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| author | pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> | 2025-10-11 17:22:03 -0700 |
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| committer | pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> | 2025-10-11 17:22:03 -0700 |
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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/77033-0.txt b/77033-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc01e73 --- /dev/null +++ b/77033-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8344 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77033 *** + + + + + + THE SINISTER MARK + + BY LEE THAYER + + GARDEN CITY NEW YORK + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + 1923 + + COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION + INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN + + COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES + AT + THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. + + _First Edition_ + + + TO + H. W. T. + + IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT + OF HIS FINAL APPROVAL + + + + + CONTENTS + + + I. "MARY BLAKE" + + II. AN UNSTAMPED LETTER + + III. PETER CLANCY + + IV. A VIEWLESS ROOM + + V. CAMOUFLAGE? + + VI. "MY SISTER, ANNE----" + + VII. A SPLASH OF BLOOD + + VIII. THE VOICE OVER THE WIRE + + IX. WHAT THE CABMAN KNEW + + X. A BIG TRUNK + + XI. FOUR PHOTOGRAPHS + + XII. A SIGNATURE CARD + + XIII. THE WOMAN AT THE PENNSYLVANIA HOTEL + + XIV. ONE CLUE + + XV. THE DUPLICATE KEY + + XVI. ROSAMOND CURWOOD + + XVII. ANOTHER PHOTOGRAPH + + XVIII. ROSAMOND'S SECRET + + XIX. IN THE OLD PHOTOGRAPH GALLERY + + XX. PETER CLANCY CHANGES HIS PLANS-- + + XXI. --AND ASKS A QUESTION + + XXII. "ON MONDAY--THE TWENTY-NINTH OF MAY----" + + XXIII. A MIDNIGHT ERRAND + + XXIV. "HANDS UP!" + + XXV. A HIGH WALL + + XXVI. THE WOMAN SHULTZE + + XXVII. 111 WEST FORTY ---- STREET + + XXVIII. DONALD MORRIS UNDERSTANDS + + XXIX. KATE RUTHERFORD RELIEVES HER MIND + + + + + THE SINISTER MARK + + + + + CHAPTER I + + "MARY BLAKE" + + +"Tell me, Mary!" + +The woman stirred slightly, and with her strong, fine hand pushed her +coffee cup away. She hesitated and looked down at the heavily shaded +light which threw a rosy gleam upon the white tablecloth. Then her +troubled glance travelled swiftly about the room, scarcely noting, +at the other tables, the eager or bored faces, dimly lit; here and +there a splash of colour on a salient jaw and chin, a flush on a bare, +powdered shoulder, the rest melting into carefully designed obscurity, +in which soft-footed waiters passed back and forth, ubiquitous, silent, +and attentive. Her eyes came to rest, at last, on the face of her +companion, but her firm red lips remained closed. + +"Something is troubling you, Mary. I can see it plainly," the man +insisted. His voice was low and deep, thrilling with an emotion which +was reflected in his strong bronzed face. "Tell me about it. Let me +help you. I----" + +She interrupted him with a motion of her hand. + +"It's nothing that you can help, Donald," she said, slowly, bitterly. +"'Fate stacks the cards,' my father used to say, 'and few of us have +the courage to overturn the table.' I wonder----" + +She paused. There was a strange light in her fathomless eyes. The man +opposite her leaned intently forward and strove in vain to plumb their +depths. They had fascinated him from the first--those strange gold-gray +eyes--more than her beautiful, mobile face, more, even, than her +wonderful voice. There had always been in them a veiled expression of +mystery, a something unexplained and unexplainable, a hint of tragedy +which consorted oddly with her amazing success on the stage, before the +most critical audience, perhaps, in the world. + +The fact that, in spite of her great achievements, in spite of her +immense popularity, he alone, so far as he knew, had gained any degree +of intimacy, thrilled Donald Van Loo Morris, cosmopolitan man of the +world as he certainly was, more than, up to this time, he would have +cared to admit even to himself. The long line of his stiff Dutch +ancestry fought with the artistic temperament which he had inherited +from a sporadic _mésalliance_, late in the last century, and so far had +had the upper hand. Though he had realized for some time that all his +senses were intrigued and all his mind filled with the fascination of +her charm and the loveliness of her spirit, the thought of an alliance +with a woman, world-famed, and yet in a sense unknown, had held his +ardour in check. She was called Mary Blake by the world at large. He +had surprised her into admitting that this was only her stage name, +but when he eagerly sought to push this slight advantage, she had +withdrawn, almost visibly, into that realm of silence which habitually +enshrouded her. + +That was months ago, and since then, though he had seen her as often +as she would permit, he had learned nothing of her antecedents nor +of her life preceding her first appearance on the stage. He was too +conventional, too considerate, perhaps, to question openly, and though +her manner was spontaneous and direct, so far as the present was +concerned, there was no scaling the wall of her reserve, in which he +had been able to find not the smallest loop-hole or crevice. + +Always there had been a shadow in her eyes, and of late Donald Morris +was sure that the shadow had strengthened and deepened. Always he had +felt hers to be a sensitive, high-strung nature, overwrought. The +demands of her profession and the emotional rôles which she played +would account for much, but there was a tenseness about her always, +and especially to-night, a note almost of hysteria, which in a person +of her vitality was scarcely explainable even by the strain of a long +season, culminating in the closing triumphs of the evening. + +She had resolutely, and with fixed determination, refused the ovation +which her manager had planned, and after the final fall of the curtain, +before the last of the enthusiastic audience had left the theatre, she +had slipped quietly away with him--a triumph for him which he felt more +keenly than anything in his previous experience. + +The blood ran hotly in his veins as he gazed across the narrow table +into her eyes. The tragedy and appeal, suddenly and completely +unmasked, which cried out to him from their depths swept every worldly +consideration from his heart. + +He leaned farther forward and laid his brown hand upon the white one +which was clenched upon the table. + +"What is it, Mary?" he questioned, almost fiercely. "There's something +new--some anxiety. What is it, dear? You must tell me. You must let me +protect----" He broke off suddenly and his voice dropped low. "I love +you, Mary. I love you. I'd do anything in the world to serve you. You +must----" + +Abruptly Mary Blake drew back her hand and rose. With the same +trembling hand she drew closer the filmy white scarf which floated +about her throat, and before he could reach her side, she caught up the +light cloak which lay upon the back of her chair and wrapped herself +from head to foot in its soft folds. + +"I must go," she whispered, trembling as with sudden cold. "It's late, +Donald, and I'm very tired. Don't--oh, don't say any more to-night. I +can't bear----" + +They passed out through the crowded restaurant and automatically both +faces slipped on the mask which must be worn before the indifferent +herd. Many eyes followed them in their passage down the room. Though +their faces were somewhat obscured by the bizarre lighting of the +place, at least one of them had been recognized by more than a few. + +"Mary Blake," whispered a heavy-featured man with a freshly scraped +jowl like that of a very clean pig, as he leaned across to his +vis-à-vis, whose bobbed hair shone like the evening primrose in the +dusk. "Been to see her three times in 'Dark Roads.' Closed to-night, +or I'd take you, girlie, though maybe you wouldn't like it anyway. +Pretty high-brow, even for me," and he smoothed his slippery dark hair +complacently. He felt, strenuously, that he knew what he knew. "Great +artist, that," he ruminated, gazing after the retreating figures. "Poor +old Quinn knew how to pick 'em out of the atmosphere, somehow. Pity he +had to kick-in after her first season, but Mary Blake was a lucky girl +to have him for a manager in the start-off. They say Fred Jones has +made a pot of money out of 'Dark Roads' and, of course, she's the whole +show. Quinn's training was worth everything to her, naturally, but the +girl has talent, genius even----" + +The primrose one was scarcely listening. + +"Who's the man?" she interrupted, a trifle impatiently. Even in her +not-too-discriminating eyes there was a sharp contrast between the man +who had just passed and the perfumed self-complacency who had done her +the honour of taking her to an after-theatre supper. + +"That?" queried her companion. "Oh, that's Don Morris--Donald Van Loo +Morris." He rolled the name on his tongue. "Real class he is, girlie, +so don't get any little heart flutters about him. Belongs to all the +old families in New York. His sister is Mrs. Francis Atterbury--see +her pictures in all the society papers. Holds the record for being +the only person who has ever had the honour of showing off the Blake +in captivity. Yep! Mary gave a reading in Mrs. Atterbury's house in +Gramercy Park early last fall, and nobody else has been able to get +near the girl with a ten-foot pole before or since. Some exclusive, +she is! Clever little devil," he chuckled. "Knows how to enhance +her popularity. Bet Quinn shot it into her good and strong that a +successful beginner ought to be seen off-stage as little as possible. +Never have seen her myself except across the foot-lights, and once in +a while at some quiet restaurant, or a place like this which maybe +isn't any too quiet, but it's sort of dim and one doesn't attract too +much attention, eh, girlie? Else would I be here, what?" and he laughed +fatly. + +The girl wrinkled up her baby nose. + +"Oh, quit your kiddin'," she said, petulantly, "and tell me some +more about the tall, good-lookin' guy. He's my idea of what a real +gentleman ought to look like, he sure is. What does he do for a living, +or don't he do anything or anybody?" + +"Not any," grinned the other. "At least, I believe he's a sculptor or +something on the side, but he has oodles of money--so he should worry! +Mary Blake's a wise little gold-digger, all right, if she does pretend +that Violet is her middle name. Now there's nothing of the shrinking +flowerette about you, girlie, and that's what I could care for, believe +me! You're the only----" + +Unmindful of the attention they had attracted, Mary Blake and her +escort passed out into the cool night air. The light rain which blew in +through the open end of the gay awning was refreshing after the close +atmosphere of the restaurant, and Donald Morris raised his head and let +the rain drift in upon his upturned face. Mary Blake's head was bent +and shadowed by her broad, drooping black hat, so that he could not see +the expression of her face when she said: + +"Let me go home alone, Donald, please. Just put me in a taxi and----" + +"Absolutely impossible, my dear girl, at this time of night," he said, +firmly, though his face was uncertain and anxious. + +He motioned to one in gaudy uniform who stood close by, and instantly, +out of the darkness, a cab rolled up and stopped, and the gaudy one +threw open the door. + +"I won't trouble you, Mary," Morris whispered, hastily. "But I must +come with you and see you safe. Mary, oh, Mary----" His lips closed, +but his eyes spoke on. + +With a slight shrug and a deep intake of the breath, the woman bent her +tall head and preceded him into the waiting cab. + +"Ninety-nine Waverly Place." + +Morris gave the direction with almost the assured familiarity with +which one gives one's own, and yet the thought crossed his mind +briefly, as it had many times before, that he had never been beyond +the broad old door of Ninety-nine Waverly Place.... Why?... He +had suggested it more than once, as plainly as he dared, but the +suggestion had always been evaded or ignored. It was not on the score +of propriety, of that he was certain. She lived with her sister. They +would not have been alone. He had always felt that her apartment +would tell him something of her inner life, that inner life which he +knew now, at last, concerned him so deeply; for the phrase which had +come unbidden to his lips was true. He loved her--loved her more than +anything in the world. Nothing else mattered. + +His gaze was fixed on the beautiful profile which could be seen now and +then as the misty street lights flashed past. There had been no sound +within the cab after the slamming of the door. + +Mary Blake sat slightly forward on the cushions, gazing, with unseeing +eyes, straight ahead. Her small head was held erect now, but there was +something tense in its pose, something taut in her whole attitude which +suggested the drawn bow. Her hands were tightly clasped upon her knees. +After a long time, Donald Morris spoke. + +"I won't trouble you, Mary. I won't ask any more questions, but--I +meant what I said. You must have seen it coming. You must have +known--oh, you beautiful, dear, wonderful girl, I love you. I want you +to be my wife, Mary. My----" + +"No, no, Donald! Stop, oh, stop," she gasped. "Don't--don't--not +to-night----" Her breath came short and quick. "I'm to blame--to blame. +I--I don't know what to say to you. I don't know whether to----But no. +You could never ... oh, I can't talk! Not to-night! It's been a long +season, and I'm tired--so tired." + +There was no hint of fatigue in her poised figure, but in her voice was +all the way-worn wistful weariness of the ages. + +The cab reached Washington Square, turned to the left, and stopped, and +a grimy hand stretched leisurely back and opened the door. + +"Wait," said Donald Morris, briefly, as he alighted and gave his hand +to the woman who quickly followed him. + +Silently he received her keys, unlocked and opened the door of the dark +vestibule and the door of the hall. A faint light burned inside, and +by it he could just distinguish the white oval of her face, the wild, +bitter tragedy in the curving lips and great shadowed eyes. + +He closed the door and caught both her hands in his. + +"Let me come up with you, Mary," he cried, "if only for a moment. I +can't leave you like this. Your sister will be waiting up for you?" + +"She--she hasn't gone to bed yet. It isn't that," Mary replied in a +shaken voice. There was always a strange note in her voice when she was +forced to speak of her sister. It was there now, stronger than ever. +Subconsciously, it registered itself on Morris's mind, though at the +moment he paid no heed. He was to remember it later. + +"You're trembling, Mary! You're shivering as if you were frightened," +he cried, anxiously. "What is it, dear?" + +Again she shuddered, and drawing one hand away, covered her face. + +"It's nothing, nothing, Donald." She tried to laugh. "Someone walking +over my grave, perhaps," she added, lightly. Then, under her breath, +"Over my grave ... I wonder...." She caught her lip between her teeth +and swiftly pulled herself together. + +"Good-night, Donald. Thank you for all your kindness--your--everything. +And leave me now. If you--care--go now, at once, while I have----" + +For a flash her eyes were upon him. What he saw in them took his +breath. With a cry he caught her close in his arms and held her fast. +Wildly heart beat against heart, conquering lips pressed lips which +yielded in passionate surrender. + +But only for a moment, though that moment seemed a lifetime to both. + +With shaking hand she pushed him from her, and without another word +sped up the shadowy stair. