do believe she hardly accepted my own +assurance that I was still on the map. However, when I got her calmed +down a bit, she remembered you and the rest of the excitement, so I +phoned the detective bureau and the club, and came straight here." + +"That is very good of you, Tower," murmured Meiklejohn brokenly. He +looked in far worse plight than the man who had survived such a +desperate adventure. + +"Well, my dear chap, I was naturally anxious to see you, because--but +perhaps you don't know that those scoundrels meant to attack you, not +me?" + +Meiklejohn smiled wanly. "Oh, yes," he said. "The police found that out +by some means. I believe the authorities actually suspected me of being +concerned in the affair." + +Tower laughed boisterously. "That's the limit!" he roared. "Come with me +to the club. We'll soon spoil that yarn. What a fuss the papers made! +I'm quite a celebrity." + +"I'll follow you in half an hour. And, look here, Tower, this matter did +really affect me. There was a woman in the case. I butted into an old +feud merely as a friend. I think matters will now be settled amicably. +Allow me to make good your loss in every way. If you can persuade the +police that the whole thing was a hoax--" + +For the first time Tower looked non-plussed. He was enjoying the +notoriety thrust on him so unexpectedly. + +"Well, I can hardly do that," he said. "But if I can get them to drop +further inquiries I'll do it, Meiklejohn, for your sake. Gee! Come to +look at you, you must have had a bad time.... Well, good-by, old top! +See you later. Suppose we dine together? That will help dissipate this +queer story as to you being mixed up in an attack on me. Now, I must be +off and play ghost in the club smoking-room." + +Meiklejohn heard his fluttering man-servant let Tower out. He tottered +to a chair, and Ralph Voles came in noiselessly. + +"Well, what about it?" chuckled the reprobate. "We seem to have struck +it lucky." + +"Go away!" snarled the Senator, goaded to a sudden rage by the other +man's cynical humor. "I can stand no more to-day." + +"Oh, take a pull at this!" And the decanter was pushed across the table. +"Didn't Dr. Johnson once say that claret is the liquor for boys, port +for men, but he who aspires to be a hero should drink brandy? And you +must be a hero to-night. Get onto the Bureau and use the soft pedal. +Then beat it to the club. You and Tower ought to be well soused in an +hour. He's a good sport, all right. I'll mail him that sixpence if it's +still in my pants." + +"Do nothing of the sort!" snapped Meiklejohn. "You're--" + +"Ah, cut it out! Tower wants plenty to talk about. His crooked sixpence +will fill many an eye, and the more he spiels the better it is for you. +Gee, but you're yellow for a two-hundred pounder! Now, listen! Make +those cops drop all charges against Rachel. Then, in a week or less, +I'll come along and fix things about the girl. She's the fly in the +amber now. Mind she doesn't get out, or the howl about Mr. Ronald +Tower's trip to Barnegat won't amount to a row of beans against the +trouble pretty Winifred can give you. _Dios!_ It's a pity. She's a real +beauty, and that's more than any one can say for you, Brother William." + +"You go to--" + +"That's better! You're reviving. Well, good-by, Senator! _Au revoir sans +adieux!_" + +The big man swaggered out. Meiklejohn drank no spirits. He needed a +clear brain that evening. After deep self-communing he rang up police +headquarters and inquired for Mr. Clancy. + +"Mr. Clancy is out," he was told by some one with a strong, resonant +voice. "Anything we can do, Senator?" + +"About that poor woman, Rachel Craik--" + +"Oh, she's all right! She gave us a farewell smile two hours ago." + +"You mean she is at liberty?" + +"Certainly, Senator." + +"May I ask to whom I am speaking?" + +"Steingall, Chief of the Bureau." + +"This wretched affair--it's merely a family squabble between Miss Craik +and a relative--might well end now, Mr. Steingall." + +"That is for Mr. Tower and Mr. Van Hofen to decide." + +"Yes, I quite understand. I have seen Mr. Tower, and he shares my +opinion." + +"Just so, Senator. At any rate, the yacht mystery is almost cleared up." + +"I agree with you most heartily." + +For the first time in nearly twenty-four hours Senator Meiklejohn looked +contented with life when he hung up the receiver. Therefore, it was well +for his peace of mind that he could not hear Steingall's silent comment +as he, in turn, disconnected the phone. + +"That old fox agreed with me too heartily," he thought. "The yacht +mystery is only just beginning--or I'm a Dutchman!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE DREAM FACE + + +That evening of her dismissal from Brown's, and her meeting with Rex +Carshaw, Winifred opened the door of the dun house in One Hundred and +Twelfth Street the most downhearted girl in New York. Suddenly, mystery +had gathered round her. Something threatened, she knew not what. When +the door slammed behind her her heart sank--she was alone not only in +the house, but in the world. This thought possessed her utterly when the +excitement caused by Carshaw and Fowle, and their speedy arrest, had +passed. + +That her aunt, the humdrum Rachel Craik, should have any sort of +connection with the murder of Ronald Tower, of which Winifred had +chanced first to hear on Riverside Drive that morning, seemed the +wildest nonsense. Then Winifred was overwhelmed afresh, and breathed to +herself, "I must be dreaming!" + +And yet--the house was empty! Her aunt was not there--her aunt was held +as a criminal! It was not a dream, but only like one, a waking nightmare +far more terrifying. Most of the rooms in the house had nothing but +dust in them. Rachel Craik had preferred to live as solitary in teeming +Manhattan as a castaway on a rock in the midst of the sea. + +Winifred's mind was accustomed now to the thought of that solitude +shared by two. This night, when there were no longer two, but only one, +the question arose strongly in her mind--why had there never been more +than two? Certainly her aunt was not rich, and might well have let some +of the rooms. Yet, even the suggestion of such a thing had made Rachel +Craik angry. This, for the first time, struck Winifred as odd. +Everything was puzzling, and all sorts of doubts peeped up in her, like +ghosts questioning her with their eyes in the dark. + +When the storm of tears had spent its force she had just enough interest +in her usual self to lay the table and make ready a meal, but not enough +interest to eat it. She sat by a window of her bedroom, her hat still on +her head, looking down. The street lamps were lit. It grew darker and +darker. Down there below feet passed and repassed in multitudes, like +drops of the eternal cataract of life. + +Winifred's eyes rested often on the spot where Rex Carshaw had spoken to +her and had knocked down Fowle, her tormentor. In hours of trouble, when +the mind is stunned, it will often go off into musings on trivial +things. So this young girl, sitting at the window of the dark and empty +house, let her thoughts wander to her rescuer. He was well built, and +poised like an athlete. He had a quick step, a quick way of talking, was +used to command; his brow was square, and could threaten; he had the +deepest blue eyes, and glossy brown hair; he was a tower of strength to +protect a girl; and his wife, if he had one, must have a feeling of +safety. Thoughts, or half-thoughts, like these passed through her mind. +She had never before met any young man of Carshaw's type. + +It became ten o'clock. She was tired after the day's work and trouble of +mind. The blow of her dismissal, the fright of her interview with the +police, the arrest of her aunt--all this sudden influx of mystery and +care formed a burden from which there was no escape for exhausted nature +but in sleep. Her eyes grew weary at last, and, getting up, she +discarded her hat and some of her clothes; then threw herself on the +bed, still half-dressed, and was soon asleep. + +The hours of darkness rolled on. That tramp of feet in the street grew +thin and scattered, as if the army of life had undergone a repulse. Then +there was a rally, when the theaters and picture-houses poured out their +crowds; but it was short, the powers of night were in the ascendant, and +soon the last stragglers retreated under cover. Of all this Winifred +heard nothing--she slept soundly. + +But was it in a dream, that voice which she heard? Something somewhere +seemed to whisper, "She must be taken out of New York--she is the image +of her mother." + +It was a hushed, grim voice. + +The room, the whole house, had been in darkness when she had thrown +herself on the bed. But, somewhere, had she not been conscious of a +light at some moment? Had she dreamed this, or had she seen it? She sat +up in bed, staring and startled. The room was in darkness. In her ears +were the words: "She is the image of her mother." + +She had heard them in some world, she did not know in which. She +listened with the keen ears of fear. Not a wagon nor a taxi any longer +moved in the street; no step passed; the house was silent. + +But after a long ten minutes the darkness seemed to become pregnant with +a sound, a steady murmur. It was as if it came from far away, as if a +brook had spurted out of the granite of Manhattan, and was even more +like a dream-sound than those words which still buzzed in Winifred's +ear. Somehow that murmur as of water in the night made Winifred think of +a face, one which, as far as she could remember, she had never +consciously seen--a man's face, brown, hard, and menacing, which had +looked once into her eyes in some state of semi-conscious being, and +then had vanished. And now this question arose in her mind: was it not +that face, hard and brown, which she had never seen, and yet once had +seen--were not those the cruel lips which somewhere had whispered: "She +is the image of her mother?" + +Winifred, sitting up in bed, listened to the steady, dull murmuring a +long time, till there came a moment when she said definitely: "It is in +the house." + +For, as her ears grew accustomed to its tone, it seemed to lose some of +its remoteness, to become more local and earthly. Presently this sound +which the darkness was giving out became the voices of people talking in +subdued undertones not far off. Nor was it long before the murmur was +broken by a word sharply uttered and clearly heard by her--a gruff and +unmistakable oath. She started with fright at this, it sounded so near. +She was certain now that there were others in the house with her. She +had gone to bed alone. Waking up in the dead of the small hours to find +men or ghosts with her, her heart beat horribly. + +But ghosts do not swear--at least such was Winifred's ideal of the +spirit world. And she was brave. Nerving herself for the ordeal, she +found the courage to steal out of bed and make her way out of the room +into a passage, and she had not stood there listening two minutes when +she was able to be certain that the murmur was going on in a back room. + +How earnest that talk was--how low in pitch! It could hardly be burglars +there, for burglars do not enter a house in order to lay their heads +together in long conferences. It could not be ghosts, for a light came +out under the rim of the door. + +After a time Winifred stole forward, tapped on a panel, and her heart +jumped into her mouth as she lifted her voice, saying: + +"Aunty, is it you?" + +There was silence at this, as though they had been ghosts, indeed, and +had taken to flight at the breath of the living. + +"Speak! Who is it?" cried Winifred with a fearful shrillness now. A +chair grated on the floor inside, hurried steps were heard, a key +turned, the door opened a very little, and Winifred saw the gaunt face +of Rachel Craik looking dourly at her, for she had frightened this +masterful woman very thoroughly. + +"Oh, aunt, it _is_ you!" gasped Winifred with a flutter of relief. + +"You are to go to bed, Winnie," said Rachel. + +"It is you! They have let you out, then?" + +"Yes." + +"Tell me what happened; let me come in--" + +"Go back to bed; there's a good girl. I'll tell you everything in the +morning." + +"Oh, but I am glad! I was so lonely and frightened! Aunt, what was it +all about?" + +"About nothing; as far as I can discover," said Rachel Craik--"a mere +mare's-nest found by a set of stupid police. Some man--a Mr. Ronald +Tower--was supposed to have been murdered, and I was supposed to have +some connection with it, though I had never seen the creature in my +life. Now the man has turned up safe and sound, and the pack of noodles +have at last thought fit to allow a respectable woman to come home to +her bed." + +"Oh, how good! Thank heaven! But, you have some one in there with you?" + +"In here--where?" + +"Why, in the room, aunt." + +"I? No, no one." + +"I am sure I heard--" + +"Now, really, you must go to bed, Winifred! What are you doing awake at +this hour of the morning, roaming about the house? You were asleep half +an hour ago--" + +"Oh, then, it was your light I saw in my sleep! I thought I heard a man +say: 'She is the image--'" + +"Just think of troubling me with your dreams at this unearthly hour! I'm +tired, child; go to bed." + +"Yes--but, aunt, this day's work has cost me my situation. I am +dismissed!" + +"Well, a holiday will do you good." + +"Good gracious--you take it coolly!" + +"Go to bed." + +A sudden din of tumbling weights and splintering wood broke out behind +the half-open door. For, within the room a man had been sitting on a +chair tilted back on its two hind legs. The chair was old and slender, +the man huge; and one of the chair-legs had collapsed under the weight +and landed the man on the floor. + +"Oh, aunt! didn't you say that no one--" began Winifred. + +The sentence was never finished. Rachel Craik, her features twisted in +anger, pushed the young girl with a force which sent her staggering, and +then immediately shut the door. Winifred was left outside in the +darkness. + +She returned to her bed, but not to sleep. It was certain that her aunt +had lied to her--there was more in the air than Winifred's quick wits +could fathom. The fact of Rachel Craik's release did not clear up the +mystery of the fact that she had been arrested. Winifred lay, spurring +her fancy to account for all that puzzled her; and underlying her +thoughts was the man's face and those strange words which she had heard +somewhere on the borders of sleep. + +She fancied she had seen the man somewhere before. At last she recalled +the occasion, and almost laughed at the conceit. It was a picture of +Sitting Bull, and that eminent warrior had long since gone to the happy +hunting-grounds. + +Meantime, the murmur of voices in the back room had recommenced and was +going on. Then, towards morning, Winifred became aware that the murmur +had stopped, and soon afterward she heard the click of the lock of the +front door and a foot going down the front steps. + +Rising quickly, she crept to the window and looked out. Going from the +door down the utterly empty street she saw a man, a big swaggerer, with +something of the over-seas and the adventurer in his air. It was Ralph +"Voles," the "brother" of Senator William Meiklejohn. But Winifred could +not distinguish his features, or she might have recognized the man she +had seen in her half-dreams, and who had said: "She must be taken out of +New York--she is the image of her mother." + +Voles had hardly quitted the place before a street-car conductor, who +had taken temporary lodgings the previous evening in a house opposite, +hurried out into the coldness of the hour before dawn. He seemed pleased +at the necessity of going to work thus early. + +"Oh, boy!" he said softly. "I'm glad there's somethin' doin' at last. I +was getting that sleepy. I could hardly keep me eyes open!" + +When Detective Clancy came to the Bureau a few hours later he found a +memorandum to the effect that a Mr. Ralph V. Voles, of Chicago, stopping +at a high-grade hotel in Fifth Avenue, had dined with Rachel Craik in a +quiet restaurant, had parted from her, and met her again, evidently by +appointment. The two had entered the house in One Hundred and Twelfth +Street separately shortly before midnight, and Voles returned to his +hotel at four o'clock in the morning. + +Clancy shook his head waggishly. + +"Who'd have thought it of you, Rachel?" he cackled. "And, now that I've +seen _you_, what sort of weird specimen can Mr. Ralph V. Voles, of +Chicago, be? I'll look him up!" + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE FLIGHT + + +Carshaw and Fowle enjoyed, let us say, a short but almost triumphal +march to the nearest police-station. Their escort of loafers and small +boys grew quickly in numbers and enthusiasm. It became known that the +arrest was made in East One Hundred and Twelfth Street, and that street +had suddenly become famous. The lively inhabitants of the East Side do +not bother their heads about grammatical niceties, so the gulf between +"the yacht murder" and "the yacht murderers" was easily bridged. The +connection was clear. Two men in a boat, and two men in the grip of +the law! It needed only Fowle's ensanguined visage to complete the +circle of reasoning. Consciousness of this ill-omened popularity +infuriated Carshaw and alarmed Fowle. When they arrived at the precinct +station-house each was inclined to wish he had never seen or heard of +Winifred Bartlett! + +Their treatment by the official in charge only added fuel to the flame. +The patrolman explained that "these two were fighting about the girl +who lives in that house in East One Hundred and Twelfth," and this vague +statement seemed all-sufficient. The sergeant entered their names and +addresses. He went to the telephone and came back. + +"Sit there!" he said authoritatively, and they sat there, Carshaw +trying to take an interest in a "drunk" who was brought in, and Fowle +alternately feeling the sore lump at the back of his head and the sorer +cartilage of his nose. After waiting half an hour Carshaw protested, but +the sergeant assured him that "a man from the Bureau" was _en route_ and +would appear presently. At last Clancy came in. That is why he was "out" +when Senator Meiklejohn inquired for him. + +"H'lo!" he cried when he set eyes on Fowle. "My foreman bookbinder! Your +folio looks somewhat battered!" + +"Glad it's you, Mr. Clancy," snuffled Fowle. "You can tell these cops--" + +"Suppose _you_ tell me," broke in the detective, with a glance at +Carshaw. + +"Yes, Fowle, speak up," said Carshaw. "You've a ready tongue. Explain +your fall from grace." + +"There's nothing to it," growled Fowle. "I know the girl, an' asked her +to come with me this evening. She'd been fired by the firm, an'--" + +"Ah! Who fired her?" Clancy's inquiry sounded most matter-of-fact. + +"The boss, of course." + +"Why?" + +"Well--this newspaper stuff. He didn't like it." + +"He told you so?" + +"Yes. That is--the department is a bit crowded. He--er--asked me--Well, +we reckoned we could do without her." + +"I see. Go on." + +"So I just came up-town, meanin' to talk things over, an' find her a new +job, but she took it all wrong." + +Clancy whirled around on Carshaw. Evidently he had heard enough from +Fowle. + +"And you?" he snapped. + +"I know nothing of either party," was the calm answer. "I couldn't help +overhearing this fellow insulting a lady, so put him where he +belongs--in the gutter." + +"Mr. Clancy," interrupted the sergeant, "you're wanted on the phone." + +The detective was detained a good five minutes. When he returned he +walked straight up to Fowle. + +"Quit!" he said, with a scornful and sidelong jerk of the head. "You got +what you wanted. Get out, and leave Miss Bartlett alone in the future." + +Fowle needed no second bidding. + +"As for me?" inquired Carshaw, with arched eyebrows. + +"May I drop you in Madison Avenue?" said Clancy. Once the police car was +speeding down-town he grew chatty. + +"Wish I had seen you trimming Fowle," he said pleasantly. "I've a notion +he had a finger in the pie of Winifred Bartlett's dismissal." + +"It may be." + +Carshaw's tone was indifferent. Just then he was aware only of a very +definite resentment. His mother would be waiting for dinner, and +alarmed, like all mothers who own motoring sons. The detective looked +surprised, but made his point, for all that. + +"I suppose you'll be meeting that very charming young lady again one of +these days," he said. + +"I? Why? Most unlikely." + +"Not so. Do you floor every man you see annoying a woman in the +streets?" + +"Well--er--" + +"Just so. Winifred interested you. She interests me. I mean to keep an +eye on her, a friendly eye. If you and she come together again, let me +know." + +"Really--" + +"No wonder you are ready with a punch. You won't let a man speak. +Listen, now. The patrolman held you and Fowle because he had orders to +arrest, on any pretext or none, any one who seemed to have the remotest +connection with the house in One Hundred and Twelfth Street, where +Winifred Bartlett lives with her aunt. You've read of the Yacht Mystery +and the lassoing of Ronald Tower?" + +"Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Tower are my close friends." + +"Exactly. Now, Rachel Craik, Winifred's aunt, was released from custody +an hour ago. She would have been charged with complicity in the supposed +murder of Tower. I say 'supposed' because there was no murder. Mr. Tower +has returned home, safe and sound--" + +"By Jove, that's good news! But what a strange business it is! My mother +was with Helen Tower this morning, trying to console her." + +"Good! Now, perhaps, you'll sit up and take notice. The truth is that +the mystery of this outrage on Tower is not--cannot be--of recent +origin. I'm sure it is bound up with some long-forgotten occurrence, +possibly a crime, in which the secret of the birth and parentage of +Winifred Bartlett is involved. That girl is no more the niece of her +'aunt' than I am her nephew." + +"But one is usually the niece of one's aunt." + +"I think you need a cigarette," said Clancy dryly. "Organisms accustomed +to poisonous stimulants often wilt when deprived too suddenly of such +harmful tonics." + +Carshaw edged around slightly and looked at this quaint detective. + +"I apologize," he said contritely. "But the crowd got my goat when it +jeered at me as a murderer. And the long wait was annoying, too." + +Clancy, however, was not accustomed to having his confidences slighted. +He was ruffled. + +"Perhaps what I was going to say is hardly worth while," he snapped. "It +was this. If, by chance, your acquaintance with Winifred Bartlett goes +beyond to-day's meeting, and you learn anything of her life and history +which sounds strange in your ears, you may be rendering her a far +greater service than by flattening Fowle's nose if you bring your +knowledge straight to the Bureau." + +"I'll not forget, Mr. Clancy. But let me explain. It will be a miracle +if I meet Miss Bartlett again." + +"It'll be a miracle if you don't," retorted the other. + +So there was a passing whiff of misunderstanding between these two, and, +like every other trivial phase of a strange record, it was destined to +bulk large in the imminent hazards threatening one lone girl. Thus, +Clancy ceased being communicative. He might have referred guardedly to +Senator Meiklejohn. But he did not. Oddly enough, his temperament was +singularly alike to Carshaw's, and that is why sparks flew. + +The heart, however, is deceitful, and Fate is stronger than an irritated +young man whose conventional ideals have been besmirched by being +marched through the streets in custody. The garage in which Carshaw's +automobile was housed temporarily was located near One Hundred and +Twelfth Street. He went there on the following afternoon to see the +machine stripped and find out the exact extent of the damage. Yet he +passed Winifred's house resolutely, without even looking at it. He +returned that way at half past six, and there, on the corner, was posted +Fowle--Fowle, with a swollen nose! There also was their special +patrolman, with an eye for both! + +The mere sight of Fowle prowling in unwholesome quest stirred upwrath +in Carshaw's mind; and the heart, always subtle and self-deceiving, +whispered elatedly: "Here you have an excuse for renewing an +acquaintance which you wished to make yourself believe you did not +care to renew." + +He walked straight to the door of the brown-stone house and rang. Then +he rapped. There was no answer. When he had rapped a second time he +walked away, but he had not gone far when he was almost startled to +find himself face to face with Winifred coming home from making some +purchases, with a bag on her arm. + +He lifted his hat. Winifred, with a vivid blush, hesitated and stopped. +From the corner Fowle stared at the meeting, and made up his mind that +it was really a rendezvous. The patrolman thought so, too, but he had +new orders as to these two. + +"Pardon me, Miss Bartlett," said Carshaw. "Ah, you see I know your name +better than you know mine. Mine is Carshaw--Rex Carshaw, if I may +introduce myself. I have this moment tapped at your door, in the hope of +seeing you." + +"Why so?" asked Winifred. + +"Do you wish to forget the incident of yesterday evening?" + +"No; hence my stopping to hear what you have to say." + +"Well, then, I am here to see to the repairing of my car--not in the +hope of seeing _you_, you know"--Carshaw said this with a twinkle in his +eye; "though, perhaps, if the truth were known, a little in that hope, +too. Then, there at the corner, I find the very man who molested you +last night looking at your house, and this spurred me to knock in order +to ask a favor. Was I wrong?" + +"What favor, sir?" + +"That, if ever you have the least cause to be displeased with the +conduct of that man in the future, you will consider it as _my_ +business, and as an insult offered to _me_--as it will be after the +trouble of last night--and that you will let me know of the matter by +letter. Here is my address." + +Winifred hesitated, then took the proffered card. + +"But--" she faltered. + +"No; promise me that. It really is my business now, you know." + +"I cannot write to you. I--don't--know you." + +"Then I shall only have to stand sentinel a certain number of hours +every day before your house, to see that all goes well. You can't +prevent me doing that, can you? The streets are free to everybody." + +"You are only making fun." + +"That I am not. See how stern and solemn I look. I shall stand sentinel +and gaze up at your window on the chance of seeing your face. Will you +show yourself sometimes to comfort me?" + +"No." + +"I'm sure you will." + +"I'd better promise to write the letter--" + +"There now, that's a point for me!" + +"Oh, don't make me laugh." + +"Point number two--for you have been crying, Miss Winifred!" + +"I?" + +"Yes, I'm sorry to say. Oh, I only wish--" + +"How do you know my name?" + +"What, the 'Winifred' and the 'Bartlett?' Winifred was always one of my +favorite names for a girl, and you look the name all through. Well, +Fowle and I were taken to the station-house last night, and in the +course of the inquiry I heard your name, of course." + +"Did they do anything to you for knocking down Mr. Fowle?" + +"No, no. Of course, they didn't do anything to me. In fact, they seemed +rather pleased. Were you anxious, then, about me?" + +"I was naturally anxious, since it was I who--" + +"Ah, now, don't spoil it by giving a reason. You were anxious, that is +enough; let me be proud, as a recompense. And now I want to ask you two +favors, one of them a great favor. The first is to tell me all you know +about this Fowle. And the second--why you look so sad and have been +crying. May we walk on a little way together, and then you will tell +me?" + +They walked on together, and for a longer time than either of them +realized. Winifred was rather bewitched. Carshaw was something of a +revelation to her in an elusive quality of mind or manner which she in +her heart could only call "charming." + +She spoke of life at Brown, Son & Brown's, in Greenwich Village. She +even revealed that she had been crying because of dark clouds which had +gathered round her of a sudden, doubts and fears for which she had no +name, and because of a sort of dream the previous night in which she had +seen a man's Indian face, and heard a hushed, grim voice say: "She must +be taken out of New York--she is the image of her mother." + +"Ah! And your mother--who and where is she?" asked Carshaw. + +"I don't know. I can't tell. I never knew her," answered Winifred +droopingly, with a shake of her head. + +"And as to your father?" + +"I have no father. I have only my aunt." + +"Winifred," said Carshaw solemnly, "will you consider me your friend +from this night?" + +"You are kind. I trust you," she murmured. + +"A friend is a person who acts for another with the same zeal as for +himself, and who has the privilege of doing whatever seems good to him +for that other. Am I to regard myself as thus privileged?" + +Winifred, who had never flirted with any young man in her life, fancied +she knew nothing about the rules of the game. She was confused. She +veiled her eyes. + +"I don't know--perhaps--we shall see," she stammered. Which was not so +bad for a novice. + +They parted with a warm hand-shake. Ten minutes later Carshaw was in a +telephone booth with Clancy's ear at the other end of the wire. + +"I have just had a chat with Miss Bartlett," he began. + +"Tut, tut! How passing strange!" cackled the detective. "The merest +chance in the world, I'm sure." + +"Yes. The miracle came off, so you're entitled to your gibe. But I have +news for you. It's about a dream and a face." + +"Gee! Throw the picture on the screen, Mr. Carshaw." + +Then Carshaw spoke, and Clancy listened and bade him work more miracles, +even though he might have to report such phenomena to the Psychical +Research Society. Next morning Carshaw, a hard man when offended, +visited Brown, Son & Brown, who had executed a large rebinding order for +his father's library, and Fowle was speedily out of a job. The +ex-foreman knew the source of his misfortune, and vowed vengeance. + +In the evening, about half past six, Carshaw was back in One Hundred and +Twelfth Street. There had been no promise of a meeting between him and +Winifred--no promise, but, by those roundabout means by which people in +sympathy understand each other, it was perfectly well understood that +they would happen to meet again that night. + +He waited in the street, but Winifred did not appear. The brown-stone +house was in total darkness. An hour passed, and the waiting was weary, +for it was drizzling. But Carshaw waited, being a persistent young man. +At last, after seven, a pang of fear shot through his breast. He +remembered the girl's curious account of the dream-man. + +He determined to knock at the door, relying on his wits to invent some +excuse if any stranger opened. But to his repeated loud knockings there +came no answer. The house seemed abandoned. Winifred was gone! Even a +friendly patrolman took pity on his drawn face and drew near. + +"No use, sir!" he confided. "They've skipped. But don't let on _I_ told +you. Call up the Detective Bureau!