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + AN UNSTAMPED LETTER + + +Followed, for Donald Morris, two sleepless nights. + +The first was spent in living over again, moment by thrilling moment, +the events and emotions of the previous evening. + +The days of indecision, when worldly considerations were weighed in +the balance with his growing love for Mary Blake, seemed far away, and +almost inconceivable, so overwhelming had his passion become. Whatever +her antecedents had been, whatever her past, he was ready now to face +any future so long as it should be spent at her side. The trouble that +threatened her, if trouble there was, would be as nothing to him, no +matter what its nature, if he were allowed to share it. Every selfish +thought was swept away in the great tide of emotion which buoyed him up +and made him feel the master and ruler of circumstance. + +On the Sunday morning, as soon as convention would allow it, he had +called Mary Blake on the telephone to beg for an immediate interview. + +She had answered him quietly but finally. She would not see him for the +present. She made no explanation, gave no reasons, and in the midst of +his protestations she had quietly cut off the connection, leaving him +hurt, anxious, and apprehensive. + +These feelings had grown upon him during the morning to such an extent +that before noon he had decided to brave her displeasure and attempt an +interview. + +The pace of the swiftly moving cab that bore him southward seemed +all too slow, so anxious had he become. Gone now was the feeling of +invincibility of the early morning. A vague but almost unbearable sense +of uneasiness and alarm pursued him, try as he would to reason it away. + +When he had climbed the three flights of stairs of the old apartment +at Waverly Place, his fears were not allayed by the silence that +followed his repeated knocking. Once he had called through the door: +"Mary, Mary!" and in the stillness that ensued he had an uneasy sense +of a presence near him, a feeling that there was someone inside the +apartment, listening. He could never tell on what this assumption was +based, for there had been no recognizable sound, and though he renewed +his efforts, there had been no answer. + +Forced, at last, to abandon his attempt to see her, he left the +apartment and wandered about the streets, in a frame of mind to which, +in all his fortunate and successful life, he had been a stranger. + +Many times during the ensuing afternoon and evening he had attempted +to get her apartment on the wire. The first report was that the line +was busy and after that, each time he called, the operator made the +same reply--"Party doesn't answer."--And Donald Morris spent the second +sleepless night of all his healthy years. + +It was with a haggard face that he presented himself at his sister's +breakfast table on the Monday morning. He tried to greet her with his +usual affectionate gaiety, but Helena Atterbury was quick to notice +the change in his appearance, though she made no sign. He had lived +with her for years, this talented younger brother, and was the chief +consideration and passion of her ambitious and worldly heart. Even her +husband, Francis Atterbury, while tolerated with friendly courtesy +for his wealth and position, had a far less important place in her +affections. + +She watched Donald now with concern as he absently crumbled his roll, +though she spoke only of ordinary things. + +"Madame Justice coming along all right, Don?" she asked, referring to a +piece of allegorical statuary on which he was at work. "I'd like to run +in to the studio this morning and pay my respects, if she's ready to +receive callers." + +Morris glanced up from the morning paper and was about to reply when +an overwhelmingly correct maid entered and silently presented to his +notice an unstamped letter lying on a silver tray. + +"For me?" he questioned, unnecessarily, as he picked up the letter. + +"Just came by messenger, sir," replied the maid, in a still, small +voice. "Is there an answer, sir?" + +Donald Morris tore open the envelope while the maid waited. He pulled +out the letter and glanced at the signature. Then, abruptly, he rose +from his seat and strode quickly over to the window where, with back +turned, he swiftly perused the letter, not once but twice, crushing it +in his hand when he had finished. + +With a quick gesture he turned to the maid. + +"Where's the boy who brought this?" he asked, almost fiercely. "In the +hall? All right. You needn't wait." And turned sharply to leave the +room. + +"What is it, Don?" cried Helena Atterbury, rising quickly from the +table. "Is anything the matter? Tell me----" + +But her brother, entirely oblivious of the fact that she had spoken, +was already in the hall. + +She heard him questioning the messenger, heard the boy say, "Left at +the office in the Pennsylvania Station yesterday, to be delivered this +morning," and saw the boy dismissed. + +The trouble and concern in her brother's face was more than she could +bear. + +"What is it, Don? What has happened?" she cried, coming up to him near +the door. + +He turned from the hall table, his hat already in his hand. + +"I don't know, Helena," he said, confusedly. "I can't make out----And +it was yesterday! Oh, God!" He clenched his hand. "Already too late! +But I must see--I must make sure. Forgive me, Helena, but I can't wait. +I must----" + +He tore open the front door and rushed down the broad steps, looking in +every direction for a cab. + +Gramercy Park was peaceful and quiet on this spring morning. The sun +shone on the budding trees and bushes of the little park, and already +little children were playing and laughing with their nurses behind +the iron railings. A few private cars stood waiting along the curb at +different points, but not a cab was in sight. + +Without wasting an instant, Morris passed swiftly westward. As he +neared Fourth Avenue, he saw an empty cab rolling uptown. He hailed it +with a shout and broke into a run. + +"Ninety-nine Waverly Place," he called, as he pulled open the door and +leapt inside. + +"Make the best time you can," he called through the glass as the +cab turned. "It'll be worth your while to forget the speed laws. +Understand?" + +The smart Bowery boy at the wheel grinned his comprehension of the +order. His wary eye noted the appearance and probable generosity of +his fare, and the pressure of his foot on the accelerator marked, with +sincerity, the result of his observations. + +"Fool, to hurry now," thought Donald, leaning forward, however, and +chafing at every delay caused by the traffic of the busier streets. +"Too late! I know it will be too late.... But there's the merest +chance. Thank God----" he broke off as they swung into University +Place, and the way before them being comparatively clear, they sped +swiftly southward. + +In a few minutes the cab turned the corner of Waverly Place and stopped +before the quiet brownstone front of Number Ninety-nine. It had once +been a private residence of distinction, and even in its altered +condition it had retained a look of reserved dignity which would have +impressed any one less preoccupied than the man who now, dismissing the +cabman with a handsome tip, sprang up its broad, worn steps. + +In his haste, Donald Morris almost fell over a kneeling figure just +inside the half-open door. + +"Watcha da pail!" a voice protested, as its owner jumped to his feet +and jerked a bucket of water out of the way. He grinned at Morris's +rapid apology, disclosing two rows of strong teeth, shining white in +a ruddy and rather stupid Italian face. "Me scrubba da floor," he +explained the obvious. "White marb' maka lotta troub'." + +Morris nodded, absently. "Miss Blake in? May I go up?" he asked, +hurriedly. Already his foot was on the stair. + +"Sure," answered the Italian, indifferently, bending again to his work. +"Me tinka both in, awright." + +The reply surprised and heartened Morris, to some slight extent +allaying his fears. The man was evidently the caretaker and might +know. At any rate, he could see Mary's sister, Anne, and find out----He +swore to himself that he would find out--that he would spare no means +and no person to get to the bottom of this--and with set jaw and racing +feet he dashed up the stairs. + +He passed two landings, where gas burned dimly beside discreetly closed +doors, and in a moment reached the top of the last flight. + +There was no light here save that which filtered through the +old-fashioned coloured glass of the skylight above the stair well, but +Morris did not hesitate, for there was only one door to Mary Blake's +apartment, the same plain white door at which, yesterday, he had +knocked so long and so fruitlessly. + +His foot had scarcely touched the landing when his hand shot out and +grasped the small brass knocker. The sharp "clap, clap," as it fell, +resounded in the silence, and Donald waited. + +No answer. Only grave silence within and the far-away roar of the busy +city without. + +He tried again, and yet again. Within, the silence lay unbroken. + +"No living thing beyond this door could fail to hear," Morris muttered +to himself. "No living--oh, God! What does her letter mean?" + +He drew it from his pocket and looked at it, but the light was too dim. +He could not decipher again its hurriedly written pages. + +He leaned against the edge of the door and thought as he had never +thought before. The words of the letter came back to him like fire, and +he clenched his teeth and groaned aloud. + +"What shall I do? What can I do?" he whispered to himself in an agony +of apprehension--and as he leaned forward to knock once more, his eyes, +grown accustomed to the dimness, caught a glimmer of something white +which lay upon the threshold of the door. + +He dropped to his knees and touched it. He felt it to be a small +portion--a corner of a scarf of soft, filmy silk, edged with fringe, +fine as thistle-down. It lay across the sill, caught by the closed +door. He pulled at it gently, but the door held it fast. + +Swiftly his hand sought and found a paper of matches in his pocket. He +lit one, and as the tiny flame leapt into being he held it down toward +the bit of frail silk tissue. + +Yes, he did recognize it. It was the scarf Mary had worn when last he +had seen her. These soft folds of silk had floated against his cheek +when--oh, God!--when he had kissed her. + +Reverently he stooped to put it to his lips--and suddenly, with a cry, +he sprang to his feet. + +With the last flicker of the match he had seen something which brought +his heart up, pounding in his ears. + +Wildly he struck another match, and holding the end of the scarf in his +left hand, he bent and brought the wavering flame close to the place +where the scarf was held by the door. + +Upon its pure silken folds, spreading toward him from under the door, +was an ugly dried blot of an ominous, dark red. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + PETER CLANCY + + +Mr. Peter Clancy, early of the Metropolitan Police, late of the United +States Secret Service, and currently the active head of a small but +brilliant private detective agency, sat at his desk, yawning. + +Except for a few bootlegging cases, the last few weeks had been +singularly uneventful, and on this bright spring morning the equally +bright red head of the young detective was full of visions of leafy +woods and murmuring brooks, where trout rose audaciously and leaped, a +flash of rainbow and silver, in the glancing sunlight. + +"If nothing comes across to-day," he ruminated, dreamily, "I'll turn +over this righteous old burg to O'Malley's tender care, beat it out to +Jersey, and have a hack at the trout with Harry Carlisle, darned if I +won't." + +The pleasant thoughts engendered by this determination were rudely +interrupted by the sharp ringing of the telephone at his elbow. + +"Another lot of hooch unearthed," he muttered to himself disgustedly, +as he took the receiver off the hook and held it to his ear. + +"Hello," he cried, with an unnecessary accent on the first syllable. +"Who wants me, Maggie? Oh, all right. I don't know him, but put him +on." An instant's pause, then--"Hello, yes. Peter Clancy speaking. +Yes?" a rising inflection on the last word. + +Suddenly the expression of annoyance left his face. He listened +intently. His eyes narrowed to slits of flashing blue, his relaxed body +tautened in every fibre. Once or twice he shot a question into the +transmitter, but the entire conversation over the wire could have been +measured by seconds. + +At the end--"Ninety-nine Waverly Place? I'm there!" he said, and +flinging the receiver upon its hook, he dashed into the street, picked +up a passing taxi, and made good his word. + +The street door of Ninety-nine Waverly Place was ajar. Clancy, +flinging it wide as he reached the threshold, was greeted by a fluent +ejaculation in profane and picturesque brogue, winding up with-- + +"It's the divil and all that's in it at all, at all! Bangin' me in the +stomach with the whole side of a house!" + +"Hello, Sullivan! What're you doing here?" cried Clancy, catching the +arm of the uniformed policeman with a gesture which was, in itself, a +hasty apology. "Anything to do with----" A motion of his head indicated +the upper part of the house. + +The officer nodded, and through his suddenly assumed air of +preternatural sagacity there appeared a deep perplexity. + +"Are you on it, yourself?" he asked, though he anticipated the +affirmative answer. "Mr. Morris called you up, I suppose," he +continued. "Said he was going to get the best man in New York, and I +guess he has, at that," with a complimentary grin. "Ye can't down the +Irish, eh, Mr. Clancy? Well, and what d'ye make of it?" + +"Don't know many of the facts yet," Clancy replied, hastily. "Am just +going after 'em. But what are you doing down here? Why aren't----" + +"He requested me very polite to lave him alone wid it," answered the +policeman, with so conscious an air of virtue that Clancy could almost +see the denomination of the large bill which he felt sure was in +Sullivan's pocket. "It was nothin' agin my duty to lave him," Sullivan +explained, elaborately, "since I know Mr. Morris be sight, him not +knowin' me and offerin' his card, which I had no need of at all, me +havin' been usher at the Opera, before I got too big for them little +uniforms they do be havin', and knowin' the Morris box like it was me +own ward. And I had to see the Captain when he come, didn't I, and give +him a hint of it before he wint upstairs?" + +"Sure. You're all right, Sullivan," said Clancy, slapping the broad +blue shoulder. "Be a good scout, and give me a hint before I go up. But +be quick about it, will you? I don't want to keep Mr. Morris waiting. +Where did he find you?" + +"Just down the block a piece. I was goin' on me way, when I heard +someone runnin' like hell behind me. 'Officer,' says he, 'come wid me, +quick!' and he grabs me by the arm and no more he says, wid me racin' +beside him puffin' to kape up, till we come to this door. Open it was, +and up the stairs we go together like the divil was chasin' us. When we +got to the top, 'Look,' says he, pointin' down, and no more words at +all, at all, which might have been he was lackin' his breath, same as +me. And I looked, and I couldn't see nothin' but somethin' white and +thin, like smoke, a'most, that was stickin' out from under the door. +You've heard about that?" + +Clancy assented with a quick nod. + +"Yes. He told me. So that's how he got you? That's what I wanted to +know. Find out the rest upstairs. Thanks. See you later," and Clancy +went up the stairs, two steps at a time. + +Though his ascent was rapid, his foot fell quietly on the thick carpet. +Quiet, too, was his hand on the knob of the door. He had often found +that a sudden, unexpected entrance was effective in more ways than one. +This time, however, the effect failed utterly, for the door was locked. + +Clancy, frowning slightly, raised and let fall the small brass knocker. + +He heard someone moving inside the apartment, and almost immediately a +voice near the door asked: + +"Who's there?" + +At Clancy's reply, the door opened wide. + +"Mr. Clancy!" ejaculated Donald Morris, accepting Peter's card with a +glance of verification. "I didn't think you could possibly get here +so soon. It was good of you----" He did not finish the sentence, but +quickly motioned the detective inside and closed the door. + +The narrow hall into which Clancy stepped was rather dark, the only +light coming in from an open door at his right. Through this door +Morris immediately led the way, into a large living room, Clancy +following close at his heels. + +As Morris stepped into the light, Clancy's quick eyes took in at a +glance his strong features and haggard aspect. This was a man not +easily alarmed, Clancy thought. It would take a good deal to upset his +balance, and, in search of enlightenment, his glance travelled swiftly +all about the room. + +"Everything here just as you found it?" he asked, quickly. + +Morris nodded. "All but this," he said, in a heavy voice, motioning +toward a table which stood near one of the windows. + +Clancy swiftly advanced and looked down intently at that which lay upon +it. He touched it with his finger. + +"You found this scarf across the door-sill," he said, meditatively. And +leaning closer he went on, "Stained.... Yes.... Blood?... Looks like +it. Could hardly be anything else.... Not much of it.... And you found +no----" + +"There's no one, dead or alive, in the apartment," Morris interrupted, +hastily. He felt that he could not bear to hear the word which he saw +forming itself on the detective's lips. "The officer went all through +the place with me. It's empty, quite empty, though the janitor thought +both Miss Blake and her sister were here. And," with a motion of his +hand, "the place was as you see it." + +Again Clancy looked carefully around the room. It was unusually large +and spacious, occupying the entire front of the old house. Simple, good +old furniture, well placed, gave it an air of comfort and elegance, +though there was not an unnecessary thing in the room. The three large +windows facing the south were covered by thin ecru curtains held in +place by a small rod at top and bottom, letting in the light but +obscuring the view of the ugly, tall buildings across the way. + +Standing there, in that viewless room, Clancy had a swift sense of the +isolation of so many thousands of lives in this dynamic and vital city. +What could not happen in a secluded, quiet back-water like this? What +lives and deaths, with the teeming city surrounding them on every side? + +The thought crossed his mind in a flash and was gone. He was not +concerned now with profitless generalities. He had been summoned here +to find out what had happened, and exactly what had happened, in this +present case. + +There was not a great deal to go upon in this room; nothing especially +out of the ordinary save the stained scarf upon the table, and the +fact that the several drawers of a desk on the far side of the room +had apparently been ransacked, some of them being still open, their +contents partly scattered on the floor. A small table at the end of +a long couch which stood at right angles to the fireplace had been +overturned, and on the floor beside it lay a shattered vase of blue +hawthorne. + +Apparently nothing else was out of place, and it was, perhaps, not +unusual in this spring weather that there should be a quantity of ashes +in the old-fashioned open grate. But ashes of any kind, perhaps from +early association with the stories of the great Sherlock Holmes, always +interested Peter Clancy. + +He knelt to investigate and found that the ashes appeared to be those +of burnt paper only. He stirred them carefully, but could not find a +vestige of charred wood nor a single bit of paper which had escaped the +action of the fire. + +Morris followed him silently about the room, asking no questions. He +had the air of one dazed by a crushing blow. + +Satisfied, for the moment, by a more or less casual inspection, Clancy +returned to what was to him the most significant object in the room. + +"This scarf," said he, looking at it closely. "I think you told me you +found it outside in the hall?" + +"Partly outside and partly in," Morris made answer at once. "It was +caught fast by the door, but some of the--of the blood on it was +outside." + +"H--m--m, yes," said Clancy, slowly. "And it belongs to someone who +lives here, you think?" + +"It was Miss Mary Blake's," answered Morris, decidedly. + +"You're sure?" + +"Perfectly." + +"How do you know?" + +"I recognized it at once," answered Morris with conviction. "She wore +it when--when I brought her home after the closing of the play." + +"Saturday--that was Saturday night, and this is Monday," Peter Clancy +ruminated. "And that was the last you saw of her?" + +"The last I saw of her, yes. I spoke to her on the wire Sunday morning, +rather early, about ten o'clock. And I--I received a letter from her +this morning. That was why I came. I was alarmed, and----" + +"You were alarmed, then, before you came here. It was not only finding +the scarf----" + +"No. Her letter was so--so strange and unaccountable." Morris hesitated +and, to help him out, Peter said: + +"But you did expect to find Miss Blake here when you came this morning?" + +"I," Morris spoke slowly--"I can't say that I expected to find her. I +only thought there might be a chance. But I certainly did expect to +find her sister, Anne." + +"Oh, there's a sister," said Clancy. "Well, perhaps she'll turn up. +Maybe she's just gone away for the week-end, or you know it's quite on +the cards that she may have gone out this morning, even, and not come +back yet. She might have been looking for something in that desk in +a hurry and left it upset. And as to the scarf, and the blood stain +on it (I admit, you see, that it probably is blood) it might well be +accounted for by some simple accident----" + +Morris shook his head, the troubled frown remaining fixed upon his +forehead. + +"No, no," he exclaimed. "It's impossible to dispose of the conditions +here so easily. I'm sure you'll agree with me when you see the rest of +the apartment. Something has happened here--something sinister. I'm +sure of it. I'm at a loss to understand it all," he pressed his hand +against his forehead as if the throbbing of his brain made his head +ache, "but perhaps you can make a guess. Come and see." + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + A VIEWLESS ROOM + + +Donald Morris turned quickly and opened a door immediately on the right +of the one which led into the hall. + +"You found this closed?" asked Clancy. + +"Yes." + +"Then we'll keep it that way," said Peter, suiting the action to the +word. "I can always think better with everything as it was when found. +Now, let's see----" He glanced about him. + +They stood in what was evidently a bedroom, but here disorder reigned +supreme. All the drawers of a tall old mahogany bureau stood open, the +contents flung about on the floor. A dressing table, by the one large +window, had been rifled. The drawers had been pulled completely out and +emptied on its top. A mound of hairpins, fine lace collars, and other +small accessories of the toilet showed what they had contained. The +doors of two closets stood open, but the interior appeared undisturbed. +A number of very handsome and elaborate gowns and evening wraps hung +in one of them, carefully arranged on hangers and covered with muslin +slips. A rack containing delicate evening slippers stood in order on +the floor. In the other closet were street clothes and shoes, all of +fine quality and elegant pattern. + +Morris watched Clancy's face. + +"What do you think now?" he asked, after a moment. + +Peter shook his head. + +"On its face, it's a clear case of looting," he replied, slowly. "By +the way, was the window shade up, as it is now, when you discovered all +this?" + +Morris's tone was a trifle apologetic. "No, I remember I pulled up the +blind to let in the light as soon as I came in." + +Clancy crossed to the window and pulled aside the thin curtains which, +as in the living room, covered it from top to bottom. He looked out on +a deep, narrow well, or shaft, at the far end of which could be seen an +open space, and beyond the backs of the houses at the opposite end of +the block. On his right was the blank wall of the tall building next +door. + +"No fire-escape here," he murmured, half to himself. "The thief, if it +was a thief, didn't get in this way, anyhow." He looked once more about +the room, photographing its every detail upon the sensitized plate +of his analytical mind. "I guess that'll be about all here for the +present, Mr. Morris. Is there anything more?" + +"Only more of the same kind," Morris replied, as he led the way through +an open door into the narrow hall, which ran through the apartment +from the living room in the front to the kitchen in the rear. "This +is the dining room," he crossed the threshold of the next room on the +right, "and you can see the condition here. Practically nothing left +in the side-board drawers. The kitchen," he led the way again, "seems +to be all right, except that the window is broken just over the catch. +The janitor called my attention to it. He came up with the officer to +let us in and was much excited by the discovery. He said he knew that +the window was not broken on the previous day. The officer thought it +proved how the thief got in----" + +"H--m--m. Yes," said Clancy, closely inspecting the window. +"Fire-escape here. Yes. So Sullivan got it all doped out, right off the +bat, did he? Clever boy, Sullivan, he sure is." + +Clancy lingered a few minutes more in the kitchen, though Donald Morris +could not, at the time, understand the reason for the delay. The +detective stood gazing for quite a while at an innocent little sliver +of ice which lay in the kitchen sink, apparently oblivious of his +surroundings. When he opened the pantry door, and also looked into the +refrigerator, it flashed across Donald's mind that he might be hungry +and looking for something to eat, for this, in ordinary circumstances, +would be the natural inference from his actions, but