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +CARSHAW TAKES UP THE CHASE + + +"Busy, Mr. Carshaw?" inquired some one when an impatient young man got +in touch with Mulberry Street after an exasperating delay. + +"Not too busy to try and defeat the scoundrels who are plotting against +a defenseless girl," he cried. + +"Well, come down-town. We'll expect you in half an hour." + +"But, Mr. Clancy asked me--" + +"Better come," said the voice, and Carshaw, though fuming, bowed to +authority. + +It is good for the idle rich that they should be brought occasionally +into sharp contact with life's realities. During his twenty-seven years +Rex Carshaw had hardly ever known what it meant to have a purpose +balked. Luckily for him, he was of good stock and had been well reared. + +The instinct of sport, fostered by triumphs at Harvard, had developed an +innate quality of self-reliance and given him a physical hardihood which +revelled in conquest over difficulties. Each winter, instead of lounging +in flannels at the Poinciana, he was out with guides and dogs in the +Northwest after moose and caribou. + +He preferred polo to tennis. He would rather pass a fortnight in +oilskins with the rough and ready fisher-folk of the Maine coast than +don the white ducks and smart caps of his wealthy yachting friends. In a +word, society and riches had not spoiled him. But he did like to have +his own way, and the suspicion that he might be thwarted in his desire +to help Winifred Bartlett cut him now like a sword. So he chafed against +the seeming slowness of the Subway, and fuel was added to the fire when +he was kept waiting five minutes on arriving at police headquarters. + +He found Clancy closeted with a big man who had just lighted a fat +cigar, and this fact in itself betokened official callousness as to +Winifred's fate. Hot words leaped from his lips. + +"Why have you allowed Miss Bartlett to be spirited away? Is there no law +in this State, nor any one who cares whether or not the law is obeyed? +She's gone--taken by force. I'm certain of it." + +"And we also are certain of it, Mr. Carshaw," said Steingall placidly. +"Sit down. Do you smoke? You'll find these cigars in good shape," and he +pushed forward a box. + +"But, is nothing being done?" Nevertheless, Carshaw sat down and took a +cigar. He had sufficient sense to see that bluster was useless and only +meant loss of dignity. + +"Sure. That's why I asked you to come along." + +"You see," put in Clancy, "you short-circuited the connections the night +before last, so we let you cool your heels in the rain this evening. We +want no 'first I will and then I won't' helpers in this business." + +Carshaw met those beady brown eyes steadily. "I deserved that," he said. +"Now, perhaps, you'll forget a passing mood. I have come to like +Winifred." + +Clancy stared suddenly at a clock. + +"Tick, tick!" he said. "Eight fifteen. _Nom d'un pipe_, now I +understand." + +For the first time the true explanation of Senator Meiklejohn's covert +glance at the clock the previous morning had occurred to him. That wily +gentleman wanted Winifred out of the house for her day's work before the +police interviewed Rachel Craik. He had fought hard to gain even a few +hours in the effort to hinder inquiry. + +"What's bitten you, Frog?" inquired the chief. + +Probably--who knows?--but there was some reasonable likelihood that the +Senator's name might have reached Carshaw's ears had not the telephone +bell jangled. Steingall picked up the receiver. + +"Long-distance call. This is it, I guess," and his free hand enjoined +silence. The talk was brief and one-sided. Steingall smiled as he +replaced the instrument. + +"Now, we're ready for you, Mr. Carshaw," he said, lolling back in his +chair again. "The Misses Craik and Bartlett have arrived for the night +at the Maples Inn, Fairfield, Connecticut. Thanks to you, we knew that +some one was desperately anxious that Winifred should leave New York. +Thanks to you, too, she has gone. Neither her aunt nor the other +interested people cared to have her strolling in Central Park with an +eligible and fairly intelligent bachelor like Mr. Rex Carshaw." + +Carshaw's lips parted eagerly, but a gesture stayed him. + +"Yes. Of course, I know you're straining at the leash, but please don't +go off on false trails. You never lose time casting about for the true +line. This is the actual position of affairs: A man known as Ralph V. +Voles, assisted by an amiable person named Mick the Wolf--he was so +christened in Leadville, where they sum up a tough accurately--hauled +Mr. Ronald Tower into the river. For some reason best known to himself, +Mr. Tower treats the matter rather as a joke, so the police can carry +it no further. But Voles is associated with Rachel Craik, and was in her +house during several hours on the night of the river incident and the +night following. It is almost safe to assume that he counseled the +girl's removal from New York because she is 'the image of her mother.' +One asks why this very natural fact should render Winifred Bartlett an +undesirable resident of New York. There is a ready answer. She might be +recognized. Such recognition would be awkward for somebody. But the girl +has lived in almost total seclusion. She is nineteen. If she is so like +her mother as to be recognized, her mother must have been a person of no +small consequence, a lady known to and admired by a very large circle of +friends. The daughter of any other woman, presumably long since dead, +who was not of social importance, could hardly be recognized. You follow +this?" + +"Perfectly." Carshaw was beginning to remodel his opinion of the Bureau +generally, and of its easy-going, genial-looking chief in particular. + +"This fear of recognition, with its certain consequences," went on +Steingall, pausing to flick the ash off his cigar, "is the dominant +factor in Winifred's career as directed by Rachel Craik. This woman, +swayed by some lingering shreds of decent thought, had the child well +educated, but the instant she approaches maturity, Winifred is set to +earn a living in a bookbinding factory. Why? Social New York does not +visit wholesale trade houses, nor travel on the elevated during rush +hours. But it does go to the big stores and fashionable milliners where +a pretty, well proportioned girl can obtain employment readily. +Moreover, Rachel Craik would never 'hear of' the stage, though Winifred +can sing, and believes she could dance. And how prompt recognition might +be in a theater. It all comes to this, Mr. Carshaw: the Bureau's hands +are tied, but it can and will assist an outsider, whom it trusts, who +means rescuing Miss Bartlett from the exile which threatens her. We have +looked you over carefully, and think you are trustworthy--" + +"The Lord help you if you're not!" broke in Clancy. "I like the girl. It +will be a bad day for the man who works her evil." + +Carshaw's eyes clashed with Clancy's, as rapiers rasp in thrust and +parry. From that instant the two men became firm friends, for the young +millionaire said quietly: + +"I have her promise to call for help on me, first, Mr. Clancy." + +"You'll follow her to Fairfield then?" and Steingall sat up suddenly. + +"Yes. Please advise me." + +"That's the way to talk. I wish there was a heap more boys like you +among the Four Hundred. But I can't advise you. I'm an official. +Suppose, however, I were a young gentleman of leisure who wanted to +befriend a deserving young lady in Winifred Bartlett's very peculiar +circumstances. I'd persuade her to leave a highly undesirable 'aunt,' +and strike out for herself. I'd ask my mother, or some other lady of +good standing, to take the girl under her wing, and see that she was +cared for until a place was found in some business or profession suited +to her talents. And that's as far as I care to go at this sitting. As +for the ways and means, in these days of fast cars and dare-devil +drivers who are in daily danger of losing their licenses--" + +"By gad, I'll do it," and Carshaw's emphatic fist thumped the table. + +"Steady! This Voles is a tremendous fellow. In a personal encounter you +would stand no chance. And he's the sort that shoots at sight. Mick the +Wolf, too, is a bad man from the wild and woolly West. The type exists, +even to-day. We have gunmen here in New York who'd clean up a whole +saloonful of modern cowboys. Voles and Mick are in Fairfield, but I've a +notion they'll not stay in the same hotel as Winifred and her aunt. I +think, too, that they may lie low for a day or two. You'll observe, of +course, that Rachel Craik, so poverty-stricken that Winifred had to +earn eight dollars a week to eke out the housekeeping, can now afford to +travel and live in expensive hotels. All this means that Winifred ought +to be urged to break loose and come back to New York. The police will +protect her if she gives them the opportunity, but the law won't let us +butt in between relatives, even supposed ones, without sufficient +justification. One last word--you must forget everything I've said." + +"And another last word," cried Clancy. "The Bureau is a regular old +woman for tittle-tattle. We listen to all sorts of gossip. Some of it is +real news." + +"And, by jing, I was nearly omitting one bit of scandal," said +Steingall. "It seems that Mick the Wolf and a fellow named Fowle met in +a corner saloon round about One Hundred and Twelfth Street the night +before last. They soon grew thick as thieves, and Fowle, it appears, +watched a certain young couple stroll off into the gloaming last night." + +"Next time I happen on Fowle!" growled Carshaw. + +"You'll leave him alone. Brains are better than brawn. Ask Clancy." + +"Sure thing!" chuckled the little man. "Look at us two!" + +"Anyhow, I'd hate to have the combination working against me," and with +this deft rejoinder Carshaw hurried away to a garage where he was +known. At dawn he was hooting an open passage along the Boston Post Road +in a car which temporarily replaced his own damaged cruiser. + +Within three hours he was seated in the dining-room of the Maples Inn +and reading a newspaper. It was the off season, and the hotel contained +hardly any guests, but he had ascertained that Winifred and her aunt +were certainly there. For a long time, however, none but a couple of +German waiters broke his vigil, for this thing happened before the war. +One stout fellow went away. The other, a mere boy, remained and flecked +dust with a napkin, wondering, no doubt, why the motorist sat hours at +the table. At last, near noon, Rachel Craik, with a plaid shawl draped +around her angular shoulders, and Winifred, in a new dress of French +gray, came in. + +Winifred started and cast down her eyes on seeing who was there. +Carshaw, on his part, apparently had no eyes for her, but kept a look +over the top of his newspaper at Rachel Craik, to see whether she +recognized him, supposing it to be a fact that he had been seen with +Winifred. She seemed, however, hardly to be aware of his presence. + +The girl and the woman sat some distance from him--the room was +large--near a window, looking out, and anon exchanging a remark in +quiet voices. Then a lunch was brought into them, Carshaw meantime +buried in the newspaper except when he stole a glance at Winifred. + +His hope was that the woman would leave the girl alone, if only for one +minute, for he had a note ready to slip into Winifred's hand, beseeching +her to meet him that evening at seven in the lane behind the church for +some talk "on a matter of high importance." + +But fortune was against him. Rachel Craik, after her meal, sat again at +the window, took up some knitting, and plied needles like a slow +machine. The afternoon wore on. Finally, Carshaw rang to order his own +late lunch, and the German boy brought it in. He rose to go to table; +but, as if the mere act of rising spurred him to further action, he +walked straight to Winifred. The hours left him were few, and his +impatience had grown to the point of desperateness now. He bowed and +held out the paper, saying: + +"Perhaps you have not seen this morning's newspaper?" At the same time +he presented her the note. + +Miss Craik was sitting two yards away, half-turned from Winifred, but at +this afternoon offer of the morning's paper she glanced round fully at +Winifred, and saw, that as Winifred took the newspaper, she tried to +grasp with it a note also which lay on it--tried, but failed, for the +note escaped, slipped down on Winifred's lap, and lay there exposed. + +Miss Craik's eyebrows lifted a little, but she did not cease her +knitting. Winifred's face was painfully red, and in another moment pale. +Carshaw was not often at his wits' end, but now for some seconds he +stood embarrassed. + +Rachel Craik, however, saved him by saying quickly: "The gentleman has +dropped something in your lap, Winifred." Whereupon Winifred handed back +the unfortunate note. + +What was he to do now? If he wrote to Winifred through the ordinary +channels of the hotel she might, indeed, soon receive the letter, but +the risks of this course were many and obvious. He ate, puzzling his +brains, spurring all his power of invention. The time for action was +growing short. + +Suddenly he noticed the German boy, and had a thought. He could speak +German well, and, guessing that Rachel Craik probably did not understand +a word of it, he said in a natural voice to the boy in German: + +"Fond of American dollars, boy?" + +"_Ja, mein Herr_," answered the boy. + +"I'm going to give you five." + +"You are very good, _mein Herr_," said the boy, "beautiful thanks!" + +"But you have to earn them. Will you do just what I tell you, without +asking for any reason?" + +"If I can, _mein Herr_." + +"Nothing very difficult. You have only to go over yonder by that chair +where I was sitting, throw yourself suddenly on the floor, and begin to +kick and wriggle as though you had a fit. Keep it up for two minutes, +and I will give you not five but ten. Will you do this?" + +"From the heart willingly, _mein Herr_," answered the boy, who had a +solemn face and a complete lack of humor. + +"Wait, then, three minutes, and then--suddenly--do it." + +The three minutes passed in silence; no sound in the room, save the +clicking of Carshaw's knife and fork, and the ply of Rachel Craik's +knitting-needles. Then the boy lounged away to the farther end of the +room; and suddenly, with a bump, he was on the floor and in the promised +fit. + +"Halloo!" cried Carshaw, while from both Winifred and Rachel came little +cries of alarm--for a fit has the same effect as a mouse on the nerves +of women. + +"He's in a fit!" screamed the aunt. + +"Please do something for him!" cried Winifred to Carshaw, with a face of +distress. But he would not stir from his seat. The boy still kicked and +writhed, lying on his face and uttering blood-curdling sounds. This was +easy. He had only to make bitter plaint in the German tongue. + +"Oh, aunt," said Winifred, half risen, yet hesitating for fear, "do help +that poor fellow!" + +Whereupon Miss Craik leaped up, caught the water-jug from the table with +a rather withering look at Carshaw, and hurried toward the boy. Winifred +went after her and Carshaw went after Winifred. + +The older woman turned the boy over, bent down, dipped her fingers in +the water, and sprinkled his forehead. Winifred stood a little behind +her, bending also. Near her, too, Carshaw bent over the now quiet form +of the boy. + +A piece of paper touched Winifred's palm--the note again. This time her +fingers closed on it and quickly stole into her pocket. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE TWO CARS + + +"It is highly improper on my part to come here and meet you," said +Winifred. "What can it be that you have to say to me of such 'high +importance'?" + +The two were in the lane behind the church, at seven that same evening. +Winifred, on some pretext, had escaped the watchful eyes of Rachel +Craik, or fancied that she had, and came hurriedly to the waiting +Carshaw. She was all aflutter with expectancy not untinged by fear, she +knew not of what. The nights were beginning to darken early, and it was +gloomy that evening, for the sky was covered with clouds and a little +drizzle was falling. + +"You are not to think that there is the least hint of impropriety about +the matter," Carshaw assured her. "Understand, please, Winifred, that +this is no lovers' meeting, but a business one, on which your whole +future life depends. You cannot suppose that I have followed you to +Fairfield for nothing." + +"How could you possibly know that I was here?" + +"From the police." + +"The police _again_? What a strange thing!" + +"Yes, a strange thing, and yet not so strange. They are keenly +interested in you and your movements, for your good. And I, of course, +still more so." + +"You are wonderfully good to care. But, tell me quickly, I cannot stay +ten minutes. I think my aunt suspects something. She already knows about +the note dropped to-day into my lap." + +"And about the boy in the fit. Does she suspect that, too?" + +"What, was that a ruse? Good gracious, how artful you must be! I'm +afraid of you--" + +"Endlessly artful for your sake, Winifred." + +"You are kind. But tell me quickly." + +"Winifred, you are in danger, from which there is only one way of escape +for you--namely, absolute trust in me. Pray understand that the dream in +which you heard some one say, 'She must be taken away from New York' was +no dream. You are here in order to be taken. This may be the first stage +of a long journey. Understand also that there is no bond of duty which +forces you to go against your will, for the shrewdest men in the New +York police have reason to think you are not who you imagine you are, +and that the woman you call your aunt is no relative of yours." + +"What reason have they?" asked Winifred. + +"I don't care--I don't know, they have not told me. But I believe them, +and I want you to believe me. The persons who have charge of your +destiny are not normal persons--more or less they have done, or are +connected with wrong. There is no doubt about that. The police know it, +though they cannot yet drag that wrong into the light. Do you credit +what I say?" + +"It is all very strange." + +"It is _true_. That is the point. Have you, by the way, ever seen a man +called Voles?" + +"Voles? No." + +"Yet that man at this moment is somewhere near you. He came in the same +train with you from New York. He is always near you. He is the most +intimate associate of your aunt. Think now, and tell me whether it is +not a disturbing thing that you never saw this man face to face?" + +"Most disturbing, if what you say is so." + +"But suppose I tell you what I firmly believe--that you _have_ seen him; +that it was _his_ face which bent over you in your half-sleep the other +night, and his voice which you heard?" + +"I always thought that it was no dream," said Winifred. "It was--not a +nice face." + +"And remember, Winifred," urged Carshaw earnestly, "that to-day and +to-morrow are your last chances. You are about to be taken far +away--possibly to France or England, as surely as you see those clouds. +True, if you go, I shall go after you." + +"You?" + +"Yes, I. But, if you go, I cannot be certain how far I may be able to +defend and rescue you there, as I can in America. I know nothing of +foreign laws, and those who have you in their power do. On that field +they may easily beat me. So now is your chance, Winifred." + +"But what am I to do?" she asked in a scared tone, frightened at last by +the sincerity blazing from his eyes. + +"Necessity has no rules of propriety," he answered. "I have a car here. +You should come with me this very night to New York. Once back there, it +is only what my interest in you gives me the right to expect that you +will consent to use my purse for a short while, till you find suitable +employment." + +Winifred covered her face and began to cry. "Oh, I couldn't!" she +sobbed. + +"Don't cry," said Carshaw tenderly. "You must, you know, since it is the +only way. You cry because you do not trust me." + +"Oh! I do. But what a thing it is that you propose! To break with all my +past on a sudden. I hardly even know you; last week I had not seen +you--" + +"There, that is mistrust. I know you as well as if I had always known +you. In fact, I always did, in a sense. Please don't cry. Say that you +will come with me to-night. It will be the best piece of work that you +ever did for yourself, and you will always thank me for having persuaded +you." + +"But not to-night! I must have time to reflect, at least." + +"Then, when?" + +"Perhaps to-morrow night. I don't know. I must think it over first in +all its bearings. To-morrow morning I will leave a letter in the office, +telling you--" + +"Well, if you insist on the delay. But it is dangerous, Winifred--it is +horribly dangerous!" + +"I can't help that. How could a girl run away in that fashion?" + +"Well, then, to-morrow night at eleven, precisely. I shall be at the end +of this lane in my car, if your letter in the morning says 'Yes.' Is +that understood?" + +"Yes." + +"Let me warn you against bringing anything with you--any clothes or a +grip. Just steal out of the inn as you are. And I shall be just there at +the corner--at eleven." + +"Yes." + +"I may not have the chance of speaking to you again before--" + +But Carshaw's pleading stopped short; from the near end of the lane a +tall form entered it--Rachel Craik. She had followed Winifred from the +hotel, suspecting that all was not well--had followed her, lost her, and +now had refound her. She walked sedately, with an inscrutable face, +toward the spot where the two were talking. The moment Carshaw saw this +woman of ill omen he understood that all was lost, unless he acted with +bewildering promptness, and quickly he whispered in Winifred's ear: + +"It must be to-night or never! Decide now. 'Yes' or 'No.'" + +"Yes," said Winifred, in a voice so low that he could hardly hear. + +"At eleven to-night?" + +"Yes," she murmured. + +Rachel Craik was now up to them. She was in a vile temper, but contrived +to curb it. + +"What is the meaning of this, Winifred? And who is this gentleman?" she +said. + +Winifred, from the habit of a lifetime, stood in no small awe of that +austere woman. All the blood fled from the girl's face. She could only +say brokenly: + +"I am coming, aunt," and went following with a dejected air a yard +behind her captor. In this order they walked till they arrived at the +door of the Maples Inn, neither having uttered a single word to the +other. There Miss Craik halted abruptly. "Go to your room," she +muttered. "I'm ashamed of you. Sneaking out at night to meet a strange +man! No kitchen-wench could have behaved worse." + +Winifred had no answer to that taunt. She could not explain her motives. +Indeed, she would have failed lamentably had she attempted it. All she +knew was that life had suddenly turned topsy-turvy. She distrusted her +aunt, the woman to whom she seemed to owe duty and respect, and was +inclined to trust a young man whom she had met three times in all. But +she was gentle and soft-hearted. Perhaps, if this Mr. Rex Carshaw, with +his earnest eyes and wheedling voice, could have a talk with "aunty," +his queer suspicions--so oddly borne out by events--might be dissipated. + +"I'm sorry if I seem to have done wrong," she said, laying a timid hand +on Rachel Craik's arm. "If you would only tell me a little, dear. Why +have we left New York? Why--" + +"Do you want to see me in jail?" came the harsh whisper. + +"No. Oh, no. But--" + +"Obey me, then! Remain in your room till I send for you. I'm in danger, +and you, you foolish girl, are actually in league with my enemies. Go!" + +Winifred sped through the porch, and hied her to a window in her room on +the first floor which commanded a view of the main street. She could see +neither Carshaw nor Aunt Rachel, the one having determined to lie low +for a few hours, and the other being hidden from sight already as she +hastened through the rain to the small inn where Voles and Mick the Wolf +were located. + +These worthies were out. The proprietor said they had hired a car and +gone to Bridgeport. Miss Craik could only wait, and she sat in the +lobby, prim and quiet, the picture of resignation, not betraying by a +look or gesture the passions of anger, apprehension, and impatience +which raged in her breast. + +Voles did not come. An hour passed; eight struck, then nine. Once the +word "carousing"! passed Miss Rachel's lips with an intense bitterness; +but, on the whole, she sat with a stiff back, patient as stone. + +Then after ten there came the hum and whir of an automobile driven at +high speed through the rain-sodden main street. It stopped outside the +inn. A minute later the gallant body of Voles entered, cigar in his +mouth, and a look of much champagne in his eyes. + +"What, Rachel, girl, you here!" he said in his offhand way. + +"Are you sober?" asked Rachel, rising quickly. + +"Sober? Never been really soused in my life! What's up?" + +He dropped a huge paw roughly on her shoulder, and her hard eyes +softened as she looked at his face and splendid frame, for Ralph "Voles" +was Rachel Craik's one weakness. + +"What's the trouble?" he went on, seeing that her lips were twitching. + +"You should have been here," she snapped. "Everything may be lost. A man +is down here after Winifred, and I've caught her talking to him in +secret." + +"A cop?" and Voles glanced around the otherwise deserted lobby. + +"I don't know--most probably. Or he may be that same man who was walking +with her on Wednesday night in Central Park. Anyway, this afternoon he +tried to hand her a note in offering her a newspaper. The note fell, and +I saw it. Afterward he managed to get it to her in some way, though I +never for a moment let her out of my sight; and they met about seven +o'clock behind the church." + +"The little cat! She beat you to it, Rachel!" + +"There is no time for talk, Ralph. That man will take her from us, and +then woe to you, to William, to us all. Things come out; they do, they +do--the deepest secrets! Man, man--oh, rouse yourself, sober yourself, +and act! We must be far from this place before morning." + +"No more trains from here--" + +"You could hire a car for your own amusement. Rush her off in that. +Snatch her away to Boston. We may catch a liner to-morrow." + +"But we can't have her seeing us!" + +"We can't help that. It is dark; she won't see your face. Let us be +gone. We must have been watched, or how could that man have found us +out? Ralph! Don't you understand? You must do something." + +"Where's this spy you gab of? I'll--" + +"This is not the Mexican border. You can't shoot here. The man is not +the point, but the girl. She must be gotten away at once." + +"Nothing easier. Off, now to the hotel, and be ready in half an hour. +I'll bring the car around." + +Rachel Craik wanted no further discussion. She reached the Maples Inn in +a flurry of little runs. Before the door she saw two glaring lights, the +lamps of Carshaw's automobile. It was not far from eleven. Even as she +approached the hotel, Carshaw got in and drove down the street. He drew +up on a patch of grass by the roadside at the end of the lane behind +the church. Soon after this he heard a clock strike eleven. + +His eyes peered down the darkness of the lane to see Winifred coming, as +she had promised. It was still drizzling slightly--the night was heavy, +stagnant and silent. Winifred did not come, and Carshaw's brows puckered +with care and foreboding. A quarter of an hour passed, but no light +tread gladdened his ear. Fairfield lay fast asleep. + +Carshaw could no longer sit still. He paced restlessly about the wet +grass to ease his anxious heart. And so another quarter of an hour wore +slowly. Then the sound of a fast-moving car broke the silence. Down the +road a pair of dragon-eyes blazed. The car came like the chariots of +Sennacherib, in reckless flight. Soon it was upon him. He drew back out +of the road toward his own racer. + +Though rather surprised at this urgent flight he had no suspicion that +Winifred might be the cause of it. As the car dashed past he clearly saw +on the front seat two men, and in the tonneau he made out the forms of +two women. The faces of any of the quartet were wholly merged in speed +and the night, but some white object fluttered in the swirl of air and +fell forlornly in the road, dropping swiftly in its final plunge, like a +stricken bird. He darted forward and picked up a lady's handkerchief. +Then he knew! Winifred was being reft from him again. He leaped to his +own car, started the engine, turned with reckless haste, and in a few +seconds was hot in chase. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE PURSUIT + + +The two automobiles rushed along the Boston Post Road, heading for +Bridgeport. The loud rivalry of their straining engines awoke many a +wayside dweller, and brought down maledictions on the heads of all +midnight joy-riders. + +Carshaw knew the road well, and his car was slightly superior to the +other in speed. His hastily evolved plan was to hold the kidnappers +until they were in the main street of Bridgeport. There he could dash +ahead, block further progress, risking a partial collision if necessary, +and refer the instant quarrel to the police, bidding them verify his +version of the dispute by telephoning New York. + +He could only hope that Winifred would bear him out as against her +"aunt," and he felt sure that Voles and his fellow-adventurer dare not +risk close investigation by the law. At any rate, his main object at +present was to overtake the car in front, which had gained a flying +start, and thus spoil any maneuvering for escape, such as turning into a +side road. In his enthusiasm he pressed on too rapidly. + +He was seen, and his intent guessed. The leading car slowed a trifle in +rounding a bend; as Carshaw careened into view a revolver-shot rang out, +and a bullet drilled a neat hole in the wind-screen, making a noise like +the sharp crack of a whip. Simultaneously came a scream! + +That must be Winifred's cry of terror in his behalf. The sound nerved +him anew. He saw red. A second shot, followed by a wilder shriek, spat +lead somewhere in the bonnet. Carshaw set his teeth, gave the engine +every ounce of power, and the two chariots of steel went raging, +reckless of consequences, along the road. + +There must be a special Providence that looks after chauffeurs, as well +as after children and drunkards, for at some places the road, though +wide enough, was so dismal with shadow that if any danger lurked within +the darkness it would not have been seen in time to be avoided. + +"Drunkenness" is, indeed, the word to describe the state of mind of the +two drivers by this time--a heat to be on, a wrath against obstacles, a +storm in the blood, and a light in the eyes. Voles would have whirled +through a battalion of soldiers on the march, if he had met them, and +would have hissed curses at them as he pitched over their bodies. He +knew how to handle an automobile, having driven one over the rough +tracks of the Rockies, so this well-kept road offered no difficulties. +For five minutes the cars raged ahead, passed through a sleeping village +street and down a hill into open country beyond. + +No sound was made by their occupants, whose minds and purposes remained +dark one to the other. Voles might have fancied himself chased by the +flight of witches who harried Tam o' Shanter, while Carshaw might have +been hunting a cargo of ghosts; only the running hum of the cars droned +its music along the highway, with a staccato accompaniment of +revolver-shots and Winifred's appeals to heaven for aid. Meantime, the +rear car still gained on the one in front. And, on a sudden, Carshaw was +aware of a shouting, though he could not make out the words. It was Mick +the Wolf, who had clambered into the tonneau and was bellowing: + +"Pull up, you--Pull up, or I'll get you sure!" + +Nor was the threat a waste of words, for he had hardly shouted when +again a bullet flicked past Carshaw's head. + +Just then a bend of the road and a patch of woodland hid the two cars +from each other; but they had hardly come out upon a reach of straight +road again when another shot was fired. Carshaw, however, was now +crouched low over the steering wheel, and using the hood of the car as a +breast-work; though, since he was obliged to look out, his head was +still more or less exposed. + +He bated no whit of speed on this account, but raced on; still, that +firing in the dark had an effect upon his nerves, making him feel rather +queer and small, for every now and again at intervals of a few seconds, +it was sure to come, the desperado taking slow, cool aim with the +perseverance of a man plying his day's work, of a man repeating to +himself the motto: + +"If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again." + +Those shots, moreover, were coming from a hand whose aim seldom +failed--a dead shot, baffled only by the unconquerable vibration. And +yet Carshaw was untouched. He could not even think. He was conscious +only of the thrum of the car, the spurts of flame, the whistle of lead, +the hysterical frenzy of Winifred's plaints. + +The darkness alone saved him, but the more he caught up with the +fugitive the less was this advantage likely to stand him in good stead. +And when he should actually catch them up--what then? This question +presented itself now to his heated mind. He had no plan of action. None +was possible. Even in Bridgeport what could he do? There were two +against one--he would simply be shot as he passed the other car. + +It was only the heat of the hunt that had created in him the feeling +that he must overtake them, though he died for it; but when he was +within thirty yards of the front car, and two shots had come dangerously +near in swift succession, a flash of reason warned him, and he +determined to slacken speed a little. He was not given time to do this. +There was an outcry on the car in front from three throats in it. + +A mob of oxen, being driven to some market, blocked the road just beyond +a bend. The men in charge had heard the thunder of the oncoming racers, +with its ominous obbligato of screams and shooting. They had striven +desperately to whack the animals to the hedge on either side, and were +bawling loud warnings to those thrice accursed gunmen whom they imagined +chased by police. Their efforts, their yells, were useless. Sixty miles +an hour demands at least sixty yards for safety. When Voles put hand and +foot to the brakes he had hardly a clear space of ten. An obstreperous +bullock was the immediate cause of disaster. Facing the dragon eyes, it +charged valiantly! + +Mick the Wolf, running short of cartridges, was about to ask Voles to +slow down until he "got" the reckless pursuer, when he found himself +describing a parabola backward through the air. He landed in the +roadway, breaking his left arm. + +Voles had an extraordinary lurid oath squeezed out of his vast bulk as +he was forced onto the steering-wheel, the pillar snapping like a +carrot. Winifred and Rachel Craik were flung against the padded back of +the driving seat, but saved from real injury because of their crouching +to avoid Mick the Wolf. + +Voles was as quick as a wildcat in an emergency like this. He was on his +feet in a second, with a leg over the door, meaning to shoot Carshaw ere +the latter could do anything to protect himself. But luck, dead against +honesty thus far, suddenly veered against crime. Carshaw's car smashed +into the rear of the heavy mass composed of crushed bullock and +automobile no longer mobile, and dislocated its own engine and feed +pipes. The jerk threw Voles heavily, and nearly, not quite, sprained his +ankle. So, during a precious second or two, he lay almost stunned on the +left side of the road. + +Carshaw, given a hint of disaster by the slightest fraction of time, and +already braced low in the body of his car, was able to jump unobserved +from the wreck. As though his brain were illumined by a flash of +lightning, he remembered that the signal handkerchief had fluttered from +the off side of the flying car, so he ran to the right, and grabbed a +breathless bundle of soft femininity out of the ruin. + +"Winifred," he gasped. + +"Oh, are you safe?" came the strangled sob. So that was her first +thought, his safety! It is a thrilling moment in a man's life when he +learns that his well-being provides an all-sufficing content for some +dear woman. Come weal, come woe, Carshaw knew then that he was clasping +his future wife in his arms. He ran with her through a mob of frightened +cattle, and discovered a gate leading into a field. + +"Can you stand if I lift you over?" he said, leaning against the bars. + +"Of course! I can run, too," and, in maidenly effort to free herself, +she hugged him closer. They crossed the gate and together breasted a +slight rise through scattered sheaves of corn-shucks. Meanwhile, Voles +and the cattlemen were engaged in a cursing match until Rachel Craik, +recovering her wind, screamed an eldrich command: + +"Stop, you fool! They're getting away. He has taken her down the road!" + +Voles limped off in pursuit, and Mick the Wolf took up the fierce +argument with the drivers. At that instant the wreck blazed into flame. +Rachel had to move quickly to avoid a holocaust in which a hapless +bullock provided the burnt offering. The light of this pyre revealed the +distant figures of Winifred and Carshaw, whereupon the maddened Voles +tried pot shots at a hundred yards. Bullets came close, too. One cut +the heel of Carshaw's shoe; another plowed a ridge through his motoring +cap. Realizing that Voles would aim only at him, he told Winifred to run +wide. + +She caught his hand. + +"Please--help!" she breathed. "I cannot run far." + +He smothered a laugh of sheer joy. Winifred's legs were supple as his. +She was probably the fleeter of the two. It was the mother-instinct that +spoke in her. This was her man, and she must protect him, cover him from +enemies with her own slim body. + +Soon they were safe from even a chance shot. On climbing a rail fence, +Carshaw led the girl clearly into view until a fold in the ground +offered. Then they doubled and zigzagged. They saw some houses, but +Carshaw wanted no explanation or parleying then and pressed on. They +entered a lane, or driveway, and followed it. There came a murmuring of +mighty waters, the voice of the sea; they were on the beach of Long +Island Sound. Far behind, in the gloom, shone a lurid redness, marking +the spot where the two cars and the bullock were being converted into +ardent gasses. + +Carshaw halted and surveyed a long, low line of blackness breaking into +the deep-blue plain of the sea to the right. + +"I know where we are," he said. "There's a hotel on that point. It's +about two miles. You could walk twenty, couldn't you?" + +"Oh, yes," said Winifred unthinkingly. + +"Or run five at a jog-trot?" he teased her. + +"Well--er--" + +She blushed furiously, and thanked the night that hid her from his eyes. +No maid wishes a man to think she is in love with him before he has +uttered the word of love. When next she spoke, Winifred's tone was +reserved, almost distant. + +"Now tell me what has caused this tornado," she said. "I have been +acting on impulse. Please give me some reasonable theory of to-night's +madness." + +It was on the tip of Carshaw's tongue to assure her that they were going +to New York by the first train, and would hie themselves straight to the +City Hall for a marriage license. But--he had a mother, a prized and +deeply reverenced mother. Ought he to break in on her placid and +well-balanced existence with the curt announcement that he was married, +even to a wife like Winifred. Would he be playing the game with those +good fellows in the detective bureau? Was it fair even to Winifred that +she should be asked to pay the immediate price, as it were, of her +rescue? So the fateful words were not uttered, and the two trudged on, +talking with much common sense, probing the doubtful things in +Winifred's past life, and ever avoiding the tumult of passion which must +have followed their first kiss. + +In due course an innkeeper was aroused and the mishap of a car +explained. The man took them for husband and wife; happily, Winifred did +not overhear Carshaw's smothered: + +"Not yet!" + +The girl soon went to her room. They parted with a formal hand-shake; +but, to still the ready lips of scandal, Carshaw discovered the +landlord's favorite brand of wine and sat up all night in his company. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE NEW LINK + + +Steingall and Clancy were highly amused by Carshaw's account of the +"second burning of Fairfield," as the little man described the struggle +between Winifred's abductors and her rescuer. The latter, not so well +versed in his country's history as every young American ought to be, had +to consult a history of the Revolution to learn that Fairfield was +burned by the British in 1777. The later burning, by the way, created a +pretty quarrel between two insurance companies, the proprietors of two +garages and the owner of a certain bullock, with Carshaw's lawyer and a +Bridgeport lawyer, instructed by "Mr. Ralph Voles," as interveners. + +"And where is the young lady now?" inquired Steingall, when Carshaw's +story reached its end. + +"Living in rooms in a house in East Twenty-seventh Street, a quiet place +kept by a Miss Goodman." + +"Ah! Too soon for any planning as to the future, I suppose?" + +"We talked of that in the train. Winifred has a voice, so the stage +offers an immediate opening. But I don't like the notion of musical +comedy, and the concert platform demands a good deal of training, since +a girl starts there practically as a principal. There is no urgency. +Winifred might well enjoy a fortnight's rest. I have counseled that." + +"A stage wait, in fact," put in Clancy, sarcastically. + +By this time Carshaw was beginning to understand the peculiar quality of +the small detective's wit. + +"Yes," he said, smiling into those piercing and brilliant eyes. "There +are periods in a man's life when he ought to submit his desires to the +acid test. Such a time has come now for me." + +"But 'Aunt Rachel' may find her. Is she strong-willed enough to resist +cajoling, and seek the aid of the law if force is threatened?" + +"Yes, I am sure now. What she heard and saw of those two men during the +mad run along the Post Road supplied good and convincing reasons why she +should refuse to return to Miss Craik." + +"Why are you unwilling to charge them with attempted murder?" said +Steingall, for Carshaw had stipulated there should be no legal +proceedings. + +"My lawyers advise against it," he said simply. + +"You've consulted them?" + +"Yes, called in on my way here. When I reached home after seeing +Winifred fixed comfortably in Miss Goodman's, I opened a letter from my +lawyers, requesting an interview--on another matter, of course. Meaning +to marry Winifred, if she'll take me, I thought it wise to tell them +something about recent events." + +Steingall carefully chose a cigar from a box of fifty, all exactly +alike, nipped the end off, and lighted it. Clancy's fingers drummed +impatiently on the table at which the three were seated. Evidently he +expected the chief to play Sir Oracle. But the head of the Bureau +contented himself with the comment that he was still interested in +Winifred Bartlett's history, and would be glad to have any definite +particulars which Carshaw might gather. + +Clancy sighed so heavily on hearing this "departmental" utterance that +Carshaw was surprised. + +"If I could please myself, I'd rush Winifred to the City Hall for a +marriage license to-day," he said, believing he had fathomed the other's +thought. + +"I'm a bit of a Celt on the French and Irish sides," snapped Clancy, +"and that means an ineradicable vein of romance in my make-up. But I'm +a New York policeman, too--a guy who has to mind his own business far +more frequently than the public suspects." + +And there the subject dropped. Truth to tell, the department had to +tread warily in stalking such big game as a Senator. Carshaw was a +friend of the Towers, and "the yacht mystery" had been deliberately +squelched by the highly influential persons most concerned. It was +impolitic, it might be disastrous, if Senator Meiklejohn's name were +dragged into connection with that of the unsavory Voles on the flimsy +evidence, or, rather, mere doubt, affecting Winifred Bartlett's early +life. + +Winifred herself lived in a passive but blissful state of dreams during +the three weeks. Perhaps, in her heart of hearts, she wondered if every +young man who might be in love with a girl imposed such rigid restraint +on himself as Rex Carshaw when he was in her company. The unspoken +language of love was plain in every glance, in every tone, in the merest +touch of their hands. But he spoke no definite word, and their lips had +never met. + +Miss Goodman, who took an interest in the pretty and amiable girl, spent +many an hour of chat with her. Every morning there arrived a present of +flowers from Carshaw; every afternoon Carshaw himself appeared as +regularly as the clock and drank of Miss Goodman's tea. They were weeks +of _Nirvana_ for Winifred, and, but for her fear of being found out and +her continued lack of occupation, they were the happiest she had ever +known. Meantime, however, she was living on "borrowed" money, and felt +herself in a false position. + +"Well, any news?" was always Carshaw's first question as he placed his +hat over his stick on a chair. And Winifred might reply: + +"Not much. I saw such-and-such a stage manager, and went from such an +agent to another, and had my voice tried, with the usual promises. I'm +afraid that even your patience will soon be worn out. I am sorry now +that I thought of singing instead of something else, for there are +plenty of girls who can sing much better than I." + +"But don't be so eager about the matter, Winifred," he would say. "It is +an anxious little heart that eats itself out and will not learn repose. +Isn't it? And it chafes at being dependent on some one who is growing +weary of the duty. Doesn't it?" + +"No, I didn't mean that," said Winifred with a rueful and tender smile. +"You are infinitely good, Rex." They had soon come to the use of +Christian names. Outwardly they were just good friends, while inwardly +they resembled two active volcanoes. + +"Now I am 'infinitely good,' which is really more than human if you +think it out," he laughed. "See how you run to extremes with nerves and +things. No, you are not to care at all, Winnie. You have a more or less +good voice. You know more music than is good for you, and sooner or +later, since you insist on it, you will get what you want. Where is the +hurry?" + +"You don't or won't understand," said Winifred. "I know what I want, and +must get some work without delay." + +"Well, then, since it upsets you, you shall. I am not much of an +authority about professional matters myself, but I know a lady who +understands these things, and I'll speak to her." + +"Who is this lady?" asked Winifred. + +"Mrs. Ronald Tower." + +"Young--nice-looking?" asked Winifred, looking down at the crochet work +in her lap. She was so taken up with the purely feminine aspect of +affairs that she gave slight heed to a remarkable coincidence. + +"Er--so-so," said Carshaw with a smile borne of memories, which +Winifred's downcast eyes just noticed under their raised lids. + +"What is she like?" she went on. + +"Let me see! How shall I describe her? Well, you know Gainsborough's +picture of the Duchess of Devonshire? She's like that, full-busted, +with preposterous hats, dashing--rather a beauty!" + +"Indeed!" said Winifred coldly. "She must be awfully attractive. A +_very_ old friend?" + +"Oh, rather! I knew her when I was eighteen, and she was _elancee_ +then." + +"What does _elancee_ mean?" + +"On the loose." + +"What does _that_ mean?" + +"Well--a bit free and easy, doesn't it? Something of that sort. Smart +set, you know." + +"I see. Do _you_, then, belong to the smart set?" + +"I? No. I dislike it rather. But one rubs with all sorts in the grinding +of the mill." + +"And this Mrs. Ronald Tower, whom you knew at eighteen, how old was she +then?" + +"About twenty-two or so." + +"And she was--gay then?" + +"As far as ever society would let her." + +"How--did you know?" + +"I--well, weren't we almost boy and girl together?" + +"I wonder you can give yourself the pains to come to spend your precious +minutes with me when that sort of woman is within--" + +"What, not jealous?" he cried joyously. "And of that _passee_ creature? +Why, she isn't worthy to stoop and tie the latchets of your shoes, as +the Scripture saith!" + +"Still, I'd rather not be indebted to that lady for anything," said +Winifred. + +"But why not? Don't be excessive, little one. There is no reason, you +know." + +"How does she come to know about singing and theatrical people?" + +"I don't know that she does. I only assume it. A woman of the world, +cutting a great dash, yet hard up--that kind knows all sorts and +conditions of men. I am sure she could help you, and I'll have a try." + +"But is she the wife of the Ronald Tower who was dragged by the lasso +into the river?" + +"The same." + +"It is odd how that name keeps on occurring in my life," said Winifred +musingly. "A month ago I first heard it on Riverside Drive, and since +then I hear it always. I prefer, Rex, that you do not say anything to +that woman about me." + +"I shall!" said Rex playfully. "You mustn't start at shadows." + +Winifred was silent. After a time she asked: + +"Have you seen Mr. Steingall or Mr. Clancy lately?" + +"Yes, a couple of days ago. We are always more or less in communication. +But I have nothing to report. They're keeping track of Voles and Mick +the Wolf, but those are birds who don't like salt on their tails. You +know already that the Bureau never ceases to work at the mystery of your +relation with your impossible 'aunt,' and I think they have information +which they have not passed on to me." + +"Is my aunty still searching for me, I wonder?" asked Winifred. + +"Oh, don't call her aunty--call her your antipodes! It is more than that +woman knows how to be your aunt. Of course, the whole crew of them are +moving heaven and earth to find you! Clancy knows it. But let them +try--they won't succeed. And even if they do, please don't forget that +I'm here now!" + +"But why should they be so terribly anxious to find me? My aunty always +treated me fairly well, but in a cold sort of a way which did not betray +much love. So love can't be their motive." + +"Love!" And Carshaw breathed the word softly, as though it were pleasing +to his ear. "No. They have some deep reason, but what that is is more +than any one guesses. The same reason made them wish to take you far +from New York, though what it all means is not very clear. Time, +perhaps, will show." + +The same night Rex Carshaw sat among a set which he had not frequented +much of late--in Mrs. Tower's drawing-room. There were several tables +surrounded with people of various American and foreign types playing +bridge. The whole atmosphere was that of Mammon; one might have fancied +oneself in the halls of a Florentine money-changer. At the same table +with Carshaw were Mrs. Tower, another society dame, and Senator +Meiklejohn, who ought to have been making laws at Washington. + +Tower stood looking on, the most unimportant person present, and anon +ran to do some bidding of his wife's. Carshaw's only relation with Helen +Tower of late had been to allow himself to be cheated by her at bridge, +for she did not often pay, especially if she lost to one who had been +something more than a friend. When he did present himself at her house, +she felt a certain gladness apart from the money which he would lose; +women ever keep some fragment of the heart which the world is not +permitted to scar and harden wholly. + +She grew pensive, therefore, when he told her that he wished to place a +girl on the concert stage, and wished to know from her how best to +succeed. She thought dreamily of other days, and the slightest pin-prick +of jealousy touched her, for Carshaw had suddenly become earnest in +broaching this matter, and the other pair of players wondered why the +game was interrupted for so trivial a cause. + +"What is the girl's name?" she asked. + +"Her name is of no importance, but, if you must know, it is Winifred +Bartlett," he answered. + +Senator Meiklejohn laid his thirteen cards face upward on the table. +There had been no bidding, and his partner screamed in protest: + +"Senator, what are you doing?" + +He had revealed three aces and a long suit of spades. + +"We must have a fresh deal," smirked Mrs. Tower. + +"Well, of all the wretched luck!" sighed the other woman. Meiklejohn +pleaded a sudden indisposition, yet lingered while a servant summoned +Ronald Tower to play in his stead. + +Carshaw knew Winifred--that same Winifred whom he and his secret +intimates had sought so vainly during three long weeks! Voles and his +arm-fractured henchman were recuperating in Boston, but Rachel Craik and +Fowle were hunting New York high and low for sight of the girl. + +Fowle, though skilled in his trade, found well-paid loafing more to his +choice, for Voles had sent Rachel to Fowle, guessing this man to be of +the right kidney for underhanded dealings. Moreover, he knew Winifred, +and would recognize her anywhere. Fowle, therefore, suddenly blossomed +into a "private detective," and had reported steady failure day after +day. Rachel Craik had never ascertained Carshaw's name, as it was not +necessary that he should register in the Fairfield Inn, and Fowle, with +a nose still rather tender to the touch, never spoke to her of the man +who had smashed it. + +So these associates in evil remained at cross-purposes until Senator +Meiklejohn, when the bridge game was renewed and no further information +was likely to ooze out, went away from Mrs. Tower's house to nurse his +sickness. He recovered speedily. A note was sent to Rachel by special +messenger, and she, in turn, sought Fowle, whose mean face showed a +blotchy red when he learned that Winifred could be traced by watching +Carshaw. + +"I'll get her now, ma'am," he chuckled. "It'll be dead easy. I can make +up as a parson. Did that once before when--well, just to fool a bunch of +people. No one suspects a parson--see? I'll get her--sure!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A SUBTLE ATTACK + + +Voles was brought from Boston. Though Meiklejohn dreaded the man, +conditions might arise which would call for a bold and ruthless +rascality not quite practicable for a Senator. + +The lapse of time, too, had lulled the politician's suspicions of the +police. They seemed to have ceased prying. He ascertained, almost by +chance, that Clancy was hot on the trail of a gang of counterfeiters. +"The yacht mystery" had apparently become a mere memory in the Bureau. + +So Voles came, with him Mick the Wolf, carrying a left arm in splints, +and the Senator thought he was taking no risk in calling at the up-town +hotel where the pair occupied rooms the day after Carshaw blurted out +Winifred's name to Helen Tower. He meant paying another visit that day, +so was attired _de rigueur_, a fact at which Voles, pipe in mouth and +lounging in pajamas, promptly scoffed. + +"Gee!" he cried. "Here's the Senator mooching round again, dressed up to +the nines--dust coat, morning suit, boots shining, all the frills--but +visiting low companions all the same. Why doesn't the man turn over a +new leaf and become good?" + +"Oh, hold your tongue!" said William. "We've got the girl, Ralph!" + +"Got the girl, have we? Not the first girl you've said that about--is +it, my wily William?" + +"Listen, and drop that tone when you're speaking to me, or I'll cut you +out for good and all!" said Meiklejohn in deadly earnest. "If ever you +had need to be serious, it is now. I said we've got her, but that only +means that we are about to get her address; and the trouble will be to +get herself afterward." + +"Tosh! As to that, only tell me where she is, an' I'll go and grab her +by the neck." + +"Don't be such a fool. This is New York and not Mexico, though you +insist on confounding the two. Even if the girl were without friends, +you can't go and seize people in that fashion over here, and she has at +least one powerful friend, for the man who beat you hollow that night, +and carried her off under your very nose, is Rex Carshaw, a determined +youngster, and rich, though not so rich as he thinks he is. And there +must be no failure a second time, Ralph. Remember that! Just listen to +me carefully. This girl is thinking of going on the stage! Do you +realize what that means, if she ever gets there? You have yourself said +she is the living image of her mother. You know that her mother was well +known in society. Think, then, of her appearing before the public, and +of the certainty of her being recognized by some one, or by many, if she +does. Fall down this time, and the game's up!" + +"The thing seems to be, then, to let daylight into Carshaw," said Voles. + +"Oh, listen, man! Listen! What we have to do is to place her in a lonely +house--in the country--where, if she screams, her screams will not be +heard; and the only possibility of bringing her there is by ruse, not by +violence." + +"Well, and how get her there?" + +"That has to be carefully planned, and even more carefully executed. It +seems to me that the mere fact of her wishing to go on the stage may be +made a handle to serve our ends. If we can find a dramatic agent with +whom she is in treaty, we must obtain a sheet of his office paper, and +write her a letter in his name, making an appointment with her at an +empty house in the country, some little distance from New York. None of +the steps presents any great difficulty. In fact, all that part I +undertake myself. It will be for you, your friend Mick, and Rachel Craik +to receive her and keep her eternally when you once have her. You may +then be able so to work upon her as to persuade her to go quietly with +you to South America or England. In any case, we shall have shut her +away from the world, which is our object." + +"Poor stuff! How about this Carshaw? Suppose he goes with her to keep +the appointment, or learns from her beforehand of it? Carshaw must be +wiped out." + +"He must certainly be dealt with, yes," said Meiklejohn, "but in another +manner. I think--I think I see my way. Leave him to me. I want this girl +out of New York State in the first instance. Suppose you go to the +Oranges, in New Jersey, pick out a suitable house, and rent it? Go +to-day." + +Voles raised his shaggy eyebrows. + +"What's the rush?" he said amusedly. "After eighteen years--" + +"Will you never learn reason? Every hour, every minute, may bring +disaster." + +"Oh, have it your way! I'll fix Carshaw if he camps on my trail a second +time." + +Meiklejohn returned to his car with a care-seamed brow. He was bound now +for Mrs. Carshaw's apartment. + +If he was fortunate enough to find her in, and alone, he would take that +first step in "dealing with" her son which he had spoken of to Voles. He +made no prior appointment by phone. He meant catching her unawares, so +that Rex could have no notion of his presence. + +Mrs. Carshaw was a substantial lady of fifty, a society woman of the +type to whom the changing seasons supply the whole duty of man and +woman, and the world outside the orbit of the Four Hundred is a rumor of +no importance. + +She had met Senator Meiklejohn in so many places for so many years that +they might be called comrades in the task of dining and making New York +look elegant. She was pleased to see him. Their common fund of scandal +and epigram would carry them safely over a cheerful hour. + +"And as to the good old firm of Carshaw--prosperous as usual, I hope," +said Meiklejohn, balancing an egg-shell tea-cup. + +Mrs. Carshaw shrugged. + +"I don't know much about it," she said, "but I sometimes hear talk of +bad times and lack of capital. I suppose it is all right. Rex does not +seem concerned." + +"Ah! but the mischief may be just there," said Meiklejohn. "The rogue +may be throwing it all on the shoulders of his managers, and letting +things slide." + +"He may--he probably is. I see very little of him, really, especially +just lately." + +"Is it the same little influence at work upon him as some months ago?" +asked Meiklejohn, bending nearer, a real confidential crony. + +"Which same little influence?" asked the lady, agog with a sense of +secrecy, and genuinely anxious as to anything affecting her son. + +"Why, the girl, Winifred Bartlett." + +"Bartlett! As far as I know, I have never even heard her name." + +"Extraordinary! Why, it's the talk of the club." + +"Tell me. What is it all about?" + +"Ah, I must not be indiscreet. When I mentioned her, I took it for +granted that you knew all about it, or I should not have told tales out +of school." + +"Yes, but you and I are of a different generation than Rex. He belongs +to the spring, we belong to the autumn. There is no question of telling +tales out of school as between you and him. So now, please, you are +going to tell me _all_." + +"Well, the usual story: A girl of lower social class; a young man's head +turned by her wiles; the conventions more or less defied; business +yawned at; mother, friends, everything shelved for the time being, and +nothing important but the one thing. It's not serious, perhaps. So long +as business is not _too_ much neglected, and no financial consequences +follow, society thinks not a whit worse of a young man on that +account--on one condition, mark you! There must be no question of +marriage. But in this case there _is_ that question." + +"But this is merely ridiculous!" laughed Mrs. Carshaw shrilly. +"Marriage! Can a son of mine be so quixotic?" + +"It is commonly believed that he is about to marry her." + +"But how on earth has it happened that I never heard a whisper of this +preposterous thing?" + +"It _is_ extraordinary. Sometimes the one interested is the last to hear +what every one is talking about." + +"Well, I never was so--amused!" Yet Mrs. Carshaw's wintry smile was not +joyous. "Rex! I must laugh him out of it, if I meet him anywhere!" + +"That you will not succeed in doing, I think." + +"Well, then I'll frown him out of it. This is why--I see all now." + +"There you are hardly wise, to think of either laughing or frowning him +out of it," said Meiklejohn, offering her worldly wisdom. "No, in such +cases there is a better way, take my word for it." + +"And that is?" + +"Approach the girl. Avoid carefully saying one word to the young man, +but approach _the girl_. That does it, if the girl is at all decent, and +has any sensibility. Lay the facts plainly before her. Take her into +your confidence--this flatters her. Invoke her love for the young man +whom she is hurting by her intimacy with him--this puts her on her +honor. Urge her to fly from him--this makes her feel herself a martyr, +and turns her on the heroic tack. That is certainly what I should do if +I were you, and I should do it without delay." + +"You're right. I'll do it," said Mrs. Carshaw. "Do you happen to know +where this girl is to be found?" + +"No. I think I can tell, though, from whom you might get the +address--Helen Tower. I heard your son talking to her last night about +the girl. He was wanting to know whether Helen could put him in the way +of placing her on the stage." + +"What! Is she one of those scheming chorus-girls?" + +"It appears so." + +"But has he had the effrontery to mention her in this way to other +ladies? It is rather amusing! Why, it used to be said that Helen Tower +was his _belle amie_." + +"All the more reason, perhaps, why she may be willing to give you the +address, if she knows it." + +"I'll see her this very afternoon." + +"Then I must leave you at leisure now," said Meiklejohn sympathetically. + +An hour later Mrs. Carshaw was with Helen Tower, and the name of +Winifred Bartlett arose between them. + +"But he did not give me her address," said Mrs. Tower. "Do you want it +pressingly?" + +"Why, yes. Have you not heard that there is a question of marriage?" + +"Good gracious! Marriage?" + +The two women laid their heads nearer together, enjoying the awfulness +of the thing, though one was a mother and the other was pricked with +jealousy in some secret part of her nature. + +"Yes--marriage!" repeated the mother. Such an enormity was dreadful. + +"It sounds too far-fetched! What will you do?" + +"Senator Meiklejohn recommends me to approach the girl." + +"Well, perhaps that is the best. But how to get her address? Perhaps if +I asked Rex he would tell it, without suspecting anything. On the other +hand, he might take alarm." + +"Couldn't you say you had secured her a place on the stage, and make him +send her to you, to test her voice, or something? And then you could +send her on to me," said the elder woman. + +"Yes, that might be done," answered Helen Tower. "I'd like to see her, +too. She must be extraordinarily pretty to capture Rex. Some of those +common girls are, you know. It is a caprice of Providence. Anyway, I +shall find her out, or have her here somehow within the next few days, +and will let you know. First of all, I'll write Rex and ask him to come +for bridge to-night." + +She did this, but without effect, for Carshaw was engaged elsewhere, +having taken Winifred to a theater. + +However, Meiklejohn was again at the bridge party, and when he asked +whether Mrs. Carshaw had paid a visit that afternoon, and the address of +the girl had been given, Helen Tower answered: + +"I don't know it. I am now trying to find out." + +The Senator seemed to take thought. + +"I hate interfering," he said at last, "but I like young Carshaw, and +have known his mother many a year. It's a pity he should throw himself +away on some chit of a girl, merely because she has a fetching pair of +eyes or a slim ankle, or Heaven alone knows what else it is that first +turns a young man's mind to a young woman. I happen to have heard, +however, that Winifred Bartlett lives in a boarding-house kept by Miss +Goodman in East Twenty-seventh Street. Now, my name must not--" + +Helen Tower laughed in that dry way which often annoyed him. + +"Surely by this time you regard me as a trustworthy person," she said. + +So Fowle had proven himself a capable tracker, and Winifred's +persecutors were again closing in on her. But who would have imagined +that the worst and most deadly of them might be the mother of her Rex? +That, surely, was something akin to steeping in poison the assassin's +dagger. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE VISITOR + + +"Are you Miss Winifred Bartlett?" asked Mrs. Carshaw the next afternoon +in that remote part of East Twenty-seventh Street which for the first +time bore the rubber tires of her limousine. + +"Yes, madam," said Winifred, who stood rather pale before that large and +elegant presence. It was in the front room of the two which Winifred +occupied. + +"But--where have I seen you before?" asked Mrs. Carshaw suddenly, making +play with a pair of mounted eye-glasses. + +"I cannot say, madam. Will you be seated?" + +"What a pretty girl you are!" exclaimed the visitor, wholly unconscious +of the calm insolence which "society" uses to its inferiors. "I'm +certain I have seen you somewhere, for your face is perfectly familiar, +but for the life of me I cannot recall the occasion." + +Mrs. Carshaw was not mistaken. Some dim cell of memory was stirred by +the girl's likeness to her mother. For once Senator Meiklejohn's +scheming had brought him to the edge of the precipice. But the +dangerous moment passed. Rex's mother was thinking of other and more +immediate matters. Winifred stood silent, scared, with a foreboding of +the meaning of this tremendous visit. + +"Now, I am come to have a quiet chat with you," said Mrs. Carshaw, "and +I only hope that you will look on me as a friend, and be perfectly at +your ease. I am sorry the nature of my visit is not of a quite pleasant +nature, but no doubt we shall be able to understand each other, for you +look good and sweet. Where have I seen you before? You are a sweetly +pretty girl, do you know? I can't altogether blame poor Rex, for men +are not very rational creatures, are they? Come, now, and sit quite +near beside me on this chair, and let me talk to you." + +Winifred came and sat, with tremulous lip, not saying a word. + +"First, I wish to know something about yourself," said Mrs. Carshaw, +trying honestly to adopt a motherly tone. "Do you live here all alone? +Where are your parents?" + +"I have none--as far as I know. Yes, I live here alone, for the +present." + +"But no relatives?" + +"I have an aunt--a sort of aunt--but--" + +"You are mysterious--'a sort of aunt.' And is this 'sort of aunt' with +you here?" + +"No. I used to live with her, but within the last month we +have--separated." + +"Is that my son's doings?" + +"No--that is--no." + +"So you are quite alone?" + +"Yes." + +"And my son comes to see you?" + +"He comes--yes, he comes." + +"But that is rather defiant of everything, is it not?" + +A blush of almost intense carmine washed Winifred's face and neck. Mrs. +Carshaw knew how to strike hard. Every woman knows how to hurt another +woman. + +"Miss Goodman, my landlady, usually stays in here when he comes," said +she. + +"All the time?" + +"Most of the time." + +"Well, I must not catechise you. No one woman has the right to do that +to another, and you are sweet to have answered me at all. I think you +are good and true; and you will therefore find it all the easier to +sympathize with my motives, which have your own good at heart, as well +as my son's. First of all, do you understand that my son is very much in +love with you?" + +"I--you should not ask me--I may have thought that he liked me. +Has--he--told you so?" + +"He has never mentioned your name to me. I never knew of your existence +till yesterday. But it is so; he is fond of you, to such an unusual +extent, that quite a scandal has arisen in his social set--" + +"Not about me?" + +"Yes." + +"But there is nothing----" + +"Yes; it is reported that he intends to marry you." + +"And is that what the scandal is about? I thought the scandal was when +you did not marry, not when you did." + +Mrs. Carshaw permitted herself to be surprised. She had not looked for +such weapons in Winifred's armory. But she was there to carry out what +she deemed an almost sacred mission, and the righteous can be horribly +unjust. + +"Yes, in the middle classes, but not in the upper, which has its own +moral code--not a strictly Biblical one, perhaps," she retorted glibly. +"With us the scandal is not that you and my son are friends, but that he +should seriously think of marrying you, since you are on such different +levels. You see, I speak plainly." + +Winifred suddenly covered her face with her hands. For the first time +she measured the great gulf yawning between her and that dear hope +growing up in her heart. + +"That is how the matter stands before marriage," went on Mrs. Carshaw, +sure that she was kind in being merciless. "You can conceive how it +would be afterwards. And society is all nature--it never forgives; or, +if it forgives, it may condone sins, but never an indiscretion. Nor must +you think that your love would console my son for the great social loss +which his connection with you threatens to bring on him. It will console +him for a month, but a wife is not a world, nor, however beloved, does +she compensate for the loss of the world. If, therefore, you love my +son, as I take it that you do--do you?" + +Winifred's face was covered. She did not answer. + +"Tell me in confidence. I am a woman, too, and know--" + +A sob escaped from the poor bowed head. Mrs. Carshaw was moved. She had +not counted on so hard a task. She had even thought of money! + +"Poor thing! That will make your duty very hard. I wish--but there is no +use in wishing! Necessity knows no pity. Winifred, you must summon all +your strength of mind, and get out of this false position." + +"What am I to do? What can I do?" wailed Winifred. She was without means +or occupation, and could not fly from the house. + +"You can go away," said Mrs. Carshaw, "without letting him know whither +you have gone, and till you go you can throw cold water on his passion +by pretending dislike or indifference--" + +"But could I do such a thing, even if I tried?" came the despairing cry. + +"It will be hard, certainly, but a woman should be able to accomplish +everything for the man she loves. Remember for whose sake you will be +doing it, and promise me before I leave you." + +"Oh, you should give me time to think before I promise anything," sobbed +Winifred. "I believe I shall go mad. I am the most unfortunate girl that +ever lived. I did not seek him--he sought me; and now, when I--Have you +no pity?" + +"You see that I have--not only pity, but confidence. It is hard, but I +feel that you will rise to it. I, and you, are acting for Rex's sake, +and I hope, I believe, you will do your share in saving him. And now I +must go, leaving my sting behind me. I am so sorry! I never dreamed that +I should like you so well. I have seen you before somewhere--it seems to +me in an old dream. Good-by, good-by! It had to be done, and I have done +it, but not gladly. Heaven help us women, and especially all mothers!" + +Winifred could not answer. She was choked with sobs, so Mrs. Carshaw +took her departure in a kind of stealthy haste. She was far more +unhappy now than when she entered that quiet house. She came in +bristling with resolution. She went out, seemingly victorious, but +feeling small and mean. + +When she was gone Winifred threw herself on a couch with buried head, +and was still there an hour later when Miss Goodman brought up a letter. +It was from a dramatic agent whom she had often haunted for work--or +rather it was a letter on his office paper, making an appointment +between her and a "manager" at some high-sounding address in East +Orange, New Jersey, when, the writer said, "business might result." + +She had hardly read it when Rex Carshaw's tap came to the door. + +About that same time Steingall threw a note across his office table to +Clancy, who was there to announce that in a house in Brooklyn a fine +haul of coiners, dies, presses, and other illicit articles, human and +inanimate, had just been made. + +"Ralph V. Voles and his bad man from the West have come back to New York +again," said the chief. "You might give 'em an eye." + +"Why on earth doesn't Carshaw marry the girl?" said Clancy. + +"I dunno. He's straight, isn't he?" + +"Strikes me that way." + +"Me, too. Anyhow, let's pick up a few threads. I've a notion that +Senator Meiklejohn thinks he has side-stepped the Bureau." + +Clancy laughed. His mirth was grotesque as the grin of one of those +carved ivories of Japan, and to the effect of the crinkled features was +added a shrill cackle. The chief glanced up. + +"Don't do that," he said sharply. "You get my goat when you make that +beastly noise!" + +These two were beginning again to snap at each other about the Senator +and his affairs, and their official quarrels usually ended badly for the +other fellow. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +WINIFRED DRIFTS + + +Winifred, pale as death, rose to receive her lover, with that letter in +her hand which made an appointment with her at a house in East Orange; a +letter which she believed to have been written by a dramatic agent, but +which was actually inspired by Senator Meiklejohn. It was the bait of +the trap which should put her once more in the power of Meiklejohn and +his accomplices. + +During a few tense seconds the girl prayed for power to play the bitter +part which had been thrust upon her--to play it well for the sake of the +man who loved her, and whom she loved. The words of his mother were +still in her ears. She had to make him think that she did not care for +him. In the last resort she had to fly from him. She had tacitly +promised to do this woeful thing. + +Far enough from her innocent mind was it to dream that the visit of +Rex's mother had been brought about by her enemies in order to deprive +her of a protector and separate her from her lover at the very time +when he was most necessary to save her. + +Carshaw entered in high spirits. "Well, I have news--" he began. "But, +hello! What's the matter?" + +"With whom?" asked Winifred. + +"You look pale." + +"Do I? It is nothing." + +"You have been crying, surely." + +"Have I?" + +"Tell me. What is wrong?" + +"Why should I tell _you_, if anything is wrong?" + +He stood amazed at this speech. "Odd words," said he, looking at her in +a stupor of surprise, almost of anger. "Whom should you tell but me?" + +This touched Winifred, and, struggling with the lump in her throat, she +said, unsteadily: "I am not very well to-day; if you will leave me now, +and come perhaps some other time, you will oblige me." + +Carshaw strode nearer and caught her shoulder. + +"But what a tone to me! Have I done something wrong, I wonder? Winnie, +what is it?" + +"I have told you I am not very well. I do not desire your +company--to-day." + +"Whew! What majesty! It must be something outrageous. But what? Won't +you be dear and kind, and tell me?" + +"You have done nothing." + +"Yes, I have. I think I can guess. I spoke of Helen Tower yesterday as +of an old sweetheart--was that it? And it is all jealousy. Surely I +didn't say much. What on earth did I say? That she was like a +Gainsborough; that she was rather a beauty; that she was _elancee_ at +twenty-two. But I didn't mean any harm. Why, it's jealousy!" + +At this Winifred drew herself up to discharge a thunderbolt, and though +she winced at the Olympian effort, managed to say distinctly: + +"There can be no jealousy where there is no love." + +Carshaw stood silent, momentarily stunned, like one before whom a +thunderbolt has really exploded. At last, looking at the pattern of a +frayed carpet, he said humbly enough: + +"Well, then, I must be a very unfortunate sort of man, Winifred." + +"Don't believe me!" Winifred wished to cry out. But the words were +checked on her white lips. The thought arose in her, "He that putteth +his hand to the plow and looketh back--" + +"It is sudden, this truth that you tell me," went on Carshaw. "Is it a +truth?" + +"Yes." + +"You are not fond of me, Winnie?" + +"I have a liking for you." + +"That's all?" + +"That is all." + +"Don't say it, dear. I suffer." + +"Do you? No, don't suffer. I--can't help myself." + +"You are sorry for me, then?" + +"Oh, yes." + +"But how came I, then, to have the opposite impression so strongly? I +think--I can't help thinking--that it was your fault, dear. You made me +hope, perhaps without meaning me to, that--that life was to be happy for +me. When I entered that door just now no man in New York had a lighter +step than I, or a more careless heart. I shall go out of it--different, +dear. You should not have allowed me to think--what I did; and you +should not have told me the truth so--quite so--suddenly." + +"Sit down. You are not fair to me. I did not know you cared--" + +"You--you did not know that I cared? Come, that's not true, girl!" + +"Not so much, I mean--not quite so much. I thought that you were +flirting with me, as I--perhaps--was flirting with you." + +"Who is that I hear speaking? Is it Winifred? The very sound of her +voice seems different. Am I dreaming? She flirting with me? I don't +realize her--it is a different girl! Oh! this thing comes to me like a +falling steeple. It had no right to happen!" + +"You should sit down, or you should go; better go--better, better go," +and Winifred clutched wildly at her throat. "Let us part now, and let us +never meet!" + +"If you like, if you wish it," said Carshaw, still humbly, for he was +quite dazed. "It seems sudden. I am not sure if it is a dream or not. It +isn't a happy one, if it is. But have we no business to discuss before +you send me away in this fashion? Do you mean to throw off my help as +well as myself?" + +"I shall manage. I have an offer of work here in my hands. I shall soon +be at work, and will then send the amount of the debt which I owe you, +though you care nothing about that, and I know that I can never repay +you for all." + +"Yes, that is true, too, in a way. Am I, then, actually to go?" + +"Yes." + +"But you are not serious? Think of my living on, days and years, and not +seeing you any more. It seems a pitiable thing, too. Even you must be +sorry for me." + +"Yes, it seems a pitiable thing!" + +"So--what do you say?" + +"Good-by. Go--go!" + +"But you will at least let me know where you are? Don't be quite lost to +me." + +"I shall be here for some time. But you won't come. I mustn't see you. I +demand that much." + +"No, no. I won't come, you may be sure. And you, on your part, promise +that if you have need of money you will let me know? That is the least I +can expect of you." + +"I will; but go. I will have you in my--memory. Only go from me now, if +you--love--" + +"Good-by, then. I do not understand, but good-by. I am all in, Winnie; +but still, good-by. God bless you--" + +He kissed her hand and went. Her skin was cold to his lips, and, in a +numb way, he wondered why. A moment after he had disappeared she called +his name, but in an awful, hushed voice which he could not hear; and she +fell at her length on the couch. + +"Rex! My love! My dear love," she moaned, and yet he did not hear, for +the sky had dropped on him. + +There she lay a little while, yet it was not all pain with her. There is +one sweetest sweet to the heart, one drop of intensest honey, sweeter to +it than any wormwood is bitter, which consoled her--the consciousness of +self-sacrifice, of duty done, of love lost for love's sake. Mrs. Carshaw +had put the girl on what Senator Meiklejohn cynically called "the heroic +tack"; and, having gone on that tack, Winifred deeply understood that +there was a secret smile in it, and a surprising light. She lay catching +her breath till Miss Goodman brought up the tea-tray, expecting to find +the cheery Carshaw there as usual, for she had not heard him go out. + +Instead, she found Winifred sobbing on the couch, for Winifred's grief +was of that depth which ceases to care if it is witnessed by others. The +good landlady came, therefore, and knelt by Winifred's side, put her arm +about her, and began to console and question her. The consolation did no +good, but the questions did. For, if one is persistently questioned, one +must answer something sooner or later, and the mind's effort to answer +breaks the thread of grief, and so the commonplace acts as a medicine to +tragedy. + +In the end Winifred was obliged to sit up and go to the table where the +tea-things were. This was in itself a triumph; and her effort to secure +solitude and get rid of Miss Goodman was a further help toward throwing +off her mood of despair. By the time Miss Goodman was gone the storm was +somewhat calmed. + +During that sad evening, which she spent alone, she read once more the +letter making the appointment with her at East Orange. Now, reading it a +second time, she felt a twinge of doubt. Who could it be, she wondered, +whom she would have to see there? East Orange was some way off. A +meeting of this sort usually took place in New York, at an office. + +Her mind was not at all given to suspicions, but on reading over the +letter for the third time, she now noticed that the signature was not in +the handwriting of the agent. She knew his writing quite well, for he +had sent her other letters. This writing was, indeed, something like +his, but certainly not his. It might be a clerk's; the letter was typed +on his office paper. + +To say that she was actually disturbed by these little rills of doubt +would not be quite true. Still, they did arise in her mind, and left her +not perfectly at ease. The touch of uneasiness, however, made her ask +herself why she should now become a singer at all. It was Carshaw who +had pressed it upon her, because she had insisted on the vital necessity +of doing something quickly, and he had not wished her to work again with +her hands. In reality, he was scheming to gain time. + +Now that they were parted she saw no reason why she should not throw off +all this stage ambition, and toil like other girls as good as she. She +had done it. She was skilled in the bookbinding craft; she might do it +again. She counted her money and saw that she had enough to carry her +on a week, or even two, with economy. Therefore, she had time in which +to seek other work. + +Even if she did not find it she would have not the slightest hesitation +in "borrowing" from Rex; for, after all, all that he had was hers--she +knew it, and he knew it. Before she went to bed she decided to throw up +the singing ambition, not to go to the appointment at East Orange, but +to seek some other more modest occupation. + +About that same hour Rex Carshaw walked desolately to the apartment in +Madison Avenue. He threw himself into a chair and propped his head on a +hand, saying: "Well, mother!" for Mrs. Carshaw was in the room. + +His mother glanced anxiously at him, for though Winifred had promised to +keep secret the fact of her visit, she was in fear lest some hint of it +might have crept out; nor had she foreseen quite so deadly an effect on +her son as was now manifest. He looked care-worn and weary, and the +maternal heart throbbed. + +She came and stood over him. "Rex, you don't look well," said she. + +"No; perhaps I'm not very well, mother," said he listlessly. + +"Can I do anything?" + +"No; I'm rather afraid that the mischief is beyond you, mother." + +"Poor boy! It is some trouble, I know. Perhaps it would do you good to +tell me." + +"No; don't worry, mother. I'd rather be left alone, there's a dear." + +"Only tell me this. Is it very bad? Does it hurt--much?" + +"Where's the use of talking? What cannot be cured must be endured. Life +isn't all a smooth run on rubber tires." + +"But it will pass, whatever it is. Bear up and be brave." + +"Yes; I suppose it will pass--when I am dead." + +She tried to smile. + +"Only the young dream of death as a relief," she said. "But such wild +words hurt, Rex." + +"That's all right, only leave me alone; you can't help. Give me a kiss, +and then go." + +A tear wet his forehead when Mrs. Carshaw laid her lips there. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +ALL ROADS LEAD TO EAST ORANGE + + +The next day Winifred set about her new purpose of finding some other +occupation than that connected with the stage, though she rose from bed +that morning feeling ill, having hardly slept throughout the night. + +First, she read over once more the "agent's" letter, and was again +conscious of an extremely vague feeling of something queer in it when +she reflected on the lateness of the hour of the rendezvous--eight in +the evening. She decided to write, explaining her change of purpose, and +declining the interview with this nebulous "client." She did not write +at once. She thought that she would wait, and see first the result of +the day's search for other employment. + +Soon after breakfast she went out, heading for Brown's, her old +employers in Greenwich Village, who had turned her away after the yacht +affair and the arrest of her aunt. + +As she waited at the crossing where the cars pass, her eyes rested on a +man--a clergyman, apparently--standing on the opposite pavement. He was +not at the moment looking that way, and she took little notice of him, +though her subconsciousness may have recognized something familiar in +the lines of his body. + +It was Fowle in a saintly garb, Fowle in a shovel hat, Fowle interested +in the comings and goings of Winifred. Fowle, moreover, in those days, +floated on the high tide of ease, and had plenty of money in his pocket. +He not only looked, but felt like a person of importance, and when +Winifred entered a street-car, Fowle followed in a taxi. + +There was a new foreman at Brown's now, and he received the girl kindly. +She laid her case before him. She had been employed there and had given +satisfaction. Then, all at once, an event with which she had nothing +more to do than people in China, had caused her to be dismissed. Would +not the firm, now that the whole business had blown over, reinstate her? + +The man heard her attentively through and said: + +"Hold on. I'll have a talk with the boss." He left her, and was gone ten +minutes. Then he returned, with a shaking head. "No, Brown's never take +any one back," said he; "but here's a list of bookbinding firms which +he's written out for you, and he says he'll give you a recommendation if +any of 'em give you a job." + +With this list Winifred went out, and, determined to lose no time, +started on the round, taking the nearest first, one in Nineteenth +Street. She walked that way, and slowly behind her followed a clergyman. +The firm in Nineteenth Street wanted no new hand. Winifred got into a +Twenty-third Street cross-town car. After her sped a taxi. + +And now, when she stopped at the third bookbinder's, Fowle knew her +motive. She was seeking work at the old trade. He was puzzled, knowing +that she had wished to become a singer, and being aware, too, of the +appointment for the next night at East Orange. Had she, then, changed +her purpose? Perhaps she was seeking both kinds of employment, meaning +to accept the one which came first. If the bookbinding won out that +might be dangerous to the rendezvous. + +In any case, Fowle resolved to nip the project in the bud. He would go +later in the day to all the firms she had visited, ask if they had +engaged her, and, if so, drop a hint that she had been dismissed from +Brown's for being connected with the crime committed against Mr. Ronald +Tower. A bogus clergyman's word was good for something, anyhow. + +From Twenty-third Street, where there was no work, Winifred made her way +to Twenty-ninth Street, followed still by the taxi. Here things turned +out better for her. She was seen by a manager who told her that they +would be short-handed in three or four days, and that, if she could +really produce a reference from Brown's he would engage her permanently. +Winifred left him her address, so that he might write and tell her when +she could come. + +She lunched in a cheap restaurant and walked to her lodgings. Color +flooded her cheeks, but she was appalled by her loneliness, by the +emptiness of her life. To bind books and to live for binding books, that +was not living. She had peeped into Paradise, but the gate had been shut +in her face, and the bookbinding world seemed an intolerably flat and +stale rag-fair in comparison. + +How was she to live it through, she asked herself. When she went up to +her room the once snug and homely place disgusted her. How was she to +live through the vast void of that afternoon alone in that apartment? +How bridge the vast void of to-morrow? The salt had lost its savor; she +tasted ashes; life was all sand of the desert; she would not see him any +more. The resolution which had carried her through the interview with +Carshaw failed her now, and she blamed herself for the murder of +herself. + +"Oh, how could I have done such a thing!" she cried, bursting into +tears, with her hat still on and her head on the table. + +She had to write a letter to the "agent," telling him that she did not +mean to keep the rendezvous at East Orange, since she had obtained other +work, and with difficulty summoned the requisite energy. Every effort +was nauseous to her. Her whole nature was absorbed in digesting her one +great calamity. + +Next morning it was the same. Her arms hung listlessly by her side. She +evaded little domestic tasks. Though her clothes were new, a girl can +always find sewing and stitching. A certain shirtwaist needed slight +adjustment, but her fingers fumbled a simple task. She passed the time +somehow till half past four. At that hour there was a ring at the outer +door. In the absorption of her grief she did not hear it, though it was +"his" hour. A step sounded on the stairs, and this she heard; but she +thought it was Miss Goodman bringing tea. + +Then, brusquely, without any knock, the door opened, and she saw before +her Carshaw. + +"Oh!" she screamed, in an ecstasy of joy, and was in his arms. + +The rope which bound her had snapped thus suddenly for the simple reason +that Carshaw had promised never to come again, and was very strict, as +she knew, in keeping his pledged word. Therefore, until the moment when +her distraught eyes took in the fact of his presence, she had not the +faintest hope or thought of seeing him for many a day to come, if ever. + +Seeing him all at once in the midst of her desert of despair, her reason +swooned, all fixed principles capsized, and instinct swept her +triumphantly, as the whirlwind bears a feather, to his ready embrace. +He, for his part, had broken his promise because he could not help it. +He had to come--so he came. His dismissal had been too sudden to be +credible, to find room in his brain. It continued to have something of +the character of a dream, and he was here now to convince himself that +the dream was true. + +Moreover, in her manner of sending him away, in some of her words, there +had been something unreal and unconvincing, with broken hints of love, +even as she denied love, which haunted and puzzled his memory. If he had +made a thousand promises he would still have to return to her. + +"Well," said he, his face alight for joy as she moaned on his breast, +"what is it all about? You unreliable little half of a nerve, Winnie!" + +"I can't help it; kiss me--only once!" panted Winifred, with tears +streaming down her up-turned face. + +Carshaw needed no bidding. Kiss her once! Well, a man should smile. + +"What is it all about?" he demanded, when Winifred was quite breathless. +"Am I loved, then?" + +Her forehead was on his shoulder, and she did not answer. + +"It seems so," he whispered. "Silence is said to mean consent. But why, +then, was I not loved the day before yesterday?" + +Still Winifred dared not answer. The frenzy was passing, the moral +nature re-arising, stronger than ever, claiming its own. She had +promised and failed! What she did was not well for him. + +"Tell me," he urged, with a lover's eagerness. "You'll have to, some +time, you know." + +"You promised not to come. You promised definitely," said Winifred, +disengaging herself from him. + +"Could I help coming?" cried he. "I was in the greatest bewilderment and +misery!" + +"So you will always come, even if you promise not to?" + +"But I won't promise not to! Where is the need now? You love me, I love +you!" + +Winifred turned away from him, went to the window and looked out, seeing +nothing, for the eyes of the soul were busy. Her lips were now firmly +set, and during the minute that she stood there a rapid train of thought +and purpose passed through her mind. She had promised to give him up, +and she would go through with it. It was for him--and it was sweet, +though bitter, to be a martyr. But she recognized clearly that so long +as he knew where to find her the thing could never be done. She made up +her mind to be gone from those lodgings by that hour the next day, and +to be buried from him in some other part of the great city. She would +never in that case be able to ask him for help to keep going, without +giving her address, but in a few days she would have work at the new +bookbinder's. This well settled in her mind, she turned inward to him, +saying: + +"Miss Goodman will soon bring up tea. Come, let us be happy to-day. +You want to know if I love you? Well, the answer is yes, yes; so +now you know, and can never doubt. I want you to stay a long time +this afternoon, and I invite you to be my dear, dear guest on one +condition--that you don't ask me why I told you that awful fib the +day before yesterday, for I don't mean to tell you!" + +Of course Carshaw took her again in his arms, and, without breaking her +conditions, stayed with her till nearly six. She was sedately gay all +the time, but, on kissing him good-by, she wept quietly, and as quietly +she said to her landlady when he was gone: + +"Miss Goodman, I am going away to-morrow--for always, I'm afraid." + +Soon after this six o'clock struck. At ten minutes past the hour Miss +Goodman brought up two letters. + +Without looking at the handwriting on the envelopes, Winifred tore open +one, laying the other on a writing-desk, this latter being from the +agent in answer to the one she had written. She had told him that she +did not mean to keep the appointment at East Orange, and he now assured +her that he had certainly never made any appointment for her at East +Orange. The thing was some blunder. New York impresarios did not make +appointments in East Orange. He asked for an explanation. + +Pity that she did not open this letter before the other--or the other +was of a nature to drive the existence of the agent's letter--of any +letter--out of her head; for days afterward that all-important message +lay on the table unopened. + +The note which Winifred did read was from the bookbinding manager who +had all but engaged her that day. He now informed her that he would have +no use for her services. The clergyman in the taxi had followed very +effectively on Winifred's trail. + +She was stunned by this final blow. Her eyes gazed into vacancy. What +she was to do now she did not know. The next day she had to go away into +strange lodgings, with hardly any money, without any possibility of her +applying again to Rex, without support of any sort. She had never known +real poverty, for her "aunt" had always more or less been in funds; and +the prospect appalled her. She would face it, however, at all costs, +and, the bookbinding failing her, her mind naturally recurred, with a +gasp of hope, to the singing. + +There was the appointment at East Orange at eight. She looked at the +clock; she might have time, though it would mean an instant rush. She +would go. True, she had written the agent to say that she would not, and +he might have so advised his client. But perhaps he had not had time to +do this, since she had written him so late. In any case, there was a +chance that she should meet the person in question, and then she could +explain. Suddenly she leaped up, hurried on her hat and coat, and ran +out of the house. In a few minutes she was at the Hudson Tube, bound for +Hoboken and East Orange. + +Of course it was a mad thing to leave an unopened letter on the table, +but just then poor Winifred was nearly out of her mind. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE CRASH + + +When Carshaw came, with lightsome step and heart freed from care--for in +some respects he was irresponsible as any sane man could be--to visit +his beloved Winifred next day, he was met by a frightened and somewhat +incoherent Miss Goodman. + +"Not been home all night! Surely you can offer some explanation further +than that maddening statement?" cried he, when the shock of her news had +sent the color from his face and the joy from his eyes. + +"Oh, sir, I don't know what to say. Indeed, I am not to blame." + +Miss Goodman, kind-hearted soul, was more flurried now by Carshaw's +manner than by Winifred's inexplicable disappearance. + +"Blame, my good woman, who is imputing blame?" he blazed at her. "But +there's a hidden purpose, a convincing motive, in her going out and not +returning. Give me some clue, some reason. A clear thought now, the +right word from you, may save hours of useless search." + +"How can I give any clues?" cried the bewildered landlady. "The dear +young creature was crying all day fit to break her heart after the lady +called--" + +"The lady! What lady?" + +"Your mother, sir. Didn't she tell you? Mrs. Carshaw was here the day +before yesterday, and she must have spoken very cruelly to Winifred to +make her so downcast for hours. I was that sorry for her--" + +Now, Carshaw had the rare faculty--rare, that is, in men of a +happy-go-lucky temperament--of becoming a human iceberg in moments of +danger or difficulty. The blank absurdity of Miss Goodman's implied +assertion that Winifred had run away--though, indeed, running away was +uppermost in the girl's thoughts--had roused him to fiery wrath. + +But the haphazard mention of his mother's visit, the coincidence of +Winifred's unexpectedly strange behavior and equally unexpected +transition to a wildly declared love, revealed some of the hidden +sources of events, and over the volcano of his soul he imposed a layer +of ice. He even smiled pleasantly as he begged Miss Goodman to dry her +eyes and be seated. + +"We are at loggerheads, you see," he said, almost cheerfully. "Just let +us sit down and have a quiet talk. Tell me everything you know, and in +the order in which things happened. Tell me facts, and if you are +guessing at probabilities, tell me you are guessing. Then we shall soon +unravel the tangled threads." + +Thus reassured, Miss Goodman took him through the records of the past +forty-eight hours, so far as she knew them. After the first few words he +required no explanations of his mother's presence in that middle-class +section of Manhattan. She had gone there in her stately limousine to awe +and bewilder a poor little girl--to frighten an innocent out of loving +her son and thus endangering her own grandiose projects for his future. + +It was pardonable, perhaps, from a worldly woman's point of view. That +there were other aspects of it she should soon see, with a certain +definiteness, the cold outlines of which already made his mouth stern, +and sent little lines to wrinkle his forehead. He had spared her +hitherto--had hoped to keep on sparing her--yet she had not spared +Winifred! But who had prompted her to this heartless deed? He loved his +mother. Her faults were those of society, her virtues were her own. She +had lived too long in an atmosphere of artificiality not to have lost +much of the fine American womanliness that was her birthright. That +could be cured--he alone knew how. The puzzling query, for a little +while, was the identity of the cruel, calculating, ruthless enemy who +struck by her hand. + +There was less light shed on Winifred's own behavior. He recalled her +words: "You want to know if I love you--yes, yes--I want you to stay a +long time this afternoon--don't ask me why I told you that awful fib--" + +And then her confession to Miss Goodman: "I am going away to-morrow--for +always, I'm afraid." + +What did that portend? Ah, yes; she was going to some place where he +could not find her, to bury herself away from his love and because of +her love for him. It was no new idea in woman's heart, this. For long +ages in India sorrowing wives burned themselves to death on the funeral +pyres of their lords. Poor Winifred only reversed the method of the +sacrifice--its result would be the same. + +"But 'to-morrow'--to-day, that is. You are quite sure of her words?" he +persisted. + +"Oh, yes, sir; quite sure. Besides she has left her clothes and letters, +and little knick-knacks of jewelry. Would you care to see them?" + +For an instant he hesitated, for he was a man of refinement, and he +hated the necessity of prying into the little secrets of his dear one. +Then he agreed, and Miss Goodman took him from her own sitting-room to +that tenanted by Winifred. Her presence seemed to linger in the air. +His eyes traveled to the chair from which she rose with that glad +crooning cry when he came to her so few hours earlier. + +On the table lay her tiny writing-case. In it, unopened, and hidden by +the discouraging missive from the bookbinder's, rested the note from the +dramatic agent, with the thrice-important clue of its plain statement: +"I have made no appointment for you at any house near East Orange." + +But Miss Goodman had already thrown open the door which led to +Winifred's bedroom. + +"You can see for yourself, sir," she said, "the room was not occupied +last night. Nor that she could be in the house without me knowing +it, poor thing. There are her clothes in the wardrobe, and the +dressing-table is tidy. She's extraordinarily neat in her ways, is Miss +Bartlett--quite different from the empty-headed creatures girls mostly +are nowadays." + +Miss Goodman spoke bitterly. She was fifty, gray-haired, and a hopeless +old maid. This point of view sours the appearance of saucy eighteen with +the sun shining in its tresses. + +Carshaw swallowed something in his throat. The sanctity of this inner +room of Winifred's overwhelmed him. He turned away hastily. + +"All right, Miss Goodman," he said; "we can learn nothing here. Let us +go back to your apartment, and I'll tell you what I want you to do +now." + +Passing the writing-desk again he looked more carefully at its contents. +A small packet of bills caught his eye. There were the receipts for such +simple articles as Winifred had bought with his money. Somehow, the mere +act of examining such a list struck him with a sense of profanation. He +could not do it. + +His eyes glazed. Hardly knowing what the words meant, he glanced through +the typed document from the bookbinder. It was obviously a business +letter. He committed no breach of the etiquette governing private +correspondence by reading it. So great was his delicacy in this respect +that he did not even lift the letter from the table, but noted the +address and the curt phraseology. Here, then, was a little explanation. +He would inquire at that place. + +"I want you to telegraph me each morning and evening," he said to the +landlady. "Don't depend on the phone. If you have news, of course you +will give it, but if nothing happens say that there is no news. Here is +my address and a five-dollar bill for expenses. Did Miss Bartlett owe +you anything?" + +"No, sir. She paid me yesterday when she gave me notice." + +"Ah! Kindly retain her rooms. I don't wish any other person to occupy +them." + +"Do you think, sir, she will not come back to-day?" + +"I fear so. She is detained by force. She has been misled by some one. I +am going now to find out who that some one else is." + +He drove his car, now rejuvenated, with the preoccupied gaze of one who +seeks to pierce a dark and troubled future. From the garage he called up +the Long Island estate where his hacks and polo ponies were housed for +the winter. He gave some instructions which caused the man in charge to +blink with astonishment. + +"Selling everything, Mr. Carshaw!" he said. "D'ye really mean it?" + +"Does my voice sound as if I were joking, Bates?" + +"No-no, sir; I can't say it does. But--" + +"Start on the catalogue now, this evening. I'll look after you. Mr. Van +Hofen wants a good man. Stir yourself, and that place is yours." + +He found his mother at home. She glanced at him as he entered her +boudoir. She saw, with her ready tact, that questions as to his state of +worry would be useless. + +"Will you be dining at home, Rex?" she asked. + +"Yes. And you?" + +"I--have almost promised to dine _en famille_ with the Towers." + +"Better stop here. We have a lot of things to arrange." + +"Arrange! What sort of things?" + +"Business affairs for the most part." + +"Oh, business! Any discussion of--" + +"I said nothing about discussion, mother. For some years past I have +been rather careless in my ways. Now I am going to stop all that. A good +business maxim is to always choose the word that expresses one's meaning +exactly." + +"Rex, you speak queerly." + +"That shows I'm doing well. Your ears have so long been accustomed to +falsity, mother, that the truth sounds strangely." + +"My son, do not be so bitter with me. I have never in my life had other +than the best of motives in any thought or action that concerned you." + +He looked at her intently. He read in her words an admission and a +defense. + +"Let us avoid tragedy, mother, at least in words. Who sent you to +Winifred?" + +"Then she has told you?" + +"She has not told me. Women are either angels or fiends. This harmless +little angel has been driven out of her Paradise in the hope that her +butterfly wings may be soiled by the rain and mud of Manhattan. Who sent +you to her?" + +"Senator Meiklejohn," said Mrs. Carshaw defiantly. + +"What, that smug Pharisee! What was his excuse?" + +"He said you were the talk of the clubs--that Helen Tower--" + +"She, too! Thank you. I see the drift of things now. It was heartless of +you, mother. Did not Winifred's angel face, twisted into misery by your +lies, cause you one pang of remorse?" + +Mrs. Carshaw rose unsteadily. Her face was ghastly in its whiteness. + +"Rex, spare me, for Heaven's sake!" she faltered. "I did it for the +best. I have suffered more than you know." + +"I am glad to hear it. You have a good nature in its depths, but the +canker of society has almost destroyed it. That is why you and I are +about to talk business." + +"I am feeling faint. Let matters rest a few hours." + +He strode to the bell and summoned a servant. "Bring some brandy and two +glasses," he said when the man came. + +It was an unusual order at that hour. Silently the servant obeyed. +Carshaw looked out of the window, while his mother, true to her caste, +affected nonchalance before the domestic. + +"Now," said he when they were alone, "drink this. It will steady your +nerves." + +She was frightened at last. Her hand shook as it took the proffered +glass. + +"What has happened?" she asked, with quavering voice. She had never seen +her son like this before. There was a hint of inflexible purpose in him +that terrified her. When he spoke the new crispness in his voice shocked +her ears. + +"Mere business, I assure you. Not another word about Winifred. I shall +find her, sooner or later, and we shall be married then, at once. But, +by queer chance, I have been looking into affairs of late. The manager +of our Massachusetts mills tells me that trade is slack. We have been +running at a loss for some years. Our machinery is antiquated, and we +have not the accumulated reserves to replace it. We are in debt, and our +credit begins to be shaky. Think of that, mother--the name of Carshaw +pondered over by bank managers and discounters of trade bills!" + +"Senator Meiklejohn mentioned this vaguely," she admitted. + +"Dear me! What an interest he takes in us! I wonder why? But, as a +financial magnate, he understands things." + +"Your father always said, Rex, that trade had its cycles--fat years and +lean years, you know." + +"Yes. He built up our prosperity by hard work, by spending less than +half what he earned, not by living in a town house and gadding about in +society. Do you remember, mother, how he used to laugh at your pretty +little affectations? I think I own my share of the family brains, +though, so I shall act now as he would have acted." + +"Do you wish to goad me into hysteria? What are you driving at?" she +shrieked. + +"That is the way to reach the heart of the mystery--get at the facts, +eh? They're simple. The business needs three hundred thousand dollars to +give it solidity and staying power; then four or five years' good and +economical management will set it right. We have been living at the rate +of fifty thousand dollars a year. For some time we have been executing +small mortgages to obtain this annual income, expecting the business to +clear them. Now the estates must come to the help of the business." + +"In what way?" she gasped. + +"They must be mortgaged up to the hilt to pay off the small sums and +find the large one. It will take ten years of nursing to relieve them of +the burden. Not a penny must come from the mills." + +"How shall we live?" she demanded. + +"I have arranged that. Your marriage settlement of two thousand five +hundred dollars a year is secured; that is all. How big it seemed in +your eyes when you were a bride! How little now, though your real +needs are less! I shall take a sufficient salary as assistant manager +while I learn the business. It means two thousand dollars a year for +housekeeping, and I have calculated that the sale of all our goods will +pay our personal debts and leave you and me five thousand each to set up +small establishments." + +Mrs. Carshaw flounced into a chair. "You must be quite mad!" she cried. + +"No, mother, sane--quite sane--for the first time. Don't you believe me? +Go to your lawyers; the scheme is really theirs. They are good business +men, and congratulated me on taking a wise step. So you see, mother, I +really cannot afford a fashionable wife." + +"I am--choking!" she gasped. For the moment anger filled her soul. + +"Now, be reasonable, there's a good soul. Five thousand in the bank, +twenty-five hundred a year to live on. Why, when you get used to it you +will say you were never so happy. What about dinner? Shall we start +economizing at once? Let's pay off half a dozen servants before we sit +down to a chop! Eh, tears! Well, they'll help. Sometimes they're good +for women. Send for me when you are calmer!" + +With a look of real pity in his eyes he bent and kissed her forehead. +She would have kept him with her, but he went away. + +"No," he said, "no discussion, you remember; and I must fix a whole heap +of things before we dine!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +CLANCY EXPLAINS + + +Carshaw phoned the Bureau, asking for Clancy or the chief. Both were +out. + +"Mr. Steingall will be here to-morrow," said the official in charge. +"Mr. Clancy asked me to tell you, if you rang up, that he would be away +till Monday next." + +This was Wednesday evening. Carshaw felt that fate was using him ill, +for Clancy was the one man with whom he wanted to commune in that hour +of agony. He dined with his mother. She, deeming him crazy after a +severe attack of calf-love, humored his mood. She was calm now, +believing that a visit to the lawyers next day, and her own influence +with the mill-manager and the estate superintendent, would soon put a +different aspect on affairs. + +A telegram came late: "No news." + +He sought Senator Meiklejohn at his apartment, but the fox, scenting +hounds, had broken covert. + +"The Senator will be in Washington next week," said the discreet +Phillips. "At present, sir, he is not in town." + +Carshaw made no further inquiry; he knew it was useless. In the morning +another telegram: "No news!" + +He set his teeth, and smilingly agreed to accompany his mother to the +lawyers'. She came away in tears. Those serious men strongly approved of +her son's project. + +"Rex has all his father's grit," said the senior partner. "In a little +time you will be convinced that he is acting rightly." + +"I shall be dead!" she snapped. + +The lawyer lifted his hands with a deprecating smile. "You have no +secrets from me, Mrs. Carshaw," he said. "You are ten years my junior, +and insurance actuaries give women longer lives than men when they have +attained a certain age." + +Carshaw visited Helen Tower. She was fluttered. By note he had asked for +a _tete-a-tete_ interview. But his first words undeceived her. + +"Where is Meiklejohn?" he asked. + +"Do you mean Senator Meiklejohn?" she corrected him. + +"Yes; the man who acted in collusion with you in kidnapping my intended +wife." + +"How dare you--" + +"Sit down, Helen; no heroics, please. Or perhaps you would prefer that +Ronald should be present?" + +"This tone, Rex--to me!" She was crimson with surprise. + +"You are right: it is better that Tower should not be here. He might get +a worse _douche_ than his plunge into the river. Now, about Meiklejohn? +Why did he conspire with you and my mother to carry off Winifred +Bartlett?" + +"I--don't know." + +"Surely there was some motive?" + +"You are speaking in enigmas. I heard of the girl from you. I have never +seen her. If your mother interfered, it was for your good." + +He smiled cynically. The cold, far-away look in his eyes was bitter to +her soul, yet he had never looked so handsome, so distinguished, as in +this moment when he was ruthlessly telling her that another woman +absorbed him utterly. + +"What hold has Meiklejohn over you?" he went on. + +She simulated tears. "You have no right to address me in that manner," +she protested. + +"There is a guilty bond somewhere, and I shall find it out," he said +coldly. "My mother was your catspaw. You, Helen, may have been spiteful, +but Meiklejohn--that sleek and smug politician--I cannot understand him. +The story went that owing to an accidental likeness to Meiklejohn your +husband was nearly killed. His assailant was a man named Voles. Voles +was an associate of Rachel Craik, the woman who poses as Winifred's +aunt. That is the line of inquiry. Do you know anything about it?" + +"Not a syllable." + +"Then I must appeal to Ronald." + +"Do so. He is as much in the dark as I am." + +"I fancy you are speaking the truth, Helen." + +"Is it manly to come here and insult me?" + +"Was it womanly to place these hounds on the track of my poor Winifred? +I shall spare no one, Helen. Be warned in time. If you can help me, do +so. I may have pity on my friends, I shall have none for my enemies." + +He was gone. Mrs. Tower, biting her lips and clenching her hands in +sheer rage, rushed to an escritoire and unlocked it. A letter lay there, +a letter from Meiklejohn. It was dated from the Marlborough-Blenheim +Hotel, Atlantic City. + + "Dear Mrs. Tower," it ran, "the Costa Rica cotton concession is + almost secure. The President will sign it any day now. But + secrecy is more than ever important. Tell none but Jacob. The + market must be kept in the dark. He can begin operations + quietly. The shares should be at par within a week, and at five + in a month. Wire me the one word 'settled' when Jacob says he + is ready." + +"At five in a month!" + +Mrs. Tower was promised ten thousand of those shares. Their nominal +value was one dollar. To-day they stood at a few cents. Fifty thousand +dollars! What a relief it would be! Threatening dressmakers, impudent +racing agents asking for unpaid bets, sneering friends who held her +I. O. U.'s for bridge losses, and spoke of asking her husband to settle; +all these paid triumphantly, and plenty in hand to battle in the +whirlpool for years--it was a stake worth fighting for. + +And Meiklejohn? As the price of his help in gaining a concession granted +by a new competitor among the cotton-producing States, he would be given +five shares to her one. Why did he dread this girl? That was a fruitful +affair to probe. But he must be warned. Her lost lover might be +troublesome at a critical stage in the affairs of the cotton market. + +She wrote a telegram: "Settled, but await letter." In the letter she +gave him some details--not all--of Carshaw's visit. No woman will ever +reveal that she has been discarded by a man whom she boasted was tied to +her hat-strings. + +Carshaw sought the detective bureau, but Steingall was away now, as well +as Clancy. "You'll be hearing from one of them" was the enigmatic +message he was given. + +Eating his heart out in misery, he arranged his affairs, received those +two daily telegrams from Miss Goodman with their dreadful words, "No +news," and haunted the bookbinder's, and Meiklejohn's door hoping to see +some of the crew of Winifred's persecutors. At the bookbinder's he +learned of the visit of the supposed clergyman, whose name, however, did +not appear in the lists of any denomination. + +At last arrived a telegram from Burlington, Vermont. "Come and see me. +Clancy." Grown wary by experience, Carshaw ascertained first that Clancy +was really at Burlington. Then he instructed Miss Goodman to telegraph +to him in the north, and quitted New York by the night train. + +In the sporting columns of an evening paper he read of the sale of his +polo ponies. The scribe regretted the suggested disappearance from the +game of "one of the best Number Ones" he had ever seen. The Long Island +estate was let already, and Mrs. Carshaw would leave her expensive flat +when the lease expired. + +Early next day he was greeted by Clancy. + +"Glad to see you, Mr. Carshaw," said the little man. "Been here before? +No? Charming town. None of the infernal racket of New York about life in +Burlington. Any one who got bitten by that bug here would be afflicted +like the Gadarene swine and rush into Lake Champlain. Walk to the hotel? +It's a fine morning, and you'll get some bully views of the Adirondacks +as you climb the hill." + +"Winifred is gone. Hasn't the Bureau kept you informed?" + +Clancy sighed. + +"I've had Winifred on my mind for days," he said irritably. "Can't you +forget her for half an hour?" + +"She's gone, I tell you. Spirited away the very day I asked her to marry +me." + +"Well, well. Why didn't you ask her sooner?" + +"I had to arrange my affairs. I am poor now. How could I marry Winifred +under false pretenses?" + +"What, then? Did she love you for your supposed wealth?" + +"Mr. Clancy, I am tortured. Why have you brought me here?" + +"To stop you from playing Meiklejohn's game. I hear that you camp +outside his apartment-house. You and I are going back to New York this +very day, and the Bureau will soon find your Winifred. By the way, how +did you happen onto the Senator's connection with the affair?" + +Taking hope, Carshaw told his story. Clancy listened while they +breakfasted. Then he unfolded a record of local events. + +"The Bureau has known for some time that Senator Meiklejohn's past +offered some rather remarkable problems," he said, dropping his +bantering air and speaking seriously. "We have never ceased making +guarded inquiries. I am here now for that very purpose. Some thirty +years ago, on the death of his father, he and his brother, Ralph Vane +Meiklejohn, inherited an old-established banking business in Vermont. +Ralph was a bit of a rake, but local opinion regarded William as a +steady-going, domesticated man who would uphold the family traditions. +There was no ink on the blotter during upward of ten years, and William +was already a candidate for Congress when Ralph was involved in a +scandal which caused some talk at the time. The name of a governess in a +local house was associated with his, and her name was Bartlett." + +Carshaw glanced at the detective with a quick uneasiness, which Clancy +pretended not to notice. + +"I have no proof, but absolutely no doubt," he continued, "that this +woman is now known as Rachel Craik. She fell into Ralph Meiklejohn's +clutches then, and has remained his slave ever since. Two years later +there was a terrific sensation here. A man named Marchbanks was found +lying dead in a lakeside quarry, having fallen or been thrown into it. +This quarry was situated near the Meiklejohn house. Mrs. Marchbanks, a +ward of Meiklejohn's father, died in childbirth as the result of shock +when she heard of her husband's death, and inquiry showed that all her +money had been swallowed up in loans to her husband for Stock Exchange +speculation. Mrs Marchbanks was a noted beauty, and her fortune was +estimated at nearly half a million dollars. It was all the more amazing +that her husband should have lost such a great sum in reckless gambling, +seeing that those who remember him say he was a nice-mannered gentleman +of the old type, devoted to his wife, and with a passion for cultivating +orchids. Again, why should Mrs. Marchbanks's bankers and guardians allow +her to be ruined by a thoughtless fool?" + +Clancy seemed to be asking himself these questions; but Carshaw, so far +from New York, and with a mind ever dwelling on Winifred, said +impatiently: + +"You didn't bring me here to tell me about some long-forgotten mystery?" + +"Ah, quit that hair-trigger business!" snapped Clancy. "You just listen, +an' maybe you'll hear something interesting. Ralph Vane Meiklejohn left +Vermont soon afterward. Twelve years ago a certain Ralph Voles was +sentenced to five years in a penitentiary for swindling. Mrs. +Marchbanks's child lived. It was a girl, and baptized as Winifred. She +was looked after as a matter of charity by William Meiklejohn, and +entrusted to the care of Miss Bartlett, the ex-governess." + +Carshaw was certainly "interested" now. + +"Winifred! My Winifred!" he cried, grasping the detective's shoulder in +his excitement. + +"Tut, tut!" grinned Clancy. "Guess the story's beginning to grip. Yes. +Winifred is 'the image of her mother,' said Voles. She must be 'taken +away from New York.' Why? Why did this same Ralph vanish from Vermont +after her father's death 'by accident'? Why does a wealthy and +influential Senator join in the plot against her, invoking the aid of +your mother and of Mrs. Tower? These are questions to be asked, but not +yet. First, you must get back your Winifred, Carshaw, and take care that +you keep her when you get her." + +"But how? Tell me how to find her!" came the fierce demand. + +"If you jump at me like that I'll make you stop here another week," said +Clancy. "Man alive, I hate humbug as much as any man; but don't you see +that the Bureau must make sure of its case before it acts? We can't go +before a judge until we have better evidence than the vague hearsay of +twenty years ago. But, for goodness' sake, next time you grab Winifred, +rush her to the nearest clergyman and make her Mrs. Carshaw, Jr. +That'll help a lot. Leave me to get the Senator and the rest of the +bunch. Now, if you'll be good, I'll show you the house where your +Winifred was born!" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +IN THE TOILS + + +East Orange seemed to be a long way from New York when Winifred hastened +to the appointment at "Gateway House," traveling thither by way of the +Tube and the Lackawanna Railway. + +More and more did it seem strange that a theatrical agent should fix on +such a rendezvous, until a plausible reason suggested itself: possibly, +some noted impresario had chosen this secluded retreat, and the agent +had arranged a meeting there between his client and the great man whose +Olympian nod gave success or failure to aspirants for the stage. + +The letter itself was reassuringly explicit as to the route she should +follow. + +"On leaving the station," it said, "turn to the right and walk a mile +along the only road that presents itself until you see, on the left, a +large green gate bearing the name 'Gateway House.' Walk in. The house +itself is hidden by trees, and stands in spacious grounds. If you follow +these directions, you will have no need to ask the way." + +The description of the place betokened that it was of some local +importance, and hope revived somewhat in her sorrowing heart at the +impression that perhaps, after all, it was better she had failed in +finding work at the bindery. + +Notwithstanding the charming simplicity of her nature, Winifred would +not be a woman if she did not know she was good-looking. The stage +offered a career; work in the factory only yielded existence. Recent +events had added a certain strength of character to her sweet face; and +Miss Goodman, who happened to be an expert dressmaker, had used the +girl's leisure in her lodgings to turn her nimble fingers to account. +Hence, Winifred was dressed with neat elegance, and the touch of winter +keenness in the air gave her a splendid color as she hurried out of the +station many minutes late for her appointment. + +Would she be asked to sing, she wondered? She had no music with her, and +had never touched a piano since her music-master's anxiety to train her +voice had been so suddenly frustrated by Rachel Craik. But she knew many +of the solos from "Faust," "Rigoletto," and "Carmen"; surely, among +musical people, there would be some appreciation of her skill if tested +by this class of composition, as compared with the latest rag-time +melody or gushing cabaret ballad. + +Busy with such thoughts, she hastened along the road, until she awoke +with a start to the knowledge that she was opposite Gateway House. +Certainly the retreat was admirable from the point of view of a man +surfeited with life on the Great White Way. Indeed, it looked very like +a private lunatic asylum or home for inebriates, with its lofty walls +studded with broken glass, and its solid gate crowned with iron spikes. + +Winifred tried the door. It opened readily. She was surprised that so +pretentious an abode had no lodge-keeper's cottage. There were signs of +few vehicles passing over the weed-grown gravel drive, and such marks as +existed were quite recent. + +She was so late, however, that her confused mind did not trouble about +these things, and she sped on gracefully, soon coming in full view of +the house itself. It was now almost dark, and the grounds seemed very +lonely; but the presence of lights in the secluded mansion gave earnest +of some one awaiting her there. She fancied she heard a noise, like the +snapping of a latch or lock behind her. She turned her head, but saw no +one. Fowle, hiding among the evergreens, had run with nimble feet and +sardonic smile to bolt the gate as soon as she was out of sight. + +And now Winifred was at the front door, timidly pulling a bell. A man +strolled with a marked limp around the house from a conservatory. He was +a tall, strongly built person, and something in the dimly seen outline +sent a thrill of apprehension through her. + +But the door opened. + +"I have come--" she began. + +The words died away in sheer affright. Glowering at her, with a queer +look of gratified menace, was Rachel Craik! + +"So I see," was the grim retort. "Come in, Winnie, by all means. Where +have you been all these weeks?" + +"There is some mistake," she faltered, white with sudden terror and +nameless suspicions. "My agent told me to come here--" + +"Quite right. Be quick, or you'll miss the last train home," growled the +voice of Voles behind her. + +Roughly, though not violently, he pushed her inside, and the door +closed. + +He snapped at Rachel: "She'd be yelling for help in another second, and +you never know who may be passing." + +Now, Winifred was not of the order of women who faint in the presence of +danger. Her love had given her a great strength; her suffering had +deepened her fine nature; and her very soul rebelled against the cruel +subterfuge which had been practised to separate her from her lover. She +saw, with the magic intuition of her sex, that the very essence of a +deep-laid plot was that Rex and she should be kept apart. + +The visit of Mrs. Carshaw, then, was only a part of the same determined +scheme? Rex's mother had been a puppet in the hands of those who carried +her to Connecticut, who strove so determinedly to take her away when +Carshaw put in an appearance, and who had tricked her into keeping this +bogus appointment. She would defy them, face death itself rather than +yield. + +In the America of to-day, nothing short of desperate crime could long +keep her from Rex's arms. What a weak, silly, romantic girl she had been +not to trust in him absolutely! The knowledge nerved her to a fine +scorn. + +"What right have you to treat me in this way?" she cried vehemently. +"You have lied to me; brought me here by a forged letter. Let me go +instantly, and perhaps my just indignation may not lead me to tell my +agent how you have dared to use his name with false pretense." + +"Ho, ho!" sang out Voles. "The little bird pipes an angry note. Be +pacified, my sweet linnet. You were getting into bad company. It was the +duty of your relatives to rescue you." + +"My relatives! Who are they who claim kinship? I see here one who posed +as my aunt for many years--" + +"Posed, Winnie?" + +Miss Craik affected a croak of regretful protest. + +Winifred's eyes shot lightnings. + +"Yes. I am sure you are not my aunt. Many things I can recall prove it +to me. Why do you never mention my father and mother? What wrong have I +done to any living soul that, ever since you were mixed up in the attack +on Mr. Ronald Tower, you should deal with me as if I were a criminal or +a lunatic, and seek to part me from those who would befriend me?" + +"Hush, little girl," interposed Voles, with mock severity. "You don't +know what you're saying. You are hurting your dear aunt's feelings. She +is your aunt. I ought to know, considering that you are my daughter!" + +"Your daughter!" + +Now, indeed, she felt ready to dare dragons. This coarse, brutal giant +of a man her father! Her gorge rose at the suggestion. Almost fiercely +she resolved to hold her own against these persecutors who scrupled not +to use any lying device that would suit their purpose. + +"Yes," he cried truculently. "Don't I come up to your expectations?" + +"If you are my father," she said, with a strange self-possession that +came to her aid in this trying moment, "where is my mother?" + +"Sorry to say she died long since." + +"Did you murder her as you tried to murder Mr. Tower?" + +The chance shot went home, though it hit her callous hearer in a way she +could not then appreciate. He swore violently. + +"You're my daughter, I tell you," he vociferated, "and the first thing +you have to learn is obedience. Your head has been turned, young lady, +by your pretty Rex and his nice ways. I'll have to teach you not to +address me in that fashion. Take her to her room, Rachel." + +Driven to frenzy by a dreadful and wholly unexpected predicament, +Winifred cast off the hand her "aunt" laid on her shoulder. + +"Let me go!" she screamed. "I will not accompany you. I do not believe a +word you say. If you touch me, I shall defend myself." + +"Spit-fire, eh?" she heard Voles say. There was something of a struggle. +She never knew exactly what happened. She found herself clasped in his +giant arms and heard his half jesting protest: + +"Now, my butterfly, don't beat your little wings so furiously, or you'll +hurt yourself." + +He carried her, screaming, up-stairs, and pushed her into a large room. +Rachel Craik followed, with set face and angry words. + +"Ungrateful girl!" was her cry. "After all I've done for you!" + +"You stole me from my mother," sobbed Winifred despairingly. "I am sure +you did. You are afraid now lest some one should recognize me. I am 'the +image of my mother' that horrible man said, and I am to be taken away +because I resemble her. It is you who are frightened, not I. I defy you. +Even Mrs. Carshaw knew my face. I scorn you, I say, and if you think +your devices can deceive me or keep Rex from me, you are mistaken. +Before it is too late, let me go!" + +Rachel Craik was, indeed, alarmed by the girl's hysterical outpouring. +But Winifred's taunts worked harm in one way. They revealed most surely +that the danger dreaded by both Voles and Meiklejohn did truly exist. +From that instant Rachel Craik, who felt beneath her rough exterior some +real tenderness for the girl she had reared, became her implacable foe. + +"You had better calm yourself," she said quietly. "If you care to eat, +food will soon be brought for you and Mr. Grey. He is your +fellow-boarder for a few days!" + +Then Winifred saw, for the first time, that the spacious room held +another occupant. Reclining in a big chair, and scowling at her, was +Mick the Wolf, whose arm Carshaw had broken recently. + +"Yes," growled that worthy, "I'm not the most cheerful company, missy, +but my other arm is strong enough to put that fellow of yours out o' +gear if he butts in on me ag'in. So just cool your pretty lil head, will +you? I'm boss here, and if you rile me it'll be sort o' awkward for +you." + +How Winifred passed the next few hours she could scarcely remember +afterward. She noted, in dull agony, that the windows of the +sitting-room she shared with Mick the Wolf were barred with iron. +So, too, was the window of her bedroom. The key and handle of the +bedroom lock had been taken away. Rachel Craik was her jailer, a +maimed scoundrel her companion and assistant-warder. + +But, when the first paroxysms of helpless pain and rage had passed, her +faith returned. She prayed long and earnestly, and help was vouchsafed. +Appeal to her captors was vain, she knew, so she sought the consolation +that is never denied to all who are afflicted. + +Neither Rachel Craik, nor the sullen bandit, nor the loud-voiced rascal +who had dared to say he was her father, could understand the cheerful +patience with which she met them next day. + +"She's a puzzle," said Voles in the privacy of the apartment beneath. "I +must dope out some way of fixin' things. She'll never come to heel +again, Rachel. That fool Carshaw has turned her head." + +He tramped to and fro impatiently. His ankle had not yet forgotten the +wrench it received on the Boston Post Road. Suddenly he banged a huge +fist on a sideboard. + +"Gee!" he cried, "that should turn the trick! I'll marry her off to +Fowle. If it wasn't for other considerations I'd be almost tempted--" + +He paused. Even his fierce spirit quailed at the venom that gleamed from +Rachel Craik's eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +MOTHER AND SON + + +A telegram reached Carshaw before he left Burlington with Clancy. He +hoped it contained news of Winifred, but it was of a nature that imposed +one more difficulty in his path. + +"Not later than the twentieth," wired the manager of the Carshaw Mills +in Massachusetts. Carshaw himself had inquired the latest date on which +he would be expected to start work. + +The offer was his own, and he could not in honor begin the new era by +breaking his pledge. The day was Saturday, November 11. On the following +Monday week he must begin to learn the rudiments of cotton-spinning. + +"What's up?" demanded Clancy, eying the telegram, for Carshaw's face had +hardened at the thought that, perhaps, in the limited time at his +disposal his quest might fail. He passed the typed slip to the +detective. + +"Meaning?" said the latter, after a quick glance. + +Carshaw explained. "I'll find her," he added, with a catch of the +breath. "I must find her. God in Heaven, man, I'll go mad if I don't!" + +"Cut out the stage stuff," said Clancy. "By this day week the Bureau +will find a bunch of girls who're not lost yet--only planning it." + +Touched by the misery in Carshaw's eyes, he added: + +"What you really want is a marriage license. The minute you set eyes on +Winifred rush her to the City Hall." + +"Once we meet we'll not part again," came the earnest vow. Somehow, the +pert little man's overweening egotism was soothing, and Carshaw allowed +his mind to dwell on the happiness of holding Winifred in his arms once +more rather than the uncertain prospect of attaining such bliss. + +Indeed, he was almost surprised by the ardor of his love for her. When +he could see her each day, and amuse himself by playing at the pretense +that she was to earn her own living, there was a definite satisfaction +in the thought that soon they would be married, when all this pleasant +make-believe would vanish. But now that she was lost to him, and +probably enduring no common misery, the complacency of life had suddenly +given place to a fierce longing for a glimpse of her, for the sound of +her voice, for the shy glance of her beautiful eyes. + +"Now, let's play ball," said Clancy when they were in a train speeding +south. "Has any complete search of Winifred's rooms been made?" + +"How do you mean?" + +"Did you look in every hole and corner for a torn envelope, a twisted +scrap of paper, a car transfer, any mortal thing that might reveal why +she went out and did not return?" + +"I told you of the bookbinder's note--" + +"You sure did," broke in Clancy. "You also went to the bookbinder s'teen +times. Are you certain there was nothing else?" + +"No--I didn't like--how could I peer and pry--" + +"You'd make a bum detective. Imagine that poor girl crying her eyes out +in a cold dark cell all because you were too squeamish to give her +belongings the once over!" + +Carshaw was not misled by Clancy's manner. He knew that his friend was +only consumed by impatience to be on the trail. + +"You've fired plenty of questions at me," he said quietly. "Now it's my +turn. I understand why you came to Burlington, but where is Steingall +all this time?" + +"That big stiff! How do I know?" + +In a word, Clancy was uncommunicative during a whole hour. When the mood +passed he spoke of other things, but, although it was ten at night when +they reached New York, he raced Carshaw straight to East Twenty-seventh +Street and Miss Goodman. + +There, in a few seconds, he was reading the agent's genuine note to +Winifred--that containing the assurance that no appointment had been +made for "East Orange." + +The letter concluded: + + "At first I assumed that a message intended for some other + correspondent had been sent to me by error. Now, on reperusal, + I am almost convinced that you wrote me under some + misapprehension. Will you kindly explain how it arose?" + +Clancy, great as ever on such occasions, refrained from saying: "I told +you so." + +"We'll call up the agent Monday, just for the sake of thoroughness," he +said. "Meanwhile, be ready to come with me to East Orange to-morrow at 8 +A.M." + +"Why not to-night?" urged Carshaw, afire with a rage to be up and doing. + +"What? To sleep there? Young man, you don't know East Orange. Run away +home to your ma!" + + * * * * * + +"Where have you been?" inquired Mrs. Carshaw when her son entered. Her +air was subdued. She had suffered a good deal these later days. + +"To Vermont." + +"Still pursuing that girl?" + +"Yes, mother." + +"Have you found her?" + +"No, mother." + +"Rex, have you driven me wholly from your heart?" + +"No; that would be impossible. Winifred would not wish it, callous as +you were to her." + +"Do not be too hard on me. I am sore wounded. It is a great deal for a +woman to be cast into the outer darkness." + +"Nonsense, mother, you are emerging into light. If your friends are so +ready to drop you because you are poor--with the exceeding poverty of +twenty-five hundred a year--of what value were they as friends? When you +know Winifred you will be glad. You will feel as Dante felt when he +emerged from the Inferno." + +"So you are determined to marry her?" + +"Unquestionably. And mark you, mother, when the clouds pass, and we are +rich again, you will be proud of your daughter-in-law. She will bear all +your skill in dressing. Gad! how the women of your set will envy her +complexion." + +Mrs. Carshaw smiled wanly at that. She knew her "set," as Rex termed the +Four Hundred. + +"Why is she called Bartlett?" she inquired after a pause, and Rex looked +at her in surprise. "I have a reason," she continued. "Is that her real +name?" + +"Now," he cried, "I admit you are showing some of your wonted +cleverness." + +"Ah! Then I am right. I have been thinking. Cessation from society +duties is at least restful. Last night, lying awake and wondering where +you were, my thoughts reverted to that girl. I remembered her face. All +at once a long-forgotten chord of memory hummed its note. Twenty years +ago, when you were a little boy, Rex, I met a Mrs. Marchbanks. She was a +sweet singer. Does your Winifred sing?" + +Carshaw drew his chair closer to his mother and placed an arm around her +shoulder. + +"Yes," he said. + +"Rex," she murmured brokenly, hiding her face, "do you forgive me?" + +"Mother, I ask you to forgive me if I said harsh things." + +There was silence for a while. Then she raised her eyes. They were wet, +but smiling. + +"This Mrs. Marchbanks," she went on bravely, "had your Winifred's face. +She was wealthy and altogether charming. Her husband, too, was a +gentleman. She was a ward of the elder Meiklejohn, the present Senator's +father. My recollection of events is vague, but there was some scandal +in Burlington." + +"I know all, or nearly all, about it. That is why I was called to +Vermont. Mother, in future, you will work with me, not against me?" + +"I will--indeed I will," she sobbed. + +"Then you must not drop your car. I have money to pay for that. Keep in +with Helen Tower, and find out what hold she has on Meiklejohn. You are +good at that, you know. You understand your quarry. You will be worth +twenty detectives. First, discover where Meiklejohn is. He has bolted, +or shut himself up." + +"You must trust me fully, or I shall not see the pitfalls. Tell me +everything." + +He obeyed. Before he had ended, Mrs. Carshaw was weeping again, but this +time it was out of sympathy with Winifred. Next morning, although it was +Sunday, her smart limousine took her to the Tower's house. Mrs. Tower +was at home. + +"I have heard dreadful things about you, Sarah," she purred. "What on +earth is the matter? Why have you given up your place on Long Island?" + +"A whim of Rex's, my dear. He is still infatuated over that girl." + +"She must have played her cards well." + +"Yes, indeed. One does not look for such skill in the lower orders. And +how she deceived me! I went to see her, and she promised better +behavior. Now I find she has gone again, and Rex will not tell me where +she is. Do you know?" + +"I? The creature never enters my mind." + +"Of course not. She does not interest you, but I am the boy's mother, +and you cannot imagine, Helen, how this affair worries me." + +"My poor Sarah! It is too bad." + +"Such a misfortune could not have happened had his father lived. We +women are of no use where a headstrong man is concerned. I am thinking +of consulting Senator Meiklejohn. He is discreet and experienced." + +"But he is not in town." + +"What a calamity! Do tell me where I can find him." + +"I have reason to know that Rex would not brook any interference from +him." + +"Oh, no, of course not. It would never do to permit his influence to +appear. I was thinking that the Senator might act with the girl, this +wonderful Winifred. He might frighten her, or bribe her, or something of +the sort." + +Now, Helen Tower was not in Meiklejohn's confidence. He was compelled to +trust her in the matter of the Costa Rica concession, but he was far too +wise to let her into any secret where Winifred was concerned. Anxious to +stab with another's hand, she thought that Mrs. Carshaw might be used to +punish her wayward son. + +"I'm not sure--" She paused doubtfully. "I do happen to know Mr. +Meiklejohn's whereabouts, but it is most important he should not be +troubled." + +"Helen, you used to like Rex more than a little. With an effort, I can +save him still." + +"But he may suspect you, have you watched, your movements tracked." + +Mrs. Carshaw laughed. "My dear, he is far too much taken up with his +Winifred." + +"Has he found her, then?" + +"Does he not see her daily?" + +Here were cross purposes. Mrs. Tower was puzzled. + +"If I tell you where the Senator is, you are sure Rex will not follow +you?" + +"Quite certain." + +"His address is the Marlborough-Blenheim, Atlantic City." + +"Helen, you're a dear! I shall go there to-morrow, if necessary. But it +will be best to write him first." + +"Don't say I told you." + +"Above all things, Helen, I am discreet." + +"I fear he cannot do much. Your son is so wilful." + +"Don't you understand? Rex is quite unmanageable. I depend wholly on the +girl--and Senator Meiklejohn is just the man to deal with her." + +They kissed farewell--alas, those Judas kisses of women! Both were +satisfied, each believing she had hoodwinked the other. Mrs. Carshaw +returned to her flat to await her son's arrival. If the trail at East +Orange proved difficult he promised to be home for dinner. + +"There will be a row if Rex meets Meiklejohn," she communed. "Helen will +be furious with me. What do I care? I have won back my son's love. I +have not many years to live. What else have I to work for if not for his +happiness?" + +So one woman in New York that night was fairly well _content_. There may +be, as the Chinese proverb has it, thirty-six different kinds of +mothers-in-law, but there is only one mother. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE HUNT + + +Steingall, not Clancy, presented his bulk at Carshaw's apartment next +morning. He contrived to have a few minutes' private talk with Mrs. +Carshaw while her son was dressing. Early as it was, he lighted a second +cigar as he stepped into the automobile, for Carshaw thought it an +economy to retain a car. + +"Surprised to see me?" he began. "Well, it's this way. We may drop in +for a rough-house to-day. Between them, Voles and 'Mick the Wolf,' own +three sound legs and three strong arms. I can't risk Clancy. He's too +precious. He kicked like a mule, of course, but I made it an order." + +"What of the local police?" said Carshaw. + +"Nix on the cops," laughed the chief. "You share the popular delusion +that a policeman can arrest any one at sight. He can do nothing of the +sort, unless he and his superior officers care to face a whacking demand +for damages. And what charge can we bring against Voles and company? +Winifred bolted of her own accord. We must tread lightly, Mr. Carshaw. +Really, I shouldn't be here at all. I came only to help, to put you on +the right trail, to see that Winifred is not detained by force if she +wishes to accompany you. Do you get me?" + +"I believe there is good authority for the statement that the law is an +ass," grumbled the other. + +"Not the law. Personal liberty has to be safeguarded by the law. +Millions of men have died to uphold that principle. Remember, too, that +I may have to explain in court why I did so-and-so. Strange as it may +sound, I've been taught wisdom by legal adversity. Now, let's talk of +the business in hand. It's an odd thing, but people who wish to do evil +deeds often select secluded country places to live in. I don't mind +betting a box of cigars that 'East Orange' means a quiet, old-fashioned +locality where there isn't a crime once in a generation." + +"Some spot one would never suspect, eh?" + +"Yes, in a sense. But if ever I set up as a crook--which is unlikely, as +my pension is due in eighteen months--I'll live in a Broadway flat." + +"I thought the city police kept a very close eye on evil-doers." + +"Yes, when we know them. But your real expert is not known; once held +he's done for. Of course he tries again, but he is a marked man--he has +lost his confidence. Nevertheless, he will always try to be with the +crowd. There is safety in numbers." + +"Do you mean that East Orange is a place favorable to our search?" + +"Of course it is. The police, the letter-carriers, and the storekeepers, +know everybody. They can tell us at once of several hundred people +who certainly had nothing to do with the abduction of a young lady. +There will remain a few dozens who might possibly be concerned in +such an affair. Inquiry will soon whittle them down to three or four +individuals. What a different job it would be if we had to search a New +York precinct, which, I take it, is about as populous as East Orange." + +This was a new point of view to Carshaw, and it cheered him +proportionately. He stepped on the gas, and a traffic policeman at +Forty-second Street and Seventh Avenue cocked an eye at him. + +"Steady," laughed Steingall. "It would be a sad blow for mother if we +were held for furious driving. These blessed machines jump from twelve +to forty miles an hour before you can wink twice." + +Carshaw abated his ardor. Nevertheless, they were in East Orange forty +minutes after crossing the ferry. + +Unhappily, from that hour, the pace slackened. Gateway House had been +rented from a New York agent for "Mr. and Mrs. Forest," Westerners who +wished to reside in New Jersey a year or so. + +Its occupants had driven thither from New York. Rachel Craik, heavily +veiled and quietly attired, did her shopping in the nearest suburb, and +had choice of more than one line of rail. So East Orange knew them not, +nor had it even seen them. + +In nowise discouraged, the man from the Bureau set about his inquiry +methodically. He interviewed policemen, railway officials, postmen, and +cabmen. Although the day was Sunday, he tracked men to their homes and +led them to talk. Empty houses, recently let houses, houses tenanted by +people who were "not particular" as to their means of getting a living, +divided his attention with persons who answered to the description of +Voles, Fowle, Rachel, or even the broken-armed Mick the Wolf; while he +plied every man with a minutely accurate picture of Winifred. + +Hither and thither darted the motor till East Orange was scoured and +noted, and among twenty habitations jotted in the detective's notebook +the name of Gateway House figured. It was slow work, this task of +elimination, but they persisted, meeting rebuff after rebuff, especially +in the one or two instances where a couple of sharp-looking strangers +in a car were distinctly not welcome. They had luncheon at a local +hotel, and, by idle chance, were not pleased by the way in which the +meal was served. + +So, when hungry again, and perhaps a trifle dispirited as the day waned +to darkness with no result, they went to another inn to procure a meal. +This time they were better looked after. Instead of a jaded German +waiter they were served by the landlord's daughter, a neat, befrilled +young damsel, who cheered them by her smile; though, to be candid, she +was anxious to get out for a walk with her young man. + +"Have you traveled far?" she asked, by way of talk while laying the +table. + +"From New York," said Steingall. + +"At this hour--in a car?" + +"Yes. Is that a remarkable thing here?" + +"Not the car; but people in motors either whizz through of a morning +going away down the coast, or whizz back again of an evening returning +to New York." + +"Ah!" put in Carshaw, "here is a pretty head which holds brains. It goes +in for ratiocinative reasoning. Now, I'll be bound to say that this +pretty head, which thinks, can help us." + +A good deal of this was lost on the girl, but she caught the compliment +and smiled. + +"It all depends on what you want to know," she said. + +"I really want to find a private prison of some sort," he said. "The +sort of place where a nice-looking young lady like you might be kept in +against her will by nasty, ill-disposed people." + +"There is only one house of that kind in the town, and that is out of +it, as an Irishman might say." + +"And where is it?" + +"It's called Gateway House--about a mile along the road from the depot." + +Steingall, inclined at first to doubt the expediency of gossip with the +girl, now pricked up his ears. + +"Who lives in Gateway House?" he asked. + +"No one that I know of at the moment," she answered. "It used to belong +to a mad doctor. I don't mean a doctor who was mad, but----" + +"No matter about his sanity. Is he dead?" + +"No, in prison. There was a trial two years ago." + +"Oh! I remember the affair. A patient was beaten to death. So the house +is empty?" + +"It is, unless some one has rented it recently. I was taken through the +place months ago. The rooms are all right, and it has beautiful +grounds, but the windows frightened me. They were closely barred with +iron, and the doors were covered with locks and chains. There were some +old beds there, too, with straps on them. Oh, I quite shivered!" + +"After we have eaten will you let us drive you in that direction in my +car?" said Carshaw. + +She simpered and blushed slightly. "I've an appointment with a friend," +she admitted, wondering whether the swain would protest too strongly if +she accepted the invitation. + +"Bring him also," said Carshaw. "I assume it's a 'he.'" + +"Oh, that'll be all right!" she cried. + +So in the deepening gloom the automobile flared with fierce eyes along +the quiet road to Gateway House, and in its seat of honor sat the hotel +maid and her young man. + +"That is the place," she said, after the, to her, all too brief run. + +"Is this the only entrance?" demanded the chief, as he stepped out to +try the gate. + +"Yes. The high wall runs right round the property. It's quite a big +place." + +"Locked!" he announced. "Probably empty, too." + +He tried squinting through the keyhole to catch a gleam of interior +light. + +"No use in doin' that," announced the young man. "The house stands way +back, an' is hidden by trees." + +"I mean having a look at it, wall or no wall," insisted Carshaw. + +"But the gate is spiked and the wall covered with broken glass," said +the girl. + +"Such obstacles can be surmounted by ladders and folded tarpaulins, or +even thick overcoats," observed Steingall. + +"I'm a plumber," said the East Orange man. "If you care to run back to +my place, I c'n give you a telescope ladder and a tarpaulin. But perhaps +we may butt into trouble?" + +"For shame, Jim! I thought you'd do a little thing like that to help a +girl in distress." + +"First I've heard of any girl." + +"My name is Carshaw," came the prompt assurance. "Here's my card; read +it by the lamp there. I'll guarantee you against consequences, pay any +damages, and reward you if our search yields results." + +"Jim--" commenced the girl reproachfully, but he stayed her with a +squeeze. + +"Cut it out, Polly," he said. "You don't wish me to start housebreaking, +do you? But if there's a lady to be helped, an' Mr. Carshaw says it's +O.K., I'm on. A fellow who was with Funston in the Philippines won't +sidestep a little job of that sort." + +Polly, appeased and delighted with the adventure, giggled. "I'd think +not, indeed." + +"It is lawbreaking, but I am inclined to back you up," confided +Steingall to Carshaw when the car was humming back to East Orange. "At +the worst you can only be charged with trespass, as my evidence will be +taken that you had no unlawful intent." + +"Won't you come with me?" + +"Better not. You see, I am only helping you. You have an excuse; I, as +an official, have none--if a row springs up and doors have to be kicked +open, for instance. Moreover, this is the State of New Jersey and +outside my bailiwick." + +"Perhaps the joker behind us may be useful." + +"He will be, or his girl will know the reason why. He may have fought in +every battle in the Spanish War, but she has more pep in her." + +The soldierly plumber was as good as his word. He produced the ladder +and the tarpaulin, and a steel wrench as well. + +"If you do a thing at all do it thoroughly. That's what Funston taught +us," he grinned. + +Carshaw thanked him, and in a few minutes they were again looking at the +tall gate and the dark masses of the garden trees silhouetted against +the sky. They had not encountered many wayfarers during their three +journeys. The presence of a car at the entrance to such a pretentious +place would not attract attention, and the scaling of the wall was only +a matter of half a minute. + +"No use in raising the dust by knocking. Go over," counseled Steingall. +"Try to open the gate. Then you can return the ladder and tarpaulin at +once. Otherwise, leave them in position. If satisfied that the house is +inhabited by those with whom you have no concern, come away unnoticed, +if possible." + +Carshaw climbed the ladder, sat on the tarpaulin, and dropped the ladder +on the inner side of the wall. They heard him shaking the gate. His head +reappeared over the wall. + +"Locked," he said, "and the key gone. I'll come back and report +quickly." + +Jim, who had been nudged earnestly several times by his companion, cried +quickly: + +"Isn't your friend goin' along, too, mister?" + +"No. I may as well tell you that I am a detective," put in Steingall. + +"Gee whizz! Why didn't you cough it up earlier? Hol' on, there! Lower +that ladder. I'm with you." + +"Good old U. S. Army!" said Steingall, and Polly glowed with pride. + +Jim climbed rapidly to Carshaw's side, the latter being astride the +wall. Then they vanished. + +For a long time the two in the car listened intently. A couple of +cyclists passed, and a small boy, prowling about, took an interest in +the car, but was sternly warned off by Steingall. At last they caught +the faint but easily discerned sound of heavy blows and broken woodwork. + +"Things are happening," cried Steingall. "I wish I had gone with them." + +"Oh, I hope my Jim won't get hurt," said Polly, somewhat pale now. + +They heard more furious blows and the crash of glass. + +"Confound it!" growled Steingall. "Why didn't I go?" + +"If I stood on the back of the car against the gate, and you climbed +onto my shoulders, you might manage to stand between the spikes and jump +down," cried Polly desperately. + +"Great Scott, but you're the right sort of girl. The wall is too high, +but the gate is possible. I'll try it," he answered. + +With difficulty, having only slight knowledge of heavy cars, he backed +the machine against the gate. Then the girl caught the top with her +hands, standing on the back cushions. + +Steingall was no light weight for her soft shoulders, but she uttered no +word until she heard him drop heavily on the gravel drive within. + +"Thank goodness!" she whispered. "There are three of them now. I only +wish I was there, too!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +"HE WHO FIGHTS AND RUNS AWAY--" + + +"I don't like the proposition, an' that's a fact," muttered Fowle, +lifting a glass of whisky and glancing furtively at Voles, when the +domineering eyes of the superior scoundrel were averted for a moment. + +"Whether you like it or not, you've got to lump it," was the ready +answer. + +"I don't see that. I agreed to help you up to a certain point----" + +Voles swung around at him furiously, as a mastiff might turn on a +wretched mongrel. + +"Say, listen! If I'm up to the neck in this business, you're in it over +your ears. You can't duck now, you white-livered cur! The cops know you. +They had you in their hands once, and warned you to leave this girl +alone. If I stand in the dock you'll stand there, too, and I'm not the +man to say the word that'll save you." + +"But she's with her aunt. She's under age. Her aunt is her legal +guardian. I know a bit about the law, you see. This notion of yours is +a bird of another color. Sham weddings are no joke. It will mean ten +years." + +"Who wants you to go in for a sham wedding, you swab?" + +"You do, or I haven't got the hang of things." + +Voles looked as though he would like to hammer his argument into Fowle +with his fists. He forebore. There was too much at stake to allow a +sudden access of bad temper to defeat his ends. + +He was tired of vagabondage. It was true, as he told his brother long +before, that he hungered for the flesh-pots of Egypt, for the life and +ease and gayety of New York. An unexpected vista had opened up before +him. When he came back to the East his intention was to squeeze funds +out of Meiklejohn wherewith to plunge again into the outer wilderness. +Now events had conspired to give him some chance of earning a fortune +quickly, had not the irony of fate raised the winsome face and figure of +Winifred as a bogey from the grave to bar his path. + +So he choked back his wrath, and shoved the decanter of spirits across +the table to his morose companion. They were sitting in the hall of +Gateway House, about the hour that Carshaw and the detective, tired by +their weary hunt through East Orange, sought the inn. + +"Now look here, Fowle," he said, "don't be a poor dub, and don't kick at +my way of speaking. _Por Dios!