if that were the +case, Clancy made no mention of it, and at last signified that he had +finished with the kitchen. + +There was only one other room in the apartment, a small one near the +kitchen door, evidently intended for a maid's room but not used for +that purpose, for a long rod, with a number of coat hangers upon +it, crossed one side and a large trunk stood against the wall. The +trunk was locked and the coat hangers were empty. A small, plain +white chiffonier stood in one corner. The drawers were partly open, +disclosing a few gloves and other articles of woman's apparel, all +plain, old, and worn. + +Neither here nor in the bathroom, which came next, were there any signs +of disturbance. + +As they stepped again into the hall, they were aware of a loud knocking +on the door at the far end. + +"That's Sullivan and the captain of the precinct, probably," said +Clancy. "I'll go," and passing Morris he went quickly down the hall and +opened the door. + +His surmise proved to be correct. Sullivan ushered in Captain +Fitzgerald and introduced his friend, Clancy, with evident pride. + +Clancy took charge of the situation and conducted the captain through +the apartment. The inspection finished, they all returned to the living +room, where Morris awaited them. + +"This is just a simple case of robbery, Mr. Morris," said the bluff +police captain, deferentially (for who had not heard of the son and +heir of the great Morris estate?). "We'll do our best to get hold of +the lad as pulled it, but we're kind of up against it, as you can easy +see for yourself. Sullivan tells me that the apartment is rented by the +two Miss Blakes and that they're both away. So how can we tell what's +been taken, if any? Maybe you, being a friend----" + +"It happens that I have never been in the apartment before," Morris +interrupted, hastily, "though I know Miss Mary Blake very well." + +"And do you know where the two of them has gone then?" inquired the +captain. + +"No," answered Morris, slowly. "No. I'm afraid I can't help you there, +either." + +"Well, then, you see," Captain Fitzgerald shrugged his broad shoulders, +"we don't know what's missing and so we can't know where to look for +it, and equally if we don't know what's taken we don't know what kind +of a guy would have been taking it. I'd like to promise results, seeing +it's yourself has called us in, but it'd be just foolishness to do it +till the ladies get back. As soon as they do, you let us know, and +we'll take up the case again, see? It's all we can do----" + +"Sure it is, Captain," agreed Peter, heartily. "Mr. Morris must see +that in a plain case of burglary like this you can't do anything till +the owners appear and make a complaint. He's perfectly satisfied and +so am I. But you don't mind if we stick around here for a bit, do +you? We've got some business to talk over and it's quiet here." He +paused, and the utter silence of the place smote his nerves. "Yes, +it sure is quiet," he thought within himself, "as quiet as death." +Then aloud--"We'll lock up when we go and leave everything as is. So +long, Sullivan. Much obliged to you, Captain. Hope I see you again," +and with pleasant words of farewell he determinedly ushered Captain +Fitzgerald and his satellite out into the hall. + +He closed the door carefully behind them, making sure that the lock was +sprung, and returned to Morris who waited in the living room. + +"Well, that's that," said Peter with satisfaction, as he seated himself +beside the window. + +Donald Morris was pacing about the room, a heavy, puzzled frown upon +his face. He stopped in front of the detective. + +"Why did you get rid of the police in that abrupt fashion, Mr. Clancy?" +he asked. "It seems to me that something ought to be done at once to +track down this burglar, and we need all the help they can give us. I +would do anything--pay anything--rather than to have Miss Blake suffer +loss. With their help we might have found some clue--something to go +upon. If it's a simple case of robbery, as they think----" + +Clancy looked up gravely and slowly closed one eye. + +"If it is a simple case of robbery," he repeated, "Captain Fitzgerald +has done the only thing in his power. He's got nothing to go ahead on, +if--it--is--simply--robbery." He said the last words so slowly and with +so much meaning that Morris started eagerly forward, crying-- + +"Then you don't think----" + +"It may have been robbery," Clancy interrupted, with grave intent. +"But--it wasn't a simple kind of robbery, that I'll swear to." + +"You mean?" + +"Mr. Morris, did you notice that kitchen window which was the obvious +place for the thief to make his entrance, since the fire-escape led +up to it?" asked Clancy, slowly. "Well," he paused, "the window was +broken just at the catch, where it ought to have been, but," he shook +an impressive forefinger, "the glass had fallen entirely on the outside +of the window. There wasn't a trace of it inside the room." + + + + + CHAPTER V + + CAMOUFLAGE? + + +"Good God," cried Donald Morris, sitting down suddenly and striking +his hand on the arm of Clancy's chair. "Then I was right at first! +Something terrible has happened, something complicated and sinister! I +had a feeling that it was so when I called you. I----" + +Peter leaned slightly forward and caught Morris's arm in a steadying +grip. + +"Hold hard, Mr. Morris," he said. "The whole thing may be a mare's +nest, only I'll say right now that it does look a bit queer to me. +But we won't get anywhere near the solution if we don't start at the +beginning. Now let's get down to brass tacks." + +Clancy felt the muscles under his hand relax somewhat, so he released +his hold of Morris's arm and leaned back in his chair. + +"When you called me on the 'phone, you told me nothing except that you +had found a scarf of Miss Blake's stained with blood and that Miss +Blake had disappeared, and asked me to come here as fast as possible. +I beat it down here and found that the apartment had, apparently, been +looted and that neither of the two women who live here were to be +found. Though, for the matter of that, have you any definite reason to +think that either or both of them may not be back at any moment?" + +"I think--I believe I have reason to think that Miss Mary Blake +intended to go away--or--oh, I don't know just what to think." + +"But you did expect the sister to be here," insisted Peter. + +"Yes," Morris nodded. "I think I did expect to find her sister, Anne. +And, as you say, for all I know she may come in at any moment----" + +Peter folded his arms and, gripping his chin in his hand, slowly shook +his head. + +"She won't be back. Not for some time, anyway," he said, deliberately. +"I'm pretty sure of that. In fact, I feel positive that neither of the +sisters will show up for some little time to come unless their plans +change." + +"Why do you think that?" asked Morris, with a quick, eager frown. + +"The occupants of this apartment planned to leave it," said Peter, +gravely. "They made their plans well in advance, and one of them, at +least, was a good housekeeper." + +"How in the world do you know that?" asked Morris, frankly puzzled. + +"Perfectly obvious," answered Peter, with a slight shrug. "Didn't you +notice the bedroom in there?" He jerked his thumb in the direction of +the room adjoining. + +"I--I don't think I did, particularly," Morris hesitated. "There was so +much else----" + +"I know. But if you'd happened to notice the bed, you'd have seen that +it had nothing on it at all but one sheet, and that wasn't put on in +the usual way, but was all over it, even covering the pillows. No +housekeeper would fix a bed that way if she were coming back to-night, +or to-morrow, or any time soon, would she?" + +"I haven't much experience with that sort of thing," said Morris, "but +it doesn't seem as if she would." + +"Then there was the kitchen," Clancy went on. "There wasn't a bit of +perishable food anywhere around. The refrigerator was entirely empty +and the doors left open, just as my mother used to do when we all +went away anywhere for a visit. The ice had been taken out and put in +the sink. There's a very little piece of it there now, or was when we +looked the place over. Do you draw any conclusion from that?" + +"Only, as you say, that both the sisters must have intended to leave." + +"And you get nothing more from the little piece of ice that hasn't +melted yet?" + +Morris shook his head. + +"Why, don't you see," Peter explained, with a little gleam in his +eye, "that just about fixes the time they left. Given the size of the +ice chamber, which is small, and the fact that the ice couldn't have +been left on Sunday, don't you see that, with a hot night like last +night, it would have melted entirely away if it had been put into the +sink earlier than yesterday afternoon? The box wouldn't have held a +piece big enough to last over if it had been put there in the morning. +Somebody was in this apartment as late, I should say, as five o'clock +yesterday afternoon." + +"Then there _was_ someone here when I came, just before lunch," +exclaimed Morris, quite convinced by the other's rapid reasoning. + +"It's more than probable," said Peter. "At least there was someone here +at a much later hour. I'm sure of that. Now, who was it? They evidently +had no maid in the house. There's no bed in the maid's room and only +a single bed and a big couch in the bedroom. Both of the sisters must +have slept in there. Now, were they both here yesterday afternoon? and +did they leave together? And then did someone break in?" he mused. +"That's, of course, what it looks like ... and yet.... Why the glass on +the outside of the kitchen window, if it was an outside job? And how +do we know for certain that anything has been stolen? Is this robbery +business camouflage?" He sat up suddenly and looked Donald Morris +straight in the eye. "What do you think, yourself?" + +"I don't know what to think, Mr. Clancy," answered Donald, pressing his +hand to his forehead. "I really don't. You see so much more clearly +than I. You are able to reason everything out. You know everything that +I do----" + +"Except--" said Peter, slowly and seriously--"you'll forgive my +mentioning it if it has no possible bearing on the case, but it goes +without saying that you're more anxious about Miss Blake than you could +possibly be if she and her sister had just gone off on a trip and their +apartment had been entered when they weren't here. You told me that you +were alarmed about her--that was why you came here this morning. You +mentioned a letter----" + +"Yes," said Donald, rising and moving restlessly about the room. +"There was the letter--and this." He paused beside the table on which +still lay the filmy scarf. He shuddered as he looked at it. "I was +almost beside myself when I found it. I thought that the blood on it +had flowed out from--something inside the door.... And the janitor, +not knowing me, refused to open the apartment. It wasn't till I got +the policeman.... Oh, God, it was awful! The suspense----" He strode +abruptly to the window and did not turn until he had partially regained +his composure. + +"And then--there was the letter----" Clancy persisted. "You said, some +time ago, that it was strange, unaccountable...." + +He waited a moment, watching Morris's face. He could almost see the +struggle which was going on in the mind of this clever, sophisticated +man of the world, into whose world had been thrust an occurrence with +which no previous experience had given him the ability to cope. Would +he show the letter? Could he take a man, as Clancy felt himself to be, +from another sphere, into his entire confidence? + +Donald's eyes searched the face before him and Clancy returned his +gaze with a glance so frank and open, so intelligent and resourceful, +that Morris was favourably impressed, even more so than he had been +when his cousin, Dick Schuyler, hastily summoned on the wire, had +enthusiastically recommended Peter Clancy as the only absolutely +dependable detective in New York. + +"Mr. Morris, why are you so sure that something has happened to Miss +Blake?" asked Peter, putting an end to an almost imperceptible pause. +"You do think something unpleasant has happened, don't you? Something +pretty awful--else why have you called me in? And now that I am in, how +can I help you if you won't give me a look at the hand you're holding?" + +He smiled his winning, cheerful smile and spread out his hands. Morris +straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. The uncertainty was +gone from his eyes. + +"You're right, Mr. Clancy. Perfectly right," he said. "I'm sure there's +something wrong, dreadfully wrong here, and I want your help. I will +give you every assistance in my power and will be perfectly frank and +open with you. What I am about to tell you is known to no one and I +will ask you to treat it in confidence." + +"You may be quite at ease in your mind about that," said Peter, +promptly. "My job wouldn't amount to a hill of beans if I couldn't +keep my mouth shut and my eyes open. So let me have what you've got +and, believe me," he added, seriously, "it goes to the bottom of the +well, and I'll help you for all I'm worth and then some." + +Clancy's manner was so straightforward and engaging that Donald +impulsively held out his hand. Peter returned the strong clasp, and the +two young men, so near in age, so far apart in experience of the world, +became firm allies. + +As their hands fell apart, Morris spoke-- + +"First of all, I must tell you," he said, with dignity, "that I have +asked Miss Mary Blake to become my wife." + +Peter drew in a sharp breath. He knew, as all the world knew, of Mary +Blake's sudden leap from obscurity into world-wide fame; he had some +knowledge, through friends in the theatrical profession, of how dark +that obscurity had remained. And Donald Morris--the heir to the Morris +millions! That he should---- + +"And Miss Blake has accepted." Clancy's words were in no sense a +question, so sure was he that there could