_ man, I've lived too long in the sage +country to scrape my tongue to a smooth spiel like my--my friend, the +Senator. Let's look squarely at the facts. You admire the girl?" + +"Who wouldn't? A pippin, every inch of her." + +"You're broke?" + +"Well--er--" + +"You were fired from your last job. You're in wrong with the police. You +adopted a disguise and told lies about Winifred to those who would +employ her. What chance have you of getting back into your trade, even +if you'd be satisfied with it after having lived like a plute for +weeks?" + +"That goes," said Fowle, waving his pipe. + +"You'd like to hand one to that fellow Carshaw?" + +"Wouldn't I!" + +"Yet you kick like a steer when I offer you the girl, a soft, well-paid +job, and the worst revenge you can take on Carshaw." + +"Yes, all damn fine. But the risk--the infernal risk!" + +"That's where I don't agree with you. You go away with her and her +father--" + +"Father! You're not her father!" + +"You should be the first to believe it. Her aunt will swear it to you or +to any judge in the country. Once out of the United States, she will be +only too glad to avail herself of the protection matrimony is supposed +to offer. What are you afraid of?" + +"You talked of puttin' up some guy to pretend to marry us." + +"Forget it. We can't keep her insensible or dumb for days. But, in the +company of her loving father and her devoted husband, what can she do? +Who will believe her? Depend on me to have the right sort of boys on the +ship. They'll just grin at her. By the time she reaches Costa Rica +she'll be howling for a missionary to come aboard in order to satisfy +her scruples. You can suggest it yourself." + +"I believe she'd die sooner." + +"What matter? You only lose a pretty wife. There's lots more of the same +sort when your wad is thick enough. Why, man, it means a three-months' +trip and a fortune for life, however things turn out. You're tossing +against luck with an eagle on both sides of the quarter." + +Fowle hesitated. The other suppressed a smile. He knew his man. + +"Don't decide in a minute," he said seriously. "But, once settled, there +must be no shirking. Make up your mind either to go straight ahead by my +orders or clear out to-night. I'll give you a ten-spot to begin life +again. After that don't come near me." + +"I'll do it," said Fowle, and they shook hands on their compact. + + * * * * * + +It was not in Winifred's nature to remain long in a state of active +resentment with any human being. A prisoner, watched diligently during +the day, locked into her room at night, she met Rachel Craik's grim +espionage and Mick the Wolf's evil temper with an equable cheerfulness +that exasperated the one while mollifying the other. + +She wondered greatly what they meant to do with her. It was impossible +to believe that in the State of New Jersey, within a few miles of New +York, they could keep her indefinitely in close confinement. She knew +that her Rex would move heaven and earth to rescue her. She knew that +the authorities, in the person of Mr. Steingall, would take up the hunt +with unwearying diligence, and she reasoned, acutely enough, that a plot +which embraced in its scope so many different individuals could not long +defy the efforts made to elucidate it. + +How thankful she was now that she had at last written and posted that +long-deferred letter to the agent. Here, surely, was a clue to be +followed--she had quite forgotten, in the first whirlwind of her +distress, the second letter which reached her in the Twenty-seventh +Street lodgings, but pinned her faith to the fact that her own note +concerning the appointment "near East Orange" was in existence. + +Perhaps her sweetheart was already rushing over every road in the place +and making exhaustive inquiries about her. It was possible that he had +passed Gateway House more than once. He might have seen amid the trees +the tall chimneys of the very jail against whose iron bars her spirit +was fluttering in fearful hope. Oh, why was she not endowed with that +power she had read of, whose fortunate possessors could leap time and +space in their astral subconsciousness and make known their thoughts and +wishes to those dear to them? + +She even smiled at the conceit that a true wireless telegraphy did exist +between Carshaw and herself. Daily, nightly, she thought of him and he +of her. But their alphabet was lacking; they could utter only the +thrilling language of love, which is not bound by such earthly things as +signs and symbols. + +Yet was she utterly confident, and her demeanor rendered Rachel Craik +more and more suspicious. Since the girl had scornfully disowned her +kinship, the elder woman had not made further protest on that score. She +frankly behaved as a wardress in a prison, and Winifred as frankly +accepted the role of prisoner. There remained Mick the Wolf. Under the +circumstances, no doctor or professional nurse could be brought to +attend his injured arm. The broken limb had of course been properly set +after the accident, but it required skilled dressing daily, and this +Winifred undertook. She had no real knowledge of the subject, but her +willingness to help, joined to the instruction given by the man himself, +achieved her object. + +It was well-nigh impossible for this rough, callous rogue, brought in +contact with such a girl for the first time in his life, to resist her +influence. She did not know it, but gradually she was winning him to her +side. He swore at her as the cause of his suffering, yet found himself +regretting even the passive part he was taking in her imprisonment. + +On the very Sunday evening that Voles and Fowle were concocting their +vile and mysterious scheme, Mick the Wolf, their trusted associate, +partner of Voles in many a desperate enterprise in other lands, was +sitting in an armchair up-stairs listening to Winifred reading from a +book she had found in her bedroom. It was some simple story of love and +adventure, and certainly its author had never dreamed that his exciting +situations would be perused under conditions as dramatic as any pictured +in the novel. + +"It's a queer thing," said the man after a pause, when Winifred stopped +to light a lamp, "but nobody pipin' us just now 'ud think we was what we +are." + +She laughed at the involved sentence. "I don't think you are half so bad +as you think you are, Mr. Grey," she said softly. "For my part, I am +happy in the belief that my friends will not desert me." + +"Lookut here," he said with gruff sympathy, "why don't you pull with +your people instead of ag'in' 'em. I know what I'm talkin' about. This +yer Voles--but, steady! Mebbe I best shut up." + +Winifred's heart bounded. If this man would speak he might tell her +something of great value to her lover and Mr. Steingall when they came +to reckon up accounts with her persecutors. + +"Anything you tell me, Mr. Grey, shall not be repeated," she said. + +He glanced toward the door. She understood his thought. Rachel Craik was +preparing their evening meal. She might enter the room at any moment, +and it was not advisable that she should suspect them of amicable +relations. Assuredly, up to that hour, Mick the Wolf's manner admitted +of no doubt on the point. He had been intractable as the animal which +supplied his oddly appropriate nickname. + +"It's this way," he went on in a lower tone. "Voles an' Meiklejohn are +brothers born. Meiklejohn, bein' a Senator, an' well in with some of the +top-notchers, has a cotton concession in Costa Rica which means a pile +of money. Voles is cute as a pet fox. He winded the turkey, an' has +forced his brother to make him manager, with a whackin' salary and an +interest. I'm in on the deal, too. Bless your little heart, you just +stan' pat, an' you kin make a dress outer dollar bills." + +"But what have I to do with all this? Why cannot you settle your +business without pursuing me?" was the mournful question, for Winifred +never guessed how greatly the man's information affected her. + +"I can't rightly say, but you're either with us or ag'in' us. If you're +on our side it'll be a joy-ride. If you stick to that guy, Carshaw--" + +To their ears, as to the ears of those waiting in the car at the gate, +came the sound of violent blows and the wrenching open of the door. In +that large house--in a room situated, too, on the side removed from the +road--they could not catch Carshaw's exulting cry after a peep through +the window: + +"I have them! Voles and Fowle! There they are! Now you, who fought with +Funston, fight for a year's pay to be earned in a minute. Here! use this +wrench. You understand it. Use it on the head of any one who resists +you. These scoundrels must be taken red-handed." + +Voles at the first alarm sprang to his feet and whipped out a revolver. +He knew that a vigorous assault was being made on the stout door. +Running to the blind of the nearest window, he saw Carshaw pull out an +iron bar by sheer strength and use it as a lever to pry open a sash. +Tempted though he was to shoot, he dared not. There might be police +outside. Murder would shatter his dreams of wealth and luxury. He must +outwit his pursuers. + +Rachel Craik came running from the kitchen, alarmed by the sudden +hubbub. + +"Fowle," he said to his amazed confederate, "stand them off for a minute +or two. You, Rachel, can help. You know where to find me when the coast +is clear. They cannot touch you. Remember that. They're breaking into +this house without a warrant. Bluff hard, and they cannot even frame a +charge against you if the girl is secured--and she will be if you give +me time." + +Trusting more to Rachel than to vacillating Fowle, he raced up-stairs, +though his injured leg made rapid progress difficult. He ran into a room +and grabbed a small bag which lay in readiness. Then he rushed toward +the room in which Winifred and Mick the Wolf were listening with mixed +feelings to the row which had sprung up beneath. + +He tried the door. It was locked. Rachel had the key in her pocket. A +trifle of that nature did not deter a man like Voles. With his shoulder +he burst the lock, coming face to face with his partner in crime, who +had grasped a poker in his serviceable hand. + +"Atta-boy!" he yelled. "Down-stairs, and floor 'em as they come. You've +one sound arm. Go for 'em--they can't lay a finger on you." + +Now, it was one thing to sympathize with a helpless and gentle girl, but +another to resist the call of the wild. The dominant note in Mick the +Wolf was brutality, and the fighting instinct conquered even his pain. +With an oath he made his way to the hall, and it needed all of +Steingall's great strength to overpower him, wounded though he was. + +It took Carshaw and Jim a couple of minutes to force their way in. There +was a lively fight, in which the detective lent a hand. When Mick the +Wolf was down, groaning and cursing because his fractured arm was broken +again; when Fowle was held to the floor, with Rachel Craik, struggling +and screaming, pinned beneath him by the valiant Jim, Carshaw sped to +the first floor. + +Soon, after using hand-cuffs on the man and woman, and leaving Jim in +charge of them and Mick the Wolf, Steingall joined him. But, search as +they might, they could not find either Winifred or Voles. Almost beside +himself with rage, Carshaw rushed back to the grim-visaged Rachel. + +"Where is she?" he cried. "What have you done with her? By Heaven, I'll +kill you--" + +Her face lit up with a malignant joy. "A nice thing!" she screamed. +"Respectable folk to be treated in this way! What have we done, I'd like +to know? Breaking into our house and assaulting us!" + +"No good talking to her," said the chief. "She's a deep one--tough as +they make 'em. Let's search the grounds." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +IN FULL CRY + + +Polly, the maid from the inn, waiting breathlessly intent in the car +outside the gate, listened for sounds which should guide her as to the +progress of events within. + +Steingall left her standing on the upholstered back of the car, with her +hands clutching the top of the gate. She did not descend immediately. In +that position she could best hear approaching footsteps, as she could +follow the running of the detective nearly all the way to the house. + +Great was her surprise, therefore, to find some one unlocking the gate +without receiving any preliminary warning of his advent. She was just in +time to spring back into the tonneau when one-half of the ponderous door +swung open and a man appeared, carrying in his arms the seemingly +lifeless body of a woman. + +It will be remembered that the lamps of the car spread their beams in +the opposite direction. In the gloom, not only of the night but of the +high wall and the trees, Polly could not distinguish features. + +She thought, however, the man was a stranger. Naturally, as the rescuers +had just gone toward the point whence the newcomer came, she believed +that he had been directed to carry the young lady to the waiting car. +Her quick sympathy was aroused. + +"The poor dear!" she cried. "Oh, don't tell me those horrid people have +hurt her." + +Voles who had choked Winifred into insensibility with a mixture of +alcohol, chloroform, and ether--a scientific anesthetic used by all +surgeons, rapid in achieving its purpose and quite harmless in its +effects--was far more surprised than Polly. He never expected to be +greeted in this way, but rather to be met by some helper of Carshaw's +posed there, and he was prepared to fight or trick his adversary as +occasion demanded. + +He had carried Winifred down a servants' stairs and made his way out of +the house by a back door. The exit was unguarded. In this, as in many +other country mansions, the drive followed a circuitous sweep, but a +path through the trees led directly toward the gate. Hence, his passage +had neither been observed from the hall nor overheard by Polly. + +It was in precisely such a situation as that which faced him now that +Voles was really superb. He was an adroit man, with ready judgment and +nerves of steel. + +"Not much hurt," he said quietly. "She has fainted from shock, I think." + +Though he spoke so glibly, his brain was on fire with question and +answer. His eyes glowered at the car and its occupant, and swept the +open road on either hand. + +To Polly's nostrils was wafted a strange odor, carrying reminiscences of +so-called "painless" dentistry. Winifred, reviving in the open air when +that hateful sponge was removed from mouth and nose, struggled +spasmodically in the arms of her captor. Polly knew that women in a +faint lie deathlike. That never-to-be-forgotten scent, too, caused a +wave of alarm, of suspicion, to creep through her with each heart-beat. + +"Where are the others?" she said, leaning over, and striving to see +Voles's face. + +"Just behind," he answered. "Let me place Miss Bartlett in the car." + +That sounded reasonable. + +"Lift her in here, poor thing," said Polly, making way for the almost +inanimate form. + +"No; on the front seat." + +"But why? This is the best place--oh, help, _help_!" + +For Voles, having placed Winifred beside the steering-pillar, seized +Polly and flung her headlong onto the grass beneath the wall. In the +same instant he started the car with a quick turn of the wrist, for the +engine had been stopped to avoid noise, and there was no time to +experiment with self-starters. He jumped in, released the brakes, +applied the first speed, and was away in the direction to New York. +Polly, angry and frightened, ran after him, screaming at the top of her +voice. + +Voles was in such a desperate hurry that he did not pay heed to his +steering, and nearly ran over a motor-cyclist coming in hot haste to +East Orange. The rider, a young man, pulled up and used language. He +heard Polly, panting and shrieking, running toward him. + +"Good gracious, Miss Barnard, what's the matter?" he cried, for Polly +was pretty enough to hold many an eye. + +"Is that you, Mr. Petch? Thank goodness! There's been murder done in +Gateway House. That villain is carrying off the young lady he has +killed. He has escaped from the police. They're in there now. Oh, catch +him!" + +Mr. Petch, who had dismounted, began to hop back New York-ward, while +the engine emulated a machine-gun. + +"It's a big car--goes fast--I'll do my best--" Polly heard him say, and +he, too, was gone. She met Carshaw and the chief half-way up the drive. +To them, in gasps, she told her story. + +"Cool hand, Voles!" said Steingall. + +"The whole thing was bungled!" cried Carshaw in a white heat. "If Clancy +had been here this couldn't have happened." + +Steingall took the implied taunt coolly. + +"It would have been better had I followed my original plan and not +helped you," he said. "You or our East Orange friend might have been +killed, it is true, but Voles could not have carried the girl off so +easily." + +Carshaw promptly regretted his bitter comment. "I'm sorry," he said, +"but you cannot realize what all this means to me, Steingall." + +"I think I can. Cheer up; your car is easily recognizable. We have a +cyclist known to this young lady in close pursuit. Even if he fails to +catch up with Voles, he will at least give us some definite direction +for a search. At present there is nothing for us to do but lodge these +people in the local prison, telephone the ferries and main towns, and go +back to New York. The police here will let us know what happens to the +cyclist; he may even call at the Bureau. I can act best in New York." + +"Do you mean now to arrest those in the house?" + +"Yes, sure. That is, I'll get the New Jersey police to hold them." + +"On what charge?" + +"Conspiracy. At last we have clear evidence against them. Miss Polly +here has actually seen Voles carrying off Miss Bartlett, who had +previously been rendered insensible. If I am not mistaken in my man, +Fowle will turn State's evidence when he chews on the proposition for a +few hours in a cell." + +"Pah--the wretch! I don't want these reptiles to be crushed; what I want +is to recover Miss Bartlett. Would it not be best to leave them their +liberty and watch them?" + +"I've always found a seven days' remand very helpful," mused the +detective. + +"In ordinary crime, yes. But here we have Rachel Craik, who would suffer +martyrdom rather than speak; Fowle, a mere tool, who knows nothing +except what little he is told; and a thick-headed brute named Mick the +Wolf, who does what his master bids him. Don't you see that in prison +they are useless. At liberty they may help by trying to communicate with +Voles." + +"I'm half inclined to agree with you. Now to frighten them. Keep your +face and tongue under control; I'll try a dodge that seldom fails." + +They re-entered the house. Jim was doing sentry-go in the hall. The +prisoners were sitting mute, save that Mick the Wolf uttered an +occasional growl of pain; his wounded arm was hurting him sorely. + +"We're not going to worry any more about you," said Steingall +contemptuously as he unlocked the hand-cuffs with which he had been +compelled to secure Rachel and Fowle. + +"Yes, you will," was the woman's defiant cry. "Your outrageous +conduct--" + +"Oh, pull that stuff on some one likely to be impressed by it. It comes +a trifle late in the day when Miss Winifred Marchbanks is in the hands +of her friends and Voles on his way to prison. I don't even want you, +Rachel Bartlett, unless the State attorney decides that you ought to be +prosecuted." + +The woman's eyes gleamed like those of a spiteful cat. The detective's +cool use of Winifred's right name, and of the name by which Rachel Craik +herself ought to be known, was positively demoralizing. Fowle, too, was +greatly alarmed. The police-officer said nothing about not wanting him. +With Voles's superior will withdrawn, he began to quake again. But +Rachel was a dour New Englander, of different metal to a man from the +East Side. + +"If you're speaking of my niece," she said, "you have been misled by the +hussy, and by that man of hers there. Mr. Voles is her father. I have +every proof of my words. You can bring none of yours." + +Steingall, eying Fowle, laughed. "You will be able to tell us all about +it in the witness-box, Rachel Bartlett," he said. + +"How dare you call me by that name?" + +"Because it's your right one. Craik was your mother's name. If friend +Voles had only kept his hands clean, or even treated you honorably, you +might now be Mrs. Ralph Meiklejohn, eh?" + +He was playing with her with the affable gambols of a cat toying with a +doomed mouse. Each instant Fowle was becoming more perturbed. He did not +like the way in which the detective ignored him. Was he to be swallowed +at a gulp when his turn came? + +Even Rachel Craik was silenced by this last shot. She wrung her hands; +this stern, implacable woman seemed to be on the point of bursting into +tears. All the plotting and devices of years had failed her suddenly. An +edifice of deception, which had lasted half a generation, had crumbled +into nothingness. This man had callously exposed her secret and her +shame. At that moment her heart was bitter against Voles. + +The detective, skilled in the phases of criminal thought, knew exactly +what was passing through the minds of both Rachel and Fowle. Revenge in +the one case, safety in the other, was operating quickly, and a crisis +was at hand. + +But just then the angry voice of the East Orange plumber reached him: +"Just imagine Petch turnin' up; him, of all men in the world! An' of +course you talked nicey-nicey, an' he's such an obligin' feller that he +beats it after the car! Petch, indeed!" + +There was a snort of jealous fury. Polly's voice was raised in protest. + +"Jim, don't be stupid. How could I tell who it was?" + +"I'll back you against any girl in East Orange to find another string to +your bow wherever you may happen to be," was the enraged retort. + +The detective hastened to stop this lovers' quarrel, which had broken +out after a whispered colloquy. He was too late. Miss Polly was on her +dignity. + +"Well, Mr. Petch is a real man, anyhow," came her stinging answer. "He's +after them now, and he won't let them slip through his fingers like you +did." + +The sheer injustice of this statement rendered Jim incoherent. Petch was +an old rival. When next they met, gore would flow in East Orange. But +the detective's angry whisper restored the senses of both. + +"Can't you two shut up?" he hissed. "Your miserable quarrel has warned +our prisoners. They were on the very point of confessing everything when +you blurted out that the chief rascal had escaped. I'm ashamed of you, +especially after you had behaved so well." + +His rebuke was merited; they were abashed into silence--too late. When +he returned to the pair in the corner of the room he saw Rachel Craik's +sour smile and Fowle's downcast look of calculation. + +"A lost opportunity!" he muttered, but faced the situation quite +pleasantly. + +"You may as well remain here," he said. "I may want you, and you should +realize without giving further trouble that you cannot hide from the +police. Come, Mr. Carshaw, we have work before us in East Orange. Miss +Winifred should be all right by this time." + +Rachel Craik actually laughed. She wondered why she had lost faith in +Voles for an instant. + +"I'll send a doctor," went on Steingall composedly. "Your friend there +needs one, I guess." + +"I'd sooner have a six-shooter," roared Mick the Wolf. + +"Doctors are even more deadly sometimes." + +So the detective took his defeat cheerfully, and that is the worst thing +a man can do--in his opponent's interests. He was rather silent as he +trudged with Carshaw and the others back to the train, however. + +He was asking himself what new gibe Clancy would spring on him when the +story of the night's fiasco came out. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +FLANK ATTACKS + + +Somewhat tired, having ridden that day to Poughkeepsie and back, Petch, +nevertheless, put up a great race after the fleeing motor-car. + +His muscles were rejuvenated by Polly Barnard's exciting news and no +less by admiration for the girl herself. Little thinking that Jim, the +plumber, was performing deeds of derring-do in the hall of Gateway +House, he congratulated himself on the lucky chance which enabled him to +oblige the fair Polly. He dashed into the road to Hoboken, and found, to +his joy, that the dust raised by the passage of the car gave an +unfailing clue to its route. Now, a well-regulated motor-cycle can run +rings round any other form of automobile, no matter how many horses may +be pent in the cylinders, if on an ordinary road and subjected to the +exigencies of traffic. + +Voles, break-neck driver though he was, dared not disregard the traffic +regulations and risk a smash-up. He got the best out of the engine, but +was compelled to go steadily through clusters of houses and around +tree-shaded corners. To his great amazement, as he was tearing through +the last habitations before crossing the New Jersey flats, he was hailed +loudly from behind: + +"Hi, you--pull up!" + +He glanced over his shoulder. A motor-cyclist, white with dust, was +riding after him with tremendous energy. + +"Hola!" cried Voles, snatching another look. "What's the matter?" + +Petch should have temporized, done one of a hundred things he thought of +too late; but he was so breathless after the terrific sprint in which he +overtook Voles that he blurted out: + +"I know you--you can't escape--there's the girl herself--I see her!" + +"Hell!" + +Voles urged on the car by foot and finger. After him pelted Petch, with +set teeth and straining eyes. The magnificent car, superb in its +energies, swept through the night like the fiery dragon of song and +fable, but with a speed never attained by dragon yet, else there would +be room on earth for nothing save dragons. And the motor-cycle leaped +and bounded close behind, stuttering its resolve to conquer the monster +in front. + +The pair created a great commotion as they whirred past scattered houses +and emerged into the keen, cold air of the marshland. A few cars met en +route actually slowed up, and heads were thrust out to peer in wonder. +Women in them were scared, and enjoined drivers to be careful, while men +explained laughingly that a couple of joy-riders were being chased by a +motor "cop." + +It was neck or nothing now for Voles, and when these alternatives +offered, he never hesitated as to which should be chosen. He knew he was +in desperate case. + +The pace; the extraordinary appearance of a hatless man and a girl with +her hair streaming wild--for Winifred's abundant tresses had soon shed +all restraint of pins and twists before the tearing wind of their +transit--would create a tumult in Hoboken. Something must be done. He +must stop the car and shoot that pestiferous cyclist, who had sprung out +of the ground as though one of Medusa's teeth had lain buried there +throughout the ages, and become a panoplied warrior at a woman's cry. + +He looked ahead. There was no car in sight. He peered over his shoulder. +There was no cyclist! Petch had not counted on this frenzied race, and +his petrol-tank was empty. He had pulled up disconsolately half a mile +away, and was now borrowing a gallon of gas from an Orange-bound car, +explaining excitedly that he was "after" a murderer! + +Voles laughed. The fiend's luck, which seldom fails the fiend's +votaries, had come to his aid in a highly critical moment. There +remained Winifred. She, too, must be dealt with. Now, all who have +experienced the effect of an anesthetic will understand that after the +merely stupefying power of the gas has waned there follows a long period +of semi-hysteria, when actual existence is dreamlike, and impressions of +events are evanescent. Winifred, therefore, hardly appreciated what was +taking place until the car stopped abruptly, and the stupor of cold +passed almost simultaneously with the stupor of anesthesia. + +But Voles had his larger plan now. With coolness and daring he might +achieve it. All depended on the discretion of those left behind in +Gateway House. It was impossible to keep Winifred always in durance, or +to prevent her everlastingly from obtaining help. That fool of a +cyclist, for instance, had he contented himself with riding quietly +behind until he reached the ferry, would have wrecked the exploit beyond +repair. + +There remained one last move, but it was a perfect one in most ways. +Would Fowle keep his mouth shut? Voles cursed Fowle in his thought. Were +it not for Fowle there would have been no difficulty. Carshaw would +never have met Winifred, and the girl would have been as wax in the +hands of Rachel Craik. He caught hold of Winifred's arm. + +"If you scream I'll choke you!" he said fiercely. + +Shaken by the chloroform mixture, benumbed as the outcome of an +unprotected drive, the girl was physically as well as mentally unable to +resist. He coiled her hair into a knot, gagged her dexterously with a +silk handkerchief--Voles knew all about gags--and tied her hands behind +her back with a shoe-lace. Then he adjusted the hood and side-screens. + +He did these things hurriedly, but without fumbling. He was losing +precious minutes, for the telephone-wire might yet throttle him; but the +periods of waiting at the ferry and while crossing the Hudson must be +circumvented in some way or other. His last act before starting the car +was to show Winifred the revolver he never lacked. + +"See this!" he growled into her ear. "I'm not going to be held by any +cop. At the least sign of a move by you to attract attention I'll put +the first bullet through the cop, the second through you, and the third +through myself, if I can't make my get-away. Better believe that. I mean +it." + +He asked for no token of understanding on her part. He was stating only +the plain facts. In a word, Voles was born to be a great man, and an +unhappy fate had made him a scoundrel. But fortune still befriended him. +Rain fell as he drove through Hoboken. The ferry was almost deserted, +and the car was wedged in between two huge mail-vans on board the boat. + +Hardened rascal though he was, Voles breathed a sigh of relief as he +drove unchallenged past a uniformed policeman on arriving at Christopher +Street. He guessed his escape was only a matter of minutes. In reality, +he was gone some ten seconds when the policeman was called to the phone. +As for Petch, that valorous knight-errant crossed on the next boat, and +the Hoboken police were already on the _qui vive_. + +Every road into and out of New York was soon watched by sharp eyes on +the lookout for a car bearing a license numbered in the tens of +thousands, and tenanted by a hatless man and a girl in indoor costume. +Quickly the circles lessened in concentric rings through the agencies of +telephone-boxes and roundsmen. + +At half past nine a patrolman found a car answering the description +standing outside an up-town saloon on the East Side. Examining the +register number he saw at once that blacking had been smeared over the +first and last figures. Then he knew. But there was no trace of the +driver. Voles and Winifred had vanished into thin air. + +Mrs. Carshaw, breakfasting with a haggard and weary son, revealed that +Senator Meiklejohn was at Atlantic City. He kissed her for the news. + +"Meiklejohn must wait, mother," he said. "Winifred is somewhere in New +York. I cannot tear myself away to Atlantic City to-day. When I have +found her, I shall deal with Meiklejohn." + +Then came Steingall, and he and Mrs. Carshaw exchanged a glance which +the younger man missed. + +Mrs. Carshaw, sitting a while in deep thought after the others had gone, +rang up a railway company. Atlantic City is four hours distant from New +York. By