be no other conclusion. + +Morris flushed slightly. + +"She refused," he said, quietly, "but in such a way that I had hopes--I +believed----" He paused, then went on, "That was late Saturday night. I +have not seen her since. There is only her letter, and----" + +"May I see the letter?" asked Peter, gravely. "I think, perhaps, that +it's a lot to ask, but, you see," he broke off, "there isn't so much to +show here that there's anything to be alarmed at. It looks as if there +had been a burglary--and there's that scarf. But there isn't an awful +lot to get excited about, seems to me. If Miss Blake went off at the +end of the season and took her sister with her----" + +"That's another thing," interrupted Donald, hastily. "Did her sister +go with her? Somehow--I can't just tell you why--I have a feeling that +perhaps she didn't. Though I've never met Miss Anne, somewhere I've +gotten the impression that--that they weren't exactly friendly.... +Whether it was the way Mary spoke when I asked about her sister ... or +whether it was what she said in the letter." + +"Let me see the letter, Mr. Morris," said Clancy, gravely. "Let me +judge for myself." + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + "MY SISTER, ANNE----" + + +Slowly, Donald Morris put his hand inside the breast of his coat and +drew out several slightly crumpled sheets of paper. He spread them out +and his eyes rested tenderly on these words-- + + MY BELOVED---- + + I write it for the first--and perhaps, who knows--the last time. + But I have said it in my heart for so long--My beloved! I can say + it to you now without shame--after last night. + +His eyes travelled on down the succeeding pages to the end. When he had +finished, he turned down the top of the first page. + +"I will ask you not to read that." He addressed Clancy with a quiet +reserve which became him well. "It is significant only to me and, I +think, can have no bearing on what has happened. I will be glad if you +will read the rest." + +He handed the letter to Clancy who scrutinized it closely. It was +evidently written in haste and under the stress of great excitement. He +read-- + + I did not sleep. I have been thinking and thinking--how much to + tell you--how to explain---- + + My sister Anne, with whom I live is---- + +(This last sentence was heavily crossed out, almost obliterated, but +Peter was sure that these were the words.) The letter went on-- + + No, I will not tell you about Anne, about the bitterness and + tragedy of my life. If it can be removed, if I escape, whole and + clean, I will come to you. There is danger, I know, on account + of----No, I cannot tell you the danger without explaining all. But + danger is nothing to me now. I will put fate to the test and have + done. + + What I do I must do quickly, before my courage fails. If I were to + see you again----That can not be. I could not see you face to face + again and not tell you--and then---- + + No, I'm determined. I've let things go on too long. I saw it in + your dear face when I left you. I am determined that you shall make + no sacrifice for me. + + If I fail, there will be no one left but Anne, and you will never + find her. She will see to that. If I succeed, I will come back + to you. I promise, my beloved, as solemnly as if I were on my + death-bed. I will come back and tell you all that I have hidden + so carefully, my ugly, pitiful secret, which is known to but one + person, now, in all the world--and after that, you may do as you + will with me. + + If I never see you again, believe, oh, you must believe, that I + love you. That, knowing you as I have come to know you, I will + stake everything to come clean in your eyes, or I will never look + into your dear eyes again. I am thinking of you, my dearest in all + the world, only of you, and I beg, with my heart full of tears, + that if I fail, you will remember gently her whom you have known as + + MARY BLAKE. + +Peter sat for a long time after he had finished reading, lost in +thought. At last he stirred and, pointing to the signature, he said: + +"Then Mary Blake is not her own name." + +Morris shook his head. "No, I know that to be her stage name only," he +said, quietly. + +"And her real name is?" + +"I don't know." + +Peter thought, "And yet he has asked her to be his wife. She must be a +wonder!" Aloud he said, referring to the letter: + +"I think there is something here to account for your impression that +Miss Blake wasn't too keen on her sister Anne. At any rate, the sister +seems to be connected in some way with the thing that was troubling +her. Did you make out this blotted place? These words crossed out?" + +He indicated with his finger. Donald bent above the crumpled sheet. + +"Yes," he said, "I made it out to be, 'My sister Anne, with whom I +live, is'----" + +"That's what I make it," said Clancy. "And then she speaks again, right +after it, of the bitterness and tragedy of her life, and it seems to +be in connection with Anne.... And here again," he turned the page, +"she says there will be no one left but Anne, and that you will never +find her. What does that mean? And who is the one person who knows her +secret? Surely her sister, who lives with her, would be the most likely +to----" + +"And the danger," Morris broke in. "She speaks of danger. Oh, God! And +she isn't here and I don't know where she's gone!" He clenched his +hands upon the chair arms and looked at Peter in agonized entreaty. + +"We'll take steps to find her," Peter said, firmly, encouragingly. +"And we'll start this instant. Come! We'll get the janitor up here and +see what he knows, since we're on the spot. He must know something, at +least, about their ordinary habits, whether a maid came in by the day, +who some of their friends are, possibly. We might get a clue, a hint, +from anywhere or anybody. You never can tell. We've got to trust a +good deal to luck. But you know 'the luck of the Irish'!" This with a +cheerful grin as he went toward the door. "I'll get the Dago first," he +said, and vanished. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + A SPLASH OF BLOOD + + +The door closed after Peter with a snap of the spring lock, and Donald +Morris waited, striding nervously about. At every turn in the length +of the room he paused beside the frail scarf which still lay upon the +table. It drew him with an irresistible, horrible fascination. + +Whose blood was that upon it? What fearful scene had taken place in +this quiet room? The overturned table suggested that there might +have been a struggle. But what sort of a struggle, and between whom? +Was there some secret animosity between these two sisters, living so +closely together and in such seclusion? That had been his impression +for a long time. Was it correct? And if so, what then? Had the feeling +between them been serious enough to cause---- + +His troubled reflections were interrupted by a quick, quiet knock on +the outer door. He went swiftly into the shadowy hall, and hearing the +detective's voice just outside, he threw open the door, disclosing +Clancy and the janitor. + +The latter seemed very much abashed by the summons. He snatched off +his old hat, and with his two hands clasped behind his back he bowed +several times in a quick, foreign way, and smiled deprecatingly. + +He was dressed in an old loose pair of dark trousers and a +blue-and-white striped, long-sleeved blouse, open at the throat. +Altogether he appeared what he was--a kindly, childlike, dirty little +Italian, such as one may see by the hundred in the section south of +Washington Square. + +"Come on in, Angelo," said Clancy, pleasantly. "Don't be afraid. Mr. +Morris and I just want to ask you a few questions. Name's Angelo +Russo," he added, turning to Morris. "Says he's been janitor here for +about four years." Then, turning back, he took the seemingly reluctant +Italian by the arm. "Come in here, Angelo," he repeated. "Nothing for +you to be afraid of. I guess Sullivan must have treated you kind of +rough, didn't he? But he didn't mean anything. Professional etiquette, +that's all. Now sit down there and make yourself comfortable, and tell +us what you know about the tenants here." + +His manner was cheerful and disarming, and the janitor was reassured. +He seated himself on the edge of a chair near the door of the living +room and answered Peter's questions with a volubility which was almost +overwhelming. + +"No know mucha 'bout da ladies," he said, with a characteristic shrug +and a nervous grin. "Ver' quiet, ver' nice. Both keep alla to selves. +Both speak pleasant to Angelo, no speak mucha. Say 'Nice day, Angelo,' +Mees Anne say, ev' morn' she go out buy grub. Dat all. 'Nice day, +Angelo.' Da tall, gran' one, Mees Mary, she say, 'Good eve', Angelo,' +if see her when she go teatro at night. No see her ver' mucha. No roun' +vestabula, me, lika in morn' when Mees Anne come down. Den----" + +"What does Miss Anne look like, Angelo?" Donald Morris interrupted. He +was filled with an intense desire to learn all that was possible about +the strange sister whom he had never seen--whom, now, it appeared he +would never see if Mary's letter gave the exact fact. "There will be no +one left but Anne, and you will never see her. She will see to that." +Why would there be no one left but Anne? Where---- + +"She looka da nice, quiet lady," again the Italian shrug and the +gesture of open hands. "Weara da black, ver' plain. No tall an' gran' +lika da sist'. She looka lika alla da ladies, only she hava da big, +reda mark on face, here, looka lika blood----" + +"You mean a birthmark?" Clancy broke in hastily. "A conspicuous +birthmark?" He exchanged a hopeful glance with Morris. A thing of that +sort ought to make it easier to trace her, if it became necessary. + +"Non capisch da birt'mark," Angelo showed a slightly puzzled face, "but +he big reda place alla lika here." He raised a stubby brown hand and +passed it across his dark cheek and down on his neck. "Too mucha bad," +he added. "Oth' side she awright." + +"Did she resemble Miss Mary?" asked Morris, eagerly. "Did she look at +all like her sister?" + +"N', no!" The Italian's negation was very emphatic. "Mees Mary tall, +lika Madonn', stan' straight," he lifted his square body in the chair, +"lika da lil'. See face tru vail lika ange' in cloud, _si_, si. +Sometime me lika see no vail. N', no, Ev' time she wear him. Tinka, me, +she wear him so peopl' in street not know she great Mees Blake ev'bod' +talk 'bout." + +Morris nodded. "That's true, Angelo. But tell us more about Miss Anne. +We know how Miss Mary looked." There was a world of sadness in his +voice. "Describe Miss Anne to us. Was she tall or short?" + +"_Si, si._ Pret' gooda tall," answered the janitor, considering +heavily, "but no so ver'. She hanga down, lika dis," drooping slightly +forward. "She looka ver' sad alla time. She nev' speak, only, 'Gooda +morn', Angelo.' That all. Jus' 'Gooda morn', Angelo'." + +"How long were the sisters here?" asked Clancy. + +"Not know for sure. Come two, tree year ago. Soon aft' me taka da job." + +"So long as that, and you don't know anything more about them?" asked +Peter, sharply. + +Again the shrug, with eyebrows raised. "How me know mucha 'bout da +ladies? Justa da janitor, me." + +"Well, you must know," said Peter, "what servants they had." + +"No serv', no serv' 'tall," Angelo replied, quickly. "Two ladies all +alone. Tinka dey do alla own work. Tinka, me, Mees Anne do alla work, +an' Mees Mary, she sleep late. No see come down till time for she go +teatro. Mees Anne she go out ev' morn'----" + +"All right," Peter interrupted. "Then they had no servants--not even a +laundress?" + +"Me no know--maybe. Somebod' might come for wash. Me no know who, if +anybod'. Me no in hall alla time. Only morn' when clean up hall--me +liva da basemen'. Door no lock alla da day. If somebod' ringa da bell, +me go." + +"Then you don't know if the ladies had many visitors, or who they +were?" asked Peter, with a frown. The conversation seemed not to be +eliciting anything useful to his purpose. + +The janitor shook his head. + +"See ol' lady come, two, tree, four time. Fine, gran' ol' lady, ver' +big, wide----" Angelo thrust out his hands together, palms down, to the +full reach of his short arms, and brought them around to his sides in +a full, sweeping curve, graphically expressive of great _embonpoint_. +"Gran' ol' lady," he repeated, his white teeth flashing in a grin, "she +puffa some on alla da stair!" + +"You don't know her name?" Peter inquired, eagerly. + +Again the Italian shook his head. + +"Or where she lives?" + +"How know, me?" was the reasonable response. + +"And you've never seen any other friends of theirs?" + +"No, no. No see anybod'." + +Peter realized that there was no hope in this direction. He leaned +back and thought for a moment, frowning, his keen eyes half closed. +Morris shifted, uneasily, in his chair. He felt that they were merely +wasting time. He had no ideas as to what should be done in the +circumstances, but he felt, agonizingly, that they should be doing +something--anything. At last Clancy spoke: + +"It was easy enough for both the sisters to leave without your seeing +them, then, Angelo?" + +"Oh, _si, si_. Easy--sure!" + +"And they said nothing to you about going? That seems a little queer to +me. Did they ever go away before, and leave the apartment empty, and +not tell you to look out for things?" + +"No tinka dey both go sama time before. Mees Mary, she go in summer +time, but Mees Anne stay alla time home." + +Peter looked around the room. Had they gone away together this time, +amicably, as sisters should? The strange phrasing of the letter came +back to him, and his eyes rested, in disturbed consideration, on the +blood-stained scarf. + +Suddenly he rose from his chair. "I guess that's about all, Angelo," he +said. "I don't suppose you're familiar enough with things here," he +glanced again about the disordered room, "to know what's missing." + +"No, no." The janitor jumped to his feet, shaking his head rapidly, +emphatically. "Mos' nev' come up here, me. No know what gone. Sleepa in +basemen'. My wife she sick--she hear noding, me hear noding! Burg' he +mus'a go up fi'-'scape into da kitch', you see? Wind' broke----" + +"Yes, I saw that the window was broken," said Peter, quietly. "Well, +we're much obliged to you, Angelo. I guess we won't need you any more, +but I may see you again. I may be coming in here a few times. It'll be +all right. You can ask Sullivan. He knows me and Mr. Morris, too." + +At the words of dismissal the Italian, nothing loath, started for the +door. Peter followed him into the hall. + +"You keep your eyes open, Angelo," he said, "and let us know if any one +comes to this apartment. We'll make it worth your while. And, by the +way, who has the apartment just below this?" + +The janitor's left hand was on the knob of the door. "Nobod'. He's +empty. Been empty two, tree mont'." + +"All right, Angelo," said Peter, smiling genially. "Don't forget what +I said about letting us know if any one, _any one_, mind, comes to +this apartment or asks for Miss Blake or her sister. Find out who it +is if you possibly can. It'll be worth more than this to you, by a +damsight," and he thrust a folded bill into the janitor's welcoming +palm. + +The Italian's sharp little eyes glanced up and away. "Me tella you +somebod' come," he agreed, readily. + +"Oh, and before you go," said Peter, in an off-hand manner, "just leave +me the door key, will you?" + +"Door he shutta da spring lock," explained Angelo, quickly. "No needa +da key." + +"No?" said Peter, casually. "Well, I'd rather have the key, anyway. +Always feel safer, somehow. I'm so absent-minded, Angelo, that I often +forget things and have to go back for 'em, and if the door was shut, +I'd have to go all the way to the basement to hunt you up, see? Just +give me the key and I'll leave it with you when I go down." + +"Awright, awright," said the Italian, pulling a key from a ring which +was secured by a chain to his belt. "Me tinka awright," and he opened +the outer door. + +As he did so, the sun, nearing the zenith, shone in from the front +room, striking full upon the white panels, and Peter, who was +just behind him, uttered a sharp exclamation and started forward. +Instinctively, he caught the Italian's arm and drew him away from the +door. + +"Just a moment. Mr. Morris!" he called in a voice the excitement of +which was carefully held in check. "Come here just a moment, will you?" + +"Look here." He spoke again as Donald Morris quickly reached his side. +"Look at this!" + +Angelo Russo caught his breath, and crossed himself, fervently. "Madre +di Dio!" he whispered to himself. + +Morris, leaning forward, felt a horrible shiver pass over him from head +to foot. + +On the white door, just below the lock, was a long, dark splash of +blood. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + THE VOICE OVER THE WIRE + + +"I don't know how it escaped me before, except that the hall was so +dark," muttered Peter, angrily, to himself, as he closed the door upon +the Italian's hurried departure. + +Hastily he took a small but powerful electric hand-light from his +pocket and flashed it slowly all about. The door showed no further +traces, inside or out, but on the floor, which was stained dark brown +and heavily waxed, there were two or three dull, round spots. Peter +tested them with moistened forefinger, and held up his hand to Morris. +The end of the finger was stained red. + +Swiftly he proceeded down the hall, flashing his torch back and forth +close to the floor. As he came opposite the door of the room which had +been used as a storeroom or closet, Morris who, white to the lips, had +followed closely, heard him give a little grunt of satisfaction and saw +him drop to his knees. + +"Plenty of it here," said Clancy, pointing, and he flashed the light so +as to bring out a large, dull blot upon the softly shining wax of the +floor. "And here! and here!" he added, indicating smaller spots just +beyond on the floor and one, showing dark red, on the white baseboard. + +A moment later he rose. Rapidly and thoroughly he inspected the entire +apartment, flashing his hand-torch into all the dark corners. Morris, +silent and apprehensive, followed him, closely watching every movement. +They found nothing more, and returning to the living room, Peter stood +for several moments before the window, lost in thought. At last he +turned to Donald Morris and said: + +"I won't try to put anything over on you, Mr. Morris. The detective +who's able to dope out everything in a complicated case by looking at a +little bunch of ashes doesn't exist. You can take it from me," with a +wry smile, "there ain't no such animal.... Frankly, I'm at a loss. How +serious this thing is, it's impossible for me to say. But it looks like +a pretty ugly combination of circumstances, I'll go that far.... If you +want to go on with the proposition--and I take it for granted that you +do----" + +"I do, I must!" There was no uncertainty in Donald's tone. + +"Well, then, our best bet is to get busy tracing Miss Blake and her +sister. We're only wasting time. Apparently there's nobody here who +knows anything about where they might have gone, who their friends are, +or----" + +Both men started violently. In the stillness of the room a telephone +bell rang out, loudly, insistently. + +Peter faced swiftly about to the instrument which stood on a small +stand to the left of the door into the hall. With a leap he reached it, +caught the receiver off the hook, and held it to his ear. + +"9282 Sturdevant?" a voice intoned over the wire. + +Peter glanced at the little plate over the mouth-piece and replied at +once: + +"9282 Sturdevant. Who's calling?" + +"Just a moment," came the honeyed reply. "Here's your party." + +"Somebody calling this apartment, all right." Holding his hand over the +transmitter, Peter spoke to Donald Morris, whose face was a study in +anxiety and excitement. + +There was an instant's silence; then along the wires came another +voice, clear and resonant, deep and full, though whether that of a man +or woman Peter could not be sure. + +"Anne," it said. "Anne! Are you there?" + +Morris was surprised at Clancy's answering tone. It was low and gentle, +not at all like his usual voice. + +"Who's calling?" Clancy repeated, softly. + +"Why, Anne! You know. You----" Evidently Peter's attempt at +dissimulation was not entirely successful, for the voice went on, +sharply--"What number is this?" and waited, necessitating a reply. + +"This is 9282 Sturdevant. Whom are you calling?" + +"I'm calling Miss Anne Blake," was the quick response. "Is she there, +and who are you?" + +"Miss Anne isn't here now," said Peter, smoothly. "Can I take a +message?" + +He thought there was a note of alarm in the reply--"No. No. I want to +find Anne Blake. I want to speak to her at once." + +"Would Miss Mary do?" asked Peter. + +He was sure that there was a quickly restrained gasp at the other end +of the wire. Then the voice said, peremptorily: + +"I want to know who this is speaking from Miss Blake's apartment." + +"Who is it wishes to know?" Peter countered. + +There was a pause. Peter waited.... The pause lengthened and Peter +again spoke into the transmitter-- + +"Hello, hello!" + +No answer. + +Peter waited a moment and then moved the receiver up and down on the +hook without effect. At last-- + +"Operator," came in a dulcet voice over the wire. + +"Connect me with that party again," cried Peter, urgently. "You've cut +us off." + +"What number was it, please?" + +"I don't know," fiercely. "See if you can trace it. And hurry!" and +Peter waited, holding the receiver to his ear. + +"Who was it?" cried Morris, unable to restrain his anxiety. + +"I don't know, dammit!" said Peter, vehemently. "I'm afraid I've made +a fool of myself. Somebody calling Miss Anne Blake, and they shied +off when they found she wasn't here. I wish to God I knew who it was. +Anybody that knows her well enough to call her 'Anne'.... It must have +been a friend who might know something that would help! And they cut +off, I'm sure. Purposely. Oh----" + +"Here's your party," said the operator in his ear. + +"Maybe it's all right," said Clancy, hopefully, to Morris. "They've got +the connection again. Hello! Who is this?" + +"Vanderbilt Hotel," came the prompt answer. + +"Will you please find out for me who just called Sturdevant 9282, and +get them on the wire again?" + +Peter repeated the name of the hotel to Donald Morris and both men +waited anxiously. It seemed an age before the information came back-- + +"Party spoke from a public booth. We don't know who it was. Sorry." + +Peter hung up the receiver with an angry click and turned to Morris, +repeating the answer he had just received. + +"It's a damn shame," he went on. "I'd give a good deal to know who +it is that's worried about Anne Blake just now. The man or woman, +whichever it was, that just called was pretty well fussed up and afraid +of making a break. And now it's all off!... Well--it leaves us about +where we were before we were so rudely interrupted. There's nothing to +do but to start tracing Miss Blake and her sister from here--and the +sooner we begin, the quicker we'll find them." + +"But where can we start? We know nothing of their movements," said +Donald, in a tone of deep discouragement. + +"Pardon me," said Clancy. "We do know something, though I admit it's +not much. We may infer, I think, that there was someone in this +apartment, probably as late as five o'clock yesterday.... That was +Sunday ... and if there was any luggage, which almost undoubtedly there +was, it means a cab, since it would have been impossible to get an +expressman.... Miss Blake didn't have a car of her own by any chance?" +he asked, on sudden thought. + +"No," replied Morris, eagerly, his anxiety slightly mitigated by +the prospect of immediate action. "But I happen to know that she +habitually used a taxi from a garage over near Sixth Avenue. She spoke +once about how reliable they were. Let me see.... The name was ... +Horton--no--Holden?... No, I can't be sure. But I know the place. We +passed it coming from the theatre and she pointed it out to me." He +rose, excitedly. "Come on. I'll show you where it is," and he caught +Peter's arm in a nervous grip. + +"That's good news," cried Peter, enthusiastically. "Now we'll begin. +But there's something I must do before we go. I may want to come in +here without disturbing our friend, Angelo. It won't take a minute." + +He drew a small piece of wax from his pocket and began working it up in +his fingers, while Morris watched him, his impatience somewhat tempered +by curiosity. + +"Carry a lot of odd things about with me," Clancy explained. "Need +almost as many as a first-class burglar. You see," he went on, as with +practised fingers he took an impression, in the wax, of the key Angelo +had left with him. "You never can tell when a thing'll come in handy. I +may need it and then, of course, I may not. But it's just as well to be +prepared." He put the model carefully away in a small case and returned +the case to his pocket. "Now I'm ready," he added, briskly, catching +up his hat from a table just inside the door of the living room. And +without further words the two men hastily closed the door, made sure +that it was fast, and descended the stairs at a run. + +Peter called to Angelo from the top of the basement stairs, delivered +the key, and joining Morris, who waited impatiently at the door, they +passed out into the busy streets. + +The noise of traffic increased as they neared Sixth Avenue, and Peter +Clancy, whose susceptibilities and intuitions were preternaturally +keen, contrasted the busy roar and rattle and movement of many people +with the silence and aloofness of the still place they had just left. +Somehow, he had the certain intuition that those quiet walls had +sheltered a tragic situation, unexplained and, perhaps, unexplainable. +The mere fact that he had so little to go upon piqued his vivid +curiosity and brought up every reserve of his fighting Irish instincts. +He swore to himself that he would solve this enigma, that he would find +out every detail of this strange situation, if it took "till Kingdom +Come." + +His feeling was greatly enhanced by the personality of the man who +was hurrying by his side. No one who had ever been admitted, in any +degree, to Donald Morris's confidence had failed to feel his remarkable +charm. Peter had seen him in an hour of great stress, when every mere +conventionality had been swept away, and a very real personal desire to +be of service was the result of this glimpse of the actual man. + +These thoughts passed rapidly through the mind of the young +detective as they hurried along the streets. They had not far to +go, as the garage in question was east of Sixth Avenue, in one of +the cross streets, just above Washington Square. Morris led the way +unhesitatingly. + +"There it is," he said as they turned the corner. "Hammond's Garage. I +knew it began with an H. Miss Blake has used this garage exclusively +for some time. They'll be sure to know----" + +"Let's go a bit easy," said Clancy, with his hand on Donald's arm. "We +don't want to get up more excitement than is absolutely necessary. +Suppose you leave it to me." + +Morris nodded a ready acquiescence, and promptly abandoning his place +as leader, followed Peter into the little office, beside the big door +of the garage. + +"Good morning," said Peter, pleasantly, to a heavily built man, who +turned his swivel chair away from his desk at their approach and +regarded them with the calm of a man whose business came to him without +strenuous effort. "Is this Mr. Hammond?" Peter continued. + +"It is," said the man, shifting a large, unlighted cigar to the +opposite corner of his mouth. + +"My name's Clancy," Peter went on. "I just dropped in on an errand for +Miss Blake--Ninety-nine Waverly Place, you know." He wished to make +sure that this was the right garage and waited for the affirmative nod +which immediately followed. "Miss Blake wants to know," he continued, +smoothly, "why you didn't send the taxi for her yesterday at five." + +Mr. Hammond's composure was slightly shaken. He frowned and ponderously +swung about to the desk. He opened a large book which lay upon it and +ran his finger down the entries of a page dated May twenty-eighth. +Frowning still more, he shook his head and called loudly-- + +"Joe!" + +Immediately an overalled mechanic, with a long smear of black grease on +his nose, appeared at the door. + +"Yep." + +"Did you get a call for Ninety-nine Waverly any time yesterday +afternoon?" + +"I did not." + +"You're sure?" + +"I am that." There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in the tone. + +Donald Morris looked quickly at Clancy, but Clancy was entirely +occupied with the two garage men. + +"Well, that's funny," said Peter, with a puzzled frown. "Miss Blake was +very much annoyed when your taxi didn't come, and she had to get one +from--where was it now? She told me, but I can't remember. What's the +name of another public garage near here?" + +"I don't think there is any decent one anywhere near here except +mine, but there's a cab stand at the Lafayette. Maybe she got it from +there. It would be the nearest place. Anyhow, Mr.