hurrying over certain inquiries she wished to make, she might +catch a train at midday. + +She drove to her lawyers. At her request a smart clerk was lent to her +for a couple of hours. They consulted various records. The clerk made +many notes on foolscap sheets in a large, round hand, and Mrs. Carshaw, +seated in the train, read them many times through her gold-mounted +lorgnette. + +It was five o'clock when a taxi brought her to the Marlborough-Blenheim +Hotel, and Senator Meiklejohn was the most astonished man on the Jersey +coast at the moment when she entered unannounced, for Mrs. Carshaw had +simply said to the elevator-boy: "Take me to Senator Meiklejohn's +sitting-room." + +Undeniably he was startled; but playing desperately for high stakes had +steadied him somewhat. Perhaps the example of his stronger brother had +some value, too, for he rose with sufficient affability. + +"What a pleasant _rencontre_, Mrs. Carshaw," he said. "I had no notion +you were within a hundred miles of the Board Walk." + +"That is not surprising," she answered, sinking into a comfortable +chair. "I have just arrived. Order me some sandwiches and a cup of tea. +I'm famished." + +He obeyed. + +"I take it you have come to see me?" he said, quietly enough, though +aware of a queer fluttering about the region of his heart. + +"Yes. I am so worried about Rex." + +"Dear me! The girl?" + +"It is always a woman. How you men must loathe us in your sane moments, +if you ever have any." + +"I flatter myself that I am sane, yet how could I say that I loathe +_your_ sex, Mrs. Carshaw?" + +"I wonder if your flattery will bear analysis. But there! No serious +talk until I am refreshed. Do ring for some biscuits; sandwiches are apt +to be slow in the cutting." + +Thus by pretext she kept him from direct converse until a tea-tray, with +a film of _pate de fois_ coyly hidden in thin bread and butter, formed, +as it were, a rampart between them. + +"How did you happen on my address?" he asked smilingly. + +It was the first shell of real warfare, and she answered in kind: "That +was quite easy. The people at the detective bureau know it." + +The words hit him like a bullet. + +"The Bureau!" he cried. + +"Yes. The officials there are interested in the affairs of Winifred +Marchbanks." + +He went ashen-gray, but essayed, nevertheless, to turn emotion into mere +amazement. He was far too clever a man to pretend a blank negation. The +situation was too strenuous for any species of ostrich device. + +"I seem to remember that name," he said slowly, moistening his lips with +his tongue. + +"Of course you do. You have never forgotten it. Let us have a friendly +chat about her, Senator. My son is going to marry her. That is why I am +here." + +She munched her sandwiches and sipped her tea. This experienced woman of +the world, now boldly declared on the side of romance, was far too +astute to force the man to desperation unless it was necessary. He must +be given breathing-time, permitted to collect his wits. She was sure of +her ground. Her case was not legally strong. Meiklejohn would discover +that defect, and, indeed, it was not her object to act legally. If +others could plot and scheme, she would have a finger in the pie--that +was all. And behind her was the clear brain of Steingall, who had camped +for days near the Senator in Atlantic City, and had advised the mother +how to act for her son. + +There was a long silence. She ate steadily. + +"Perhaps you will be good enough to state explicitly why you are here, +Mrs. Carshaw," said Meiklejohn at last. + +She caught the ring of defiance in his tone. She smiled. There was to be +verbal sword-play, and she was armed _cap-a-pie_. + +"Just another cup of tea," she pleaded, and he wriggled uneasily in his +chair. The delay was torturing him. She unrolled her big sheets of +notes. He looked over at them with well-simulated indifference. + +"I have an engagement--" he began, looking at his watch. + +"You must put it off," she said, with sudden heat. "The most important +engagement of your life is here, now, in this room, William Meiklejohn. +I mentioned the detective bureau when I entered. Which do you prefer to +encounter--me or an emissary of the police?" + +He paled again. Evidently this society lady had claws, and would use +them if annoyed. + +"I do not think that I have said anything to warrant such language to +me," he murmured, striving to smile deprecatingly. He succeeded but +poorly. + +"You sent me to drive out into the world the girl whom my son loved," +was the retort. "You made a grave mistake in that. I recognized her, +after a little while. I knew her mother. Now, am I to go into details?" + +"I--really--I--" + +"Very well. Eighteen years ago your brother, Ralph Vane Meiklejohn, +murdered a man named Marchbanks, who had discovered that you and your +brother were defrauding his wife of funds held by your bank as her +trustees. I have here the records of the crime. I do not say that your +brother, who has since been a convict and is now assisting you under the +name of Ralph Voles, could be charged with that crime. Maybe 'murderer' +is too strong a word for him where Marchbanks was concerned; but I do +say that any clever lawyer could send you and him to the penitentiary +for robbing a dead woman and her daughter, the girl whom you and he have +kidnapped within the last week." + +Here was a broadside with a vengeance. Meiklejohn could not have endured +a keener agony were he facing a judge and jury. It was one thing to +have borne this terrible secret gnawing at his vitals during long years, +but it was another to find it pitilessly laid bare by a woman belonging +to that very society for which he had dared so much in order to retain +his footing. + +He bent his head between his hands. For a few seconds thoughts of +another crime danced in his surcharged brain. But Mrs. Carshaw's +well-bred syllables brought him back to sanity with chill +deliberateness. + +"Shall I go on?" she said. "Shall I tell you of Rachel Bartlett; of the +scandal to be raised about your ears, not only by this falsified trust, +but by the outrageous attack on Ronald Tower?" + +He raised his pallid face. He was a proud man, and resented her +merciless taunts. + +"Of course," he muttered, "I deny everything you have said. But, if it +were true, you must have some ulterior motive in approaching me. What is +it?" + +"I am glad you see that. I am here to offer terms." + +"Name them." + +"You must place this girl, Winifred Marchbanks, under my care--where she +will remain until my son marries her--and make restitution of her +mother's property." + +"No doubt you have a definite sum in your mind?" + +"Most certainly. My lawyers tell me you ought to refund the interest as +well, but Winifred may content herself with the principal. You must hand +her half a million dollars!" + +He sprang to his feet, livid. "Woman," he yelled, "you are crazy!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE BITER BIT + + +Mrs. Carshaw focused him again through her gold-rimmed eye-glasses. +"Crazy?" she questioned calmly. "Not a bit of it--merely an old woman +bargaining for her son. Rex would not have done it. After thrashing you +he would have left you to the law, and, were the law to step in, you +would surely be ruined. I, on the other hand, do not scruple to compound +a felony--that is what my lawyers call it. My extravagance and +carelessness have contributed to encumber Rex's estates with a heavy +mortgage. If I provide his wife with a dowry which pays off the mortgage +and leaves her a nice sum as pin-money, I shall have done well." + +"Half a million! I--I repudiate your statements. Even if I did not, I +have no such sum at command." + +"Yes, you have, or will have, which is the same thing. Shall I give you +details of the Costa Rica cotton concession, arranged between you, and +Jacob, and Helen Tower? They're here. As for repudiation, perhaps I have +hurried matters. Permit me to go through my story at some length, +quoting chapter and verse." + +She spread open her papers again, after having folded them. + +"Stop this wretched farce," he almost screamed, for her coolness broke +up his never too powerful nervous system. "If--I agree--what guarantee +is there--" + +"Ah! now you're talking reasonably. I can ensure the acceptance of my +terms. First, where is Winifred?" + +He hesitated. Here was the very verge of the gulf. Any admission implied +the truth of Mrs. Carshaw's words. She did not help him. He must take +the plunge without any further impulsion. But the Senator's nerve was +broken. They both knew it. + +"At Gateway House, East Orange," he said sullenly. "I must tell you that +my--my brother is a dare-devil. Better leave me to----" + +"I am glad you have told the truth," she interrupted. "She is not at +Gateway House now. Rex and a detective were there last night. There was +a fight. Your brother, a resourceful scoundrel evidently, carried her +off. You must find him and her. A train leaves for New York in half an +hour. Come back with me and help look for her. It will count toward your +regeneration." + +He glanced at his watch abstractedly. He even smiled in a sickly way as +he said: + +"You timed your visit well." + +"Yes. A woman has intuition, you know. It takes the place of brains. I +shall await you in the hall. Now, don't be stupid, and think of +revolvers, and poisons, and things. You will end by blessing me for my +interference. Will you be ready in five minutes?" + +She sat in the lounge, and soon saw some baggage descending. Then +Meiklejohn joined her. She went to the office and asked for a telegraph +form. The Senator had followed. + +"What are you going to do?" he asked suspiciously. + +"I'm wiring Rex to say that you and I are traveling to New York +together, and advising him to suspend operations until we arrive. That +will be helpful. You will not be tempted to act foolishly, and he will +not do anything to prejudice your future actions." + +He gave her a wrathful glance. Mrs. Carshaw missed no point. A man +driven to desperation might be tempted to bring about an "accident" if +he fancied he could save himself in that way. But, clever as a mother +scheming for her son's welfare proved herself, there was one thing she +could not do. Neither she nor any other human being can prevent the +unexpected from happening occasionally. Sound judgment and astute +planning will often gain a repute for divination; yet the prophet is +decried at times. Steingall had discovered this, and Mrs. Carshaw +experienced it now. + +It chanced that Mick the Wolf, lying in Gateway House on a bed of pain, +his injuries aggravated by the struggle with the detective, and his +temper soured by Rachel Craik's ungracious ministrations, found his +thoughts dwelling on the gentle girl who had forgotten her own sorrows +and tended him, her enemy. + +Such moments come to every man, no matter how vile he may be, and this +lorn wolf was a social castaway from whom, during many years, all +decent-minded people had averted their faces. His slow-moving mind was +apt to be dominated by a single idea. He understood enough of the Costa +Rican project to grasp the essential fact that there was money in it for +all concerned, and money honestly earned, if honesty be measured by the +ethics of the stock manipulator. + +He realized, too, that neither Voles nor Rachel Craik could be moved by +argument, and he rightly estimated Fowle as a weak-minded nonentity. So +he slowly hammered out a conclusion, and, having appraised it in his +narrow circle of thought, determined to put it into effect. + +An East Orange doctor, who had received his instructions from the +police, paid a second visit to Mick the Wolf shortly before the hour of +Mrs. Carshaw's arrival in Atlantic City. + +"Well, how is the arm feeling now?" he said pleasantly, when he entered +the patient's bedroom. + +The answer was an oath. + +"That will never do," laughed the doctor. "Cheerfulness is the most +important factor in healing. Ill-temper causes jerky movements and +careless--" + +"Oh, shucks," came the growl. "Say, listen, boss! I've been broke up +twice over a slip of a girl. I've had enough of it. The whole darn thing +is a mistake. I want to end it, an' I don't give a hoorah in Hades who +knows. Just tell her friends that if they look for her on board the +steamer _Wild Duck_, loadin' at Smith's Pier in the East River, they'll +either find her or strike her trail. That's all. Now fix these bandages, +for my arm's on fire." + +The doctor wisely put no further questions. He dressed the wounded limb +and took his departure. A policeman in plain clothes, hiding in a +neighboring barn, saw him depart and hailed him: "Any news, Doc?" + +"Yes," was the reply. "If my information is correct you'll not be kept +there much longer." + +He motored quickly to the police-station. Within the hour Carshaw, with +frowning face and dreams of wreaking physical vengeance on the burly +frame of Voles, was speeding across New York with Steingall in his +recovered car. He simply hungered for a personal combat with the man who +had inflicted such sufferings on his beloved Winifred. + +The story told by Polly Barnard, and supplemented by Petch, revealed +very clearly the dastardly trick practised by Voles the previous +evening, while the dodge of smearing out two of the figures on the +automobile's license plate explained the success attained in traversing +the streets unnoticed by the police. + +Steingall was inclined to theorize. + +"The finding of the car puzzled me at first, I admit," he said. "Now, +assuming that Mick the Wolf has not sent us off on a wild-goose chase, +the locality of the steamer explains it. Voles drove all the way to the +East Side, quitted the car in the neighborhood of the pier, deposited +Miss Bartlett on board the vessel under some plausible pretext, and +actually risked the return journey into the only part of New York where +the missing auto might not be noticed at once. He's a bold rogue, and no +mistake." + +But Carshaw answered not. The chief glanced at him sideways, and smiled. +There was a lowering fire in his companion's eyes that told its own +story. Thenceforward, the run was taken in silence. But Steingall had +decided on his next move. When they neared Smith's Pier Carshaw wished +to drive straight there. + +"Nothing of the sort," was the sharp official command. "We have failed +once. Perhaps it was my fault. This time there shall be no mistakes. +Turn along the next street to the right. The precinct station is three +blocks down." + +Somewhat surprised by Steingall's tone, the other obeyed. At the +station-house a policeman, called from the men's quarters, where he was +quietly reading and smoking, stated that he was on duty in the +neighborhood between eight o'clock the previous evening and four o'clock +that morning. He remembered seeing a car, similar to the one standing +outside, pass about 9.15 P.M. It contained two people, he believed, but +could not be sure, as the screens were raised owing to the rain. He did +not see the car again; some drunken sailors required attention during +the small hours. + +The local police captain and several men in plain clothes were asked to +assemble quietly on Smith's Pier. A message was sent to the river +police, and a launch requisitioned to patrol near the _Wild Duck_. + +Finally, Steingall, who was a born strategist, and whose long experience +of cross-examining counsel rendered him wary before he took irrevocable +steps in cases such as this, where a charge might fail on unforeseen +grounds, made inquiries from a local ship's chandler as to the _Wild +Duck_, her cargo, and her destination. + +There was no secret about her. She was loading with stores for Costa +Rica. The consignees were a syndicate, and both Carshaw and Steingall +recognized its name as that of the venture in which Senator Meiklejohn +was interested. + +"Do you happen to know if there is any one on board looking after the +interests of the syndicate?" asked the detective. + +"Yes. A big fellow has been down here once or twice. He's going out as +the manager, I guess. His name was--let me see now--" + +"Voles?" suggested Steingall. + +"No, that wasn't it. Oh, I've got it--Vane, it was." + +Carshaw, dreadfully impatient, failed to understand all this preliminary +survey; but the detective had no warrant, and ship's captains become +crusty if their vessels are boarded in a peremptory manner without +justification. Moreover, Steingall quite emphatically ordered Carshaw to +remain on the wharf while he and others went on board. + +"You want to strangle Voles, if possible," he said. "From what I've +heard of him he would meet the attempt squarely, and you two might do +each other serious injury. I simply refuse to permit any such thing. You +have a much more pleasant task awaiting you when you meet the young +lady. No one will say a word if you hug her as hard as you like." + +Carshaw, agreeing to aught but delay, promised ruefully not to +interfere. When the river police were at hand a nod brought several +powerfully built officers closing in on the main gangway of the _Wild +Duck_. The police-captain, in uniform, accompanied Steingall on board. + +A deck hand hailed them and asked their business. + +"I want to see the captain," said the detective. + +"There he is, boss, lookin' at you from the chart-house now." + +They glanced up toward a red-faced, hectoring sort of person who +regarded them with evident disfavor. Some ships, loading for Central +American ports at out-of-the-way wharves, do not want uniformed police +on their decks. + +The two climbed an iron ladder. Men at work in the forehold ceased +operations and looked up at them. Their progress was followed by many +interested eyes from the wharf. The captain glared angrily. He, too, had +noted the presence of the stalwart contingent near the gangway, nor had +he missed the police boat. + +"What the--" he commenced; but the detective's stern question stopped an +outburst. + +"Have you a man named Voles or Vane on board?" + +"Mr. Vane--yes." + +"Did he bring a young woman to this ship late last night?" + +"I don't see--" + +"Let me explain, captain. I'm from the detective bureau. The man I am +inquiring for is wanted on several charges." + +The steady official tone caused the skipper to think. Here was no +cringing foreigner or laborer to be brow-beaten at pleasure. + +"Well, I'm--" he growled. "Here, you," roaring at a man beneath, "go aft +and tell Mr. Vane he's wanted on the bridge." + +The messenger vanished. + +"I assume there _is_ a young lady on board?" went on Steingall. + +"I'm told so. I haven't seen her." + +"Surely you know every one who has a right to be on the ship?" + +"Guess that's so, mister, an' who has more right than the daughter of +the man who puts up the dough for the trip? Strikes me you're makin' a +hash of things. But here's Mr. Vane. He'll soon put you where you +belong." + +Advancing from the after state-rooms came Voles. He was looking at +the bridge, but the police-captain was hidden momentarily by the +chart-room. He gazed at Steingall with bold curiosity. He had a foot +on the companion ladder when he heard a sudden commotion on the wharf. +Turning, he saw Fowle, livid with terror, writhing in Carshaw's grasp. + +Then Voles stood still. The shades of night were drawing in, but he had +seen enough to give him pause. Perhaps, too, other less palpable shadows +darkened his soul at that moment. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +THE SETTLEMENT + + +The chief disliked melodrama in official affairs. Any man, even a crook, +ought to know when he is beaten, and take his punishment with a stiff +upper lip. But Voles's face was white, and in one of his temperament, +that was as ominous a sign as the bloodshot eyes of a wild boar. +Steingall had hoped that Voles would walk quietly into the chart-room, +and, seeing the folly of resistance, yield to the law without a +struggle. Perhaps, under other conditions, he might have done so. It was +the coming of Fowle that had complicated matters. + +The strategic position was simple enough. Voles had the whole of the +after-deck to himself. In the river, unknown to him, was the police +launch. On the wharf, plain in view, were several policemen, whose +clothes in nowise concealed their character. On the bridge, visible now, +was the uniformed police-captain. Above all, there was Fowle, wriggling +in Carshaw's grasp, and pointing frantically at him, Voles. + +"Come right along, Mr. Vane," said Steingall encouragingly; "we'd like a +word with you." + +The planets must have been hostile to the Meiklejohn family in that +hour. Brother William was being badly handled by Mrs. Carshaw in +Atlantic City, and Brother Ralph was receiving a polite request to come +up-stairs and be cuffed. + +But Ralph Vane Meiklejohn faced the odds creditably. People said +afterward it was a pity he was such a fire-eater. Matters might have +been arranged much more smoothly. As it was, he looked back, perhaps, +through a long vista of misspent years, and the glance was not +encouraging. Of late, his mind had dwelt with somewhat unpleasant +frequency on the finding of a dead body in the quarry near his Vermont +home. + +His first great crime had found him out when he was beginning to forget +it. He had walked that moment from the presence of a girl whose +sorrowful, frightened face reminded him of another long-buried victim of +that quarry tragedy. He knew, too, that this girl had been defrauded by +him and his brother of a vast sum of money, and a guilty conscience made +the prospect blacker than it really was. And then, he was a man of +fierce impulses, of ungovernable rage, a very tiger when his baleful +passions were stirred. A wave of madness swept through him now. He saw +the bright prospect of an easily-earned fortune ruthlessly replaced by a +more palpable vision of prison walls and silent, whitewashed corridors. +Perhaps the chair of death itself loomed through the red mist before his +eyes. + +Yet he retained his senses sufficiently to note the police-captain's +slight signal to his men to come on board, and again he heard +Steingall's voice: + +"Don't make any trouble, Voles. It'll be all the worse for you in the +end." + +The detective's warning was not given without good cause. He knew the +faces of men, and in the blazing eyes of this man he read a maniacal +fury. + +Voles glanced toward the river. It was nearly night. He could swim like +an otter. In the sure confusion he might--Then, for the first time, he +noticed the police launch. His right hand dropped to his hip. + +"Ah, don't be a fool, Voles!" came the cry from the bridge. "You're only +making matters worse." + +A bitter smile creased the lips of the man who felt the world slipping +away beneath him. His hand was thrust forward, not toward the occupants +of the bridge, but toward the wharf. Fowle saw him and yelled. A report +and the yell merged into a scream of agony. Voles was sure that Fowle +had betrayed him, and took vengeance. There was a deadly certainty in +his aim. + +Steingall, utterly fearless when action was called for, swung himself +down by the railings. He was too late. A second report, and Voles +crumpled up. + +His bold spirit had not yielded nor his hand failed him in the last +moment of his need. A bullet was lodged in his brain. He was dead ere +the huge body thudded on the deck. + +When Carshaw found Winifred in a cabin--to open the door they had to +obtain the key from Voles's pocket--the girl was sobbing pitifully. She +heard the revolver shots, and knew not what they betokened. She was so +utterly shaken by these last dreadful hours that she could only cling to +her lover and cry in a frightened way that went to his heart: + +"Oh, take me away, Rex! It was all my fault. Why did I not trust you? +Please, take me away!" + +He fondled her hair and endeavored to kiss the tears from her eyes. + +"Don't cry, little one!" he whispered. "All your troubles have ended +now." + +It was a simple formula, but effective. When repeated often enough, +with sufficiently convincing caresses, she became calmer. When he +brought her on deck all signs of the terrible scene enacted there had +been removed. She asked what had caused the firing, and he told her that +Voles was arrested. It was sufficient. So sensitive was she that the +mere sound of the dead bully's name made her tremble. + +"I remember now," she whispered. "I was sure he had killed you. I knew +you would follow me, Rex. When I saw you I forgot all else in the joy of +it. Are you sure you are not injured?" + +At another time he would have laughed, but her worn condition demanded +the utmost forbearance. + +"No, dearest," he assured her. "He did not even try to hurt me. Now let +me take you to my mother." + +The captain, thoroughly scared by the events he had witnessed, came +forward with profuse apologies and offers of the ship's hospitality. +Carshaw felt that the man was not to blame, but the _Wild Duck_ held no +attractions for him. He hurried Winifred ashore. + +Steingall came with them. The district police would make the official +inquiries as a preliminary to the inquest which would be held next day. +Carshaw must attend, but Winifred would probably be excused by the +authorities. He conveyed this information in scraps of innuendo. +Winifred did not know of Voles's death or the shooting of Fowle till +many days had passed. + +Fowle did not die. He recovered, after an operation and some months in a +hospital. Then Carshaw befriended him, obtained a situation for him, and +gave him money to start life in an honest way once more. + +There was another scene when Mrs. Carshaw brought Meiklejohn to her +apartment and found Rex and Winifred awaiting them. Winifred, of course, +had never seen the Senator, and there was nothing terrifying to her in +the sight of a haggard, weary-looking, elderly gentleman. She was far +more fluttered by meeting Rex's mother, who figured in her mind as a +domineering, cruel, old lady, elegantly merciless, and gifted with a +certain skill in torture by words. + +Mrs. Carshaw began to dispel that impression promptly. + +"My poor child!" she cried, with a break in her voice, "what you have +undergone! Can you ever forgive me?" + +Carshaw, ignoring Meiklejohn, whispered to his mother that Winifred +should be sent to bed. She was utterly worn out. One of the maids should +sleep in her room in case she awoke in fright during the night. + +When left alone with Meiklejohn he intended to scarify the man's soul. +But he was disarmed at the outset. The Senator's spirit was broken. He +admitted everything; said nought in palliation. He could have taken no +better line. When Mrs. Carshaw hastened back, fearing lest her plans +might be upset, she found her son giving Winifred's chief persecutor a +stiff dose of brandy. + +The tragedy of Smith's Pier was allowed to sink into the obscurity of an +ordinary occurrence. Fowle's unhappily-timed appearance was explained by +Rachel Craik when her frenzy at the news of Voles's death had subsided. + +A chuckling remark by Mick the Wolf that "There'd been a darned sight +too much fuss about that slip of a girl, an' he had fixed it," alarmed +her. + +She sent Fowle at top speed to Smith's Pier to warn Voles. He arrived in +time to be shot for his pains. + +Carshaw and Winifred were married quietly. Their honeymoon consisted +of the trip to Massachusetts when he began work in the cotton mill. +Meiklejohn fulfilled his promise. When the Costa Rica cotton concession +reached its zenith he sold out, resigned his seat in the Senate and +transferred to Winifred railway cash and gilt-edged bonds to the total +value of a half a million dollars. So the young bride enriched her +husband, but Carshaw refused to desert his business. He will die a +millionaire, but he hopes to live like one for a long time. + +Petch and Jim fought over Polly. There was talk about it in East Orange, +and Polly threw both over; the latest gossip is that she is going to +marry a police-inspector. + +Mrs. Carshaw, Sr., still visits her "dear friend," Helen Tower. Both of +them speak highly of Meiklejohn, who lives in strict seclusion. He is +very wealthy; since he ceased to strive for gold it has poured in on +him. + +Winifred secured an allowance for Rachel Craik sufficient to live on, +and Mick the Wolf, whose arm was never really sound again, was given a +job on the Long Island estate as a watcher. + +Quite recently, when the young couple came in to New York for a +week-end's shopping--rendered necessary by the establishment of day and +night nurseries--they entertained Steingall and Clancy at dinner in the +Biltmore. Naturally, at one stage of a pleasant meal, the talk turned on +those eventful months, October and November, 1913. As usual, Clancy +waxed sarcastic at his chief's expense. + +"He's as vain as a star actor in the movies," he cackled. "Hogs all the +camera stuff. Wouldn't give me even a flash when the big scene was put +on." + +Steingall pointed a fat cigar at him. + +"Do you know what happened to a frog when he tried to emulate a bull?" +he said. + +"I know what happened to a bull one night in East Orange," came the +ready retort. + +"The solitary slip in an otherwise unblemished career," sighed the +chief. "Make the most of it, little man. If I allowed myself to dwell on +your many blunders I'd lie down and die." + +Winifred never really understood these two. She thought their bickering +was genuine. + +"Why," she cried, "you are wonderful, both of you! From the very +beginning you peered into the souls of those evil men. You, Mr. Clancy, +seemed to sense a great mystery the moment you heard Rachel Craik speak +to the Senator outside the club that night. As for you, Mr. Steingall, +do you know what the lawyers told Rex and me soon after our marriage?" + +"No, ma'am," said Steingall. + +"They said that if you hadn't sent Rex's mother to Atlantic City we +might never have recovered a cent of the stolen money. Sheer bluff, they +called it. We would have had the greatest difficulty in establishing a +legal case." + +Steingall weighed the point for a moment. + +"Sometimes I'm inclined to think that the police know more about human +nature than any other set of men," he said, at last, evidently choosing +his words with care. "Perhaps I might except doctors. They, too, see us +as we are. But the dry legal mind does not allow sufficiently for what +is called in every-day speech a guilty conscience. In this case these +people knew they had done you and your father and mother a great wrong, +and that knowledge was never absent from their thoughts. It colored +every word they uttered, governed every action. That's a heavy handicap, +ma'am. It's the deciding factor in the never-ending struggle between the +police and the criminal classes. The most callous crook walking Broadway +in freedom to-night--a man who would scoff at the notion that he is +bothered by any conscience at all--never passes a policeman without an +instinctive sense of danger. And that is what beats him in the long run. +Crime may be a form of lunacy--indeed, I look on it in that light +myself--but, luckily for mankind, crime cannot stifle conscience." + +The chief's tone had become serious; he appeared to awake to its gravity +when he found the young wife's eyes fixed on his with a certain awe. He +broke off the lecture suddenly. + +"Why," he cried, smiling broadly, and jerking the cigar toward Clancy, +"why, ma'am, if we cops hadn't some sort of a pull, what chance would a +shrimp like him have against any one of real intelligence?" + +"That's what he regards as handing me a lemon for my Orange," grinned +Clancy. + +Winifred laughed. The curtain can drop on the last act of her adventures +to the mirthful music of her happiness. + + +THE END + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: + +Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, +every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and +intent. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bartlett Mystery, by Louis Tracy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BARTLETT MYSTERY *** + +***** This file should be named 31949.txt or 31949.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/9/4/31949/ + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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