--Mr. Clancy, you can +bet we didn't get the call, or we'd'a' been on the job. We've been +drivin' Miss Blake for a couple of years or more and we're always very +particular, anyway. Let's see----" Hammond again referred to his book. +"We took Ninety-nine Waverly to the theatre Saturday evening at seven +forty-five, but we didn't have a call to get her after the performance +that night.... No. The last is May twenty-seventh at seven forty-five. +Nothing after that." He glanced at the mechanic who was waiting at +the door. "All right, Joe," with a nod of dismissal, and the man +disappeared. + +"I can't explain it," Hammond turned to Peter, "only we didn't get the +call, and I wisht you'd tell Miss Blake so. Joe's been here for a long +time and he's very careful. Never knew him to make a mistake. Them +darned telephone operators might have given her the wrong number and +somebody thought they'd play a joke by sayin' they'd come for her. I +can't think how else----" + +"Well, it's a mistake, then," said Peter, pleasantly, "and I'll tell +Miss Blake--when I see her. Sorry to have troubled you," and with an +apologetic wave of the hand, he took Donald Morris by the arm and led +him, disappointed and perplexed, into the street. + +"Cheer up," said Peter, as he turned him eastward. "Don't get +discouraged. We've only just begun. This may be a long chase and, as I +said, we'll have to trust a good deal to luck. I'm not disappointed a +whole lot, as I had a kind of a hunch that the cab might not have come +from a place where Miss Blake was well known. We'll try the Lafayette, +since it's so near, and if we don't find anything there, I'll get my +partner, O'Malley, on the 'phone and we'll comb the city for that cab." + +"Like looking for a needle in a haystack," muttered Morris, wearily. + +"Oh, not so bad as that," said Peter. "We've got that sort of thing +pretty well systematized. It may take a little time, but we're bound +to find a cab, unless they left on foot, with only hand luggage, and +that's hardly probable, is it?" + +"No, it doesn't seem probable," Morris said, after a pause. "And they +couldn't get an expressman on Sunday, of course.... Miss Blake expected +to spend the summer in town ... and she was here Saturday night, +late.... She wouldn't have sent her trunks beforehand.... It was a +sudden resolution...." + +They were making their way eastward at a rapid rate, and in a +few minutes they reached University Place and the pleasant old +Lafayette.... He and Mary had dined there several times, Morris +remembered with an inward groan, in some secluded corner where the +lights were dim. Always she had avoided attracting attention, never +seeking the public eye, except upon the stage. Unlike most actresses, +she had even been averse to being photographed. He could remember only +a few portraits which had been taken at the beginning of her career. +Her face would be familiar to those who had seen her on the stage, but +to few others. The thought troubled him now, since it would add to the +difficulty of tracing her. + +Clancy had left him upon the sidewalk at the entrance of the hotel. +Running up the steps, the detective had exchanged a few words with +the doorman. After that he had spoken to several of the taxi drivers +lined up along the curb. Suddenly he turned, and beckoning excitedly to +Morris, took a few rapid steps in his direction. + +"The luck of the Irish!" Peter exclaimed, joyfully, as the two young +men met. "You can't beat it! I've found the man." + +"No!" cried Morris, eagerly. + +"Yes!" said Peter with emphasis. "The next to the last man on the line, +the one I just spoke to, took a lady and a trunk from Ninety-nine +Waverly Place a little after five yesterday afternoon. Come on, and +we'll get the rest!" + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + WHAT THE CABMAN KNEW + + +"One lady?" questioned Morris, excitedly, catching Peter by the arm as +they hurried toward the taxi, the driver of which stood, expectant, by +its open door. + +"Only one," said Peter, in a low voice, "and I don't know yet which +one, but we'll soon find out." + +He motioned Morris to get into the cab, and spoke familiarly to the +chauffeur: "Drive us over to the Square, old top, and line up along +somewhere where it's quiet. We want to have a little talk with you. And +you can keep your metre ticking, so that'll be O. K.," he added, with a +grin. + +The driver, a big, strong young fellow, grinned pleasantly in response +and jumped to his wheel. In a moment they drew up in a quiet spot on +the old Square. + +"This do?" asked the taxi man, turning in his place and speaking +through the open front of the cab. + +"Fine," answered Peter, who was seated directly behind him. He leaned +forward and spoke in a friendly, confidential manner. "We want to find +out something about the lady you took from over there," he pointed in +the direction of Waverly Place, "yesterday afternoon. She went away +without leaving any address, and something has happened which makes it +necessary for her friends to locate her at once, see?" + +The driver nodded his comprehension. + +"I want to be sure it's the lady we're looking for. It's an apartment +house, you know," Peter explained, rapidly, "so perhaps you'll describe +her to us." + +"Well," said the driver, hesitatingly, "I don't know as I can tell +you so much what she looked like. She was dressed plain, in something +dark, though blue or black or what, I couldn't be so sure. She come +hurrying along around the corner, but I was part way down the line, so +I wasn't much interested, though she did seem to be lookin' for a taxi. +She sorta gave the once-over to the two guys that was ahead of me, and +then she stepped right up, quick, to my cab, and she says, lookin' at +me sharp through her veil, 'Could you carry a heavy trunk down three +flights of stairs by yourself?' she says. It was kinda unexpected, +'cause they usually gets you to the place and then springs it. 'I'll +make it worth your while if you can manage it alone,' she says, +flashing a five at me. 'It's this, over and above the fare,' she says, +kinda nervous and excited like. 'You're on, lady,' I says. 'Lead me to +that trunk!' I says, just like that. So she told me Ninety-nine Waverly +Place, and I took her there and carried down the trunk, and, be gobs, +it was heavy enough, and maybe worth the money at that." + +Morris was listening eagerly to every word. He could keep silence no +longer. + +"But the lady!" he said, excitedly. "Tell us more about her. Was she +very tall and slender and beautiful?" + +Clancy touched his arm. He was afraid that the chauffeur, if given a +clear description, would think he had seen what Morris so evidently +wished him to have seen. + +"You describe her in your own way, Bill," he interposed, addressing the +driver, "but tell us everything you noticed about her. How about it, +was she tall?" + +"How'd you know my name was Bill?" asked the driver, irrelevantly, with +a grin, and without waiting for a reply, he went on, "I don't think +the lady was so very tall; at least not so you'd notice it particular, +but she was sorta thin, and she kinda stooped a little. She had on a +thick veil, so I didn't see her face hardly any when she come up to me +on the street--only her eyes, and they was big and kinda--burning." He +hesitated a little. Evidently his powers of description were not often +put to the test. + +"Well," said Peter, as the man paused, "you went up to the apartment +with her to get the trunk. I think you said you carried it down three +flights of stairs. That would have made it the floor next to the top +one, wouldn't it?" + +"No," said the cab driver, shaking his head, "it was the top floor, +and thankful I was there wasn't any more of 'em." + +"Did you see any one else in the apartment?" asked Peter, carefully +restraining his impatience. + +"Not a soul," answered the man, "and I don't think there was anybody +else there. It was awful quiet. I didn't see anybody and I didn't hear +anybody moving around." + +"Did you notice anything unusual about the apartment?" asked Peter. +"Was it--what you'd call--tidy--when you were there?" + +"I don't know," said Bill, scratching his head. "I ain't much of a hand +at noticing things, I'm afraid. Places is apt to be a bit upset when +people are going away. I didn't think anything about that. I only just +went into the back room to get the trunk--and----" A sudden thought +seemed to strike him--"now I come to think of it, I did get just a +little peek at the lady's face as I was coming along the hall with the +trunk on me back. She'd watched me strap it up, and then she went ahead +of me into a room off the hall, toward the front. When I come along, +she was standing over by the window, and there was a looking glass on +the wall right in front of her. She'd just held up her veil to look for +something on the little table there was there, and I saw her in the +glass, just for a second, before she pulled the veil down again." He +paused, and added, doubtfully, "Did the lady you was lookin' for have a +kind of a scar or something on her face, on--let's see--on this side?" +He touched his right cheek. + +Morris suppressed an exclamation, and Peter leaned still farther +forward. + +"What kind of a scar, Bill?" he asked, quietly. + +"I don't know, exactly," answered the driver, hesitatingly. "The window +was on the other side and I couldn't see so very plain, but it seemed +to me there was some kind of a dark red mark on her cheek and down on +her neck. I can't be sure, but I thought there was. I only saw it for a +second. Does that help you any?" + +"H'm'm----" said Peter. "Maybe. Maybe it will, Bill.... And you're +pretty sure there wasn't any one else in the apartment?" + +"Well," said Bill, "I'll leave it to you. I didn't see nobody and I +didn't hear nobody, and when I took the trunk out, she was out on the +stairs already, and she asked me to make sure the door was locked. And +why would she be nervous about that, I asks you, if there was someone +inside?" + +"Doesn't seem reasonable, does it?" said Peter, thoughtfully. "But I +don't quite see----You say the lady was in the bedroom when you passed +the door, but she was outside, on the stairs, when you took the trunk +out. How was that?" + +"Why, I hadn't got the trunk just right on me shoulders, and I stopped +a second to shift it over. By the time I'd got it good, she'd come into +the hall from the front end, and she didn't waste no time getting the +door open for me. She seemed in an awful hurry and excited like. She +went on down the stairs a few steps to be out of the way of me'n the +trunk, and then she stopped on a sudden, and says, 'Oh, I didn't think! +You can't shut the door, can you?' And me bein' proud of me strength, +says, 'Sure I can,' and I backs around sidewise and starts to shut +the door, and darned if there wasn't a long trail of some kind of a +lady's white silk dingbat caught onto the bottom of the trunk and been +draggin' after me all the way down the hall, like a cat's tail." + +Peter, hearing Morris draw in a sharp breath, cast a warning glance in +his direction. The cabman, unobserving, went on-- + +"I thought I was going to have to get the lady back to pull it off and +shut the door, but I give it a back kick and it landed free, and I +shut the door by my own self. The lady was standin' part way down the +stairs, awful impatient to be off (I guess, maybe, she was late for +her train), and she looks back and says, 'Try the door, if you will, +please, and see that it's fast.' So I did, and I guess that's about +all, except that I took her and the trunk to the Penn. Station, and +that's the last I seen of her." + +"The Penn. Station. Good-night!" muttered Peter, disgustedly. "You can +go anywhere in the country, almost, from the Penn. Station." Then, +after an instant's thought, he said aloud: "That was funny, what you +said about the white silk thing following you along the hall like a +cat's tail, Bill. Where do you suppose you picked the thing up?" + +"Must have come from the storeroom where the trunk was," said Bill, +readily. "Otherwise I'd 'a' seen it before I got to the door, if it'd +been layin' on the floor of the hall, I mean. Must have been behind the +trunk, too, down in the corner, where it was dark." + +"Are you sure it fell entirely inside the door when you kicked it +loose?" asked Peter. "Try to remember, Bill. I have a particular reason +for wanting to know." + +The man looked at him curiously, but replied at once-- + +"Why, it must have, I should think, but I can't be exactly sure. To +tell you the truth," with a note of apology, "I didn't care so much +where it went, s'long as it didn't trail along and make me ridiculous, +and I didn't look so very careful. The trunk was bearin' down on me +shoulders, and the lady was in a hurry." + +"Yes," said Peter, absently, thoughtfully, and added, "How far down the +stairs was the lady when you shut the door, Bill? Two or three steps, +or more? Was she far enough up, I mean, to see the scarf drop?" + +"No, she wasn't. I'm sure." This time the driver answered with +certainty: "She was half way down the first flight anyway, and me just +able to see her head over the rail." + +"H'm--yes," said Peter, slowly. "Yes." + +He considered for a moment in silence. Then he turned to Morris. + +"Anything more you can think of that Bill might be able to tell us, Mr. +Morris?" he asked. + +Morris shook his head, despondingly. + +"All right then, Bill," said Clancy. "You've given us quite a lot to +think about, anyway, and we're much obliged to you. Just give me your +name and address, will you, in case anything should turn up that we +needed you again," and having entered the direction in his notebook, +he added, "Now beat it over to the Penn. Station and show us where you +left the lady." + +"And this is for yourself," said Donald, leaning quickly forward and +slipping a bill into the man's hand. + +The crisp slip of green-engraved paper must have been more effective +than the most advertised pure gasoline and motor oil, for no cab of its +size and condition had ever made better time than Bill's cab did in +getting to its destination. It was only a matter of moments when they +were gliding down the long incline to the station. + +"This is where I left her," said Bill, as the cab, panting like an +animal, with the haste it had made, stopped opposite the express +windows, the lights of which showed yellow against the outer sunshine +and the blue of the gas vapours which strove to escape from between the +tall pillars of the carriage entrance. + +The two young men leaped out of the cab and while Morris was paying the +man off, Peter asked, in a low tone, + +"Did you see where the lady went when she got out of the cab, Bill?" + +"No," the man answered, straightening his leg to shove the money Morris +had just given him into his trousers pocket. "She paid me as we were +runnin' down, and as soon as a couple of guys had jerked the trunk off, +I beat it." + +"Well--all right, Bill," said Peter. "So long," and with a friendly +wave of the hand, the cabman, realizing that the curiosity which he +felt would probably never be satisfied, proceeded on his way, while the +young detective, followed by Donald Morris, began his investigations. + +He made searching inquiries at every ticket-window in the great, softly +echoing main room of the station and at the express offices. He even +went down to the waiting room of the Long Island Railroad and enquired +there at all the possible places. No one remembered seeing, on the +previous evening, a lady answering the meagre description Peter was +able to give. Her costume was, obviously, conventional, and with her +veil down, there had been nothing about her to attract attention. + +Among the hundreds of people passing every hour through the vast +station Anne Blake also had passed, leaving no trace. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + A BIG TRUNK + + +"But Mary!" groaned Donald Morris in agony, as the two men, their +unsuccessful investigation over, stood for a moment in the vast +loneliness of the great station. "I don't mind so much that we've lost +all trace of her sister. It's Mary, Mary that I'm thinking about. Where +has she gone? What has happened to her?" The fearful tension of the +morning was apparent in every line of his weary white face. "Let Anne +go! She's nothing to me! But find Mary, Clancy! Find Mary! Put every +ounce of strength you have, every resource of your organization on it. +Spend any amount of money. Leave no stone unturned. I'm afraid--I'm +horribly afraid. She's----" + +Clancy put a restraining hand on his arm, and even while he spoke he +was wondering if the same sinister idea which was creeping into his own +thoughts had already, by any possibility, found a place in Morris's +less experienced mind. It was hardly probable, Peter comforted himself +with the thought. A thing so far outside the experience of the young +sculptor would scarcely suggest itself. And if it did, it would be +necessary to combat it as long as possible, for in that direction, +Peter was sure, would lie madness for Donald Morris. + +"We'll get on the job at once, Mr. Morris," he said, promptly, +reassuringly. "We'll search the city over to find any trace of her. She +didn't leave the apartment with her sister. We know that much, anyway. +If she took another cab----" + +"She's almost certain to have done that," Donald interrupted, eagerly. +"She hated to walk through the streets, even for a short distance, and +all the railroad stations are a long way from Waverly Place." + +"Well, if she took a cab, we'll find it," declared Peter, confidently. +"But it may take a little time. I'll have to go to the office now, and +get things started. You can't be any help about this part, and I'd +advise you to get a rest. You aren't used to this kind of thing, and +it's bound to knock you up. Go home and take it easy. I'll 'phone you +if there's any news or if there's anything you can do. Let's get a cab, +and I can drop you at your house on my way to the office. There are a +few things I'd like to have you tell me, and that way we won't waste +any time. How about it?" + +"All right," answered Morris, wearily. "But I wish you'd let me go with +you. Somehow I feel----" + +"Yes, I guess I know how you feel, all right," said Peter, "but it +won't be any good. You can't help, and you need to get quieted down. +Come on." + +With sympathetic consideration he led Donald to a cab, selecting +one which had the front windows closed, so that they might talk in +privacy. As they turned into Seventh Avenue he said: + +"Now tell me everything you know about Miss Blake and her sister. Every +little thing. You can never tell what might come in useful. How long +have you known them?" + +"As you know, I've never met her sister, and know nothing at all +about her, except that they lived together, and I've always had the +impression that there was something--I don't know just how to put +it--something--well--wrong--about the sister," said Donald, slowly. +"Mary never let me come up to the apartment, and there was something +odd in her face whenever her sister was mentioned. Of course it +happened but rarely--and it's a hard thing to define. Perhaps a person +less interested would scarcely have noticed----" + +Donald relapsed into thought. After a moment Peter said: + +"And when was it that you first met Miss Blake?" + +"About a year or so ago, it was," said Morris, rousing himself, his +eyes kindling. "I'll never forget it! It was at my sister's. I'd heard +a lot about Mary Blake, and had seen her several times on the stage, +of course. She seemed to me, even then, to be the most beautiful woman +and the greatest actress of our time. My sister, Mrs. Atterbury, prides +herself on knowing all the literary and artistic people, all the +eminent musicians and actors in town. It's almost a mild form of mania +with her. And most of them respond readily," with a little shrug, "but +for a long time she couldn't reach Mary Blake, and the fact piqued her +more than a little. Miss Blake's former manager, Arthur Quinn, guarded +her like a dragon. It was amusing to see Helena--my sister--trying to +cajole old Quinn, whom she knew well, into introducing her. It simply +couldn't be done. But when poor Quinn died, and it was known that Miss +Blake had signed up with Frederick Jones, Helena started to work on +him. Jones, it seems, has social ambitions, and whether it was that, or +what it was, my sister induced him to let her go behind the scenes one +night and meet Miss Blake. Helena has a way with her, I must say, and +somehow she prevailed on Mary to give a reading at the house, a thing +she'd never done before, and has never done since. I don't know," he +broke off, "why I'm telling you all these details, Clancy, only you +said----" + +"Go on, don't skip anything," said Peter, encouragingly. "So the first +time you met Miss Blake was at the reading at your sister's house?" + +"Yes, and, oh, it was wonderful, marvellous!" He spoke slowly, with +the air of one who lives again one of the greatest moments of his +life. "They used the big model platform at one end of my studio for a +stage. The room, of course, was dark, and when the curtains were drawn +aside, she stood there in the dim blue light, her face a pale oval, +shining faintly, like a star." He had forgotten Peter. All his mind +was filled with a poignant remembrance. "She spoke--and it was as if +the stars sang together.... It didn't matter what she said.... The +sheer magnetism of her personality, the beauty of the soul which looked +out of her eyes--so near, so near--drew like cords of steel.... Her +strange, sad face seemed, somehow, oddly familiar ... as if I'd seen it +before ... in a dream, perhaps. It----" + +The cab came to a sudden stop at a point of congested traffic. The +change from the detachment and quiet of its smooth forward motion to +the confusion and roar of the busy crossing brought Donald, with a +jerk, back to himself. He glanced at Clancy a trifle confusedly, and as +the cab went on, took up his story in a more normal tone. + +"Everybody wanted to be presented to her after the performance was +over, but she would meet no one except the family, Francis Atterbury +and myself. She received us, for a few moments, on the stage, after the +curtains had been drawn. She was gracious and charming, but insisted on +leaving at once. She had told Helena that it would be necessary for her +to do this, that she was very tired. She allowed me to take her down to +her cab, and I said 'Good-night' to her in the dark street.... The next +night I went to the theatre and sent my card to her, between the acts. +She let me come behind the scenes, and I talked to her a few minutes +in the wings.... After that I saw her with increasing frequency. We +dined together rather often, in some quiet place. The thought of +attracting any attention to herself, when she was off-stage, was most +distasteful to her--amounting almost to an obsession. That's a strong +word, perhaps, but it almost seemed like that. She lived very quietly, +and never introduced me to any of her friends. I don't even know who +her friends are. I know absolutely nothing of her past life, except +that it was a very unhappy one. I could not force her confidence and +she volunteered nothing, not even when she must have known--must have +seen----" + +He hesitated, and Peter met his look with a slight, comprehending nod. + +"I understand, Mr. Morris," he said, gravely. "But didn't you think it +was strange, don't you think it was strange now?" + +"Yes," Donald admitted. "But it doesn't matter. I don't care how +strange it all is. I don't care who she is, or who her people were, +or what sad or even terrible thing she is keeping from me. She is +beautiful to me--in body, mind, and soul--a wonder-woman! There is no +one like her in all the world, and I ask nothing of God but to give her +back to me. I can trust her. I can be content to know nothing.... Only +find her for me, Clancy! Find her for me!" He clenched his hands and +his eyes burned deep. + +Peter turned away his face. + +"I'll do my best, Mr. Morris," he said with grave sincerity. "What's +possible to do, I pledge my word shall be done. By the way," he added, +in a changed tone, "do you know Miss Blake's manager personally?" + +"Frederick Jones? Yes," answered Morris, quickly. "I've met him often." + +"He'd be willing to do you a favour, perhaps?" + +"Yes--yes, I think he would." + +"I may want to have a little talk with him," said Peter, reflectively. +"Think you could fix it?" + +"I'll give you a card," said Donald, at once, and drawing a case from +his pocket, he wrote a few lines and handed the card to Peter. + +"That ought to do it," said Peter, glancing at it. "Thanks. I may not +use it, but it's best to be prepared." + +They had turned into Gramercy Park. The cab drew up before the broad +entrance of Mrs. Atterbury's house, and Donald Morris stepped out. + +"I'm trusting you, Clancy," he said, as he held out his hand, "with +something that is more important than life to me." + +"I know," Peter nodded as he grasped the outstretched hand with a firm +pressure. "I'll do my best," he repeated, reassuringly. + +He sighed, however, as the cab rolled swiftly through the busy streets. + +"Nobody's best is any too good in a case like this," he thought to +himself. "He's a fine chap, all right, is Morris. I hope she's what he +thinks her, and then some.... Wonder what kind of a woman she really +is. He looks as if he might be a judge, but you never can tell.... +What is it she's been hiding from him--from everybody ... except one +person.... A woman as successful as she is wouldn't live the way she's +been living, unless there was something.... And the sister? Dammit all, +I can't see----" + +He was still cogitating thus when he reached his office. He was +thankful to find that his partner and old friend, Captain O'Malley, was +in and at liberty. It was always a help, a clearance of his mind, to +talk over a case with the astute, experienced old man who had trained +him when he was a cub in the police detective service, and with whom he +had been associated ever since. + +The old man listened attentively while Peter detailed the facts as they +had been presented to his notice. + +"It looked like robbery," Peter said, in conclusion, "but, I ask you, +wasn't it intended that it should look like robbery, maybe? At least, +isn't that on the cards? That broken window on the fire-escape was a +blind. I'm sure of that much. I didn't mention it to Morris--thought +he had enough on his mind as it was--but not only was the broken glass +all on the outside window-sill, but the catch hadn't even been turned. +Whoever broke the glass wasn't very fly, or else they got scared, for +they didn't unlock the window." + +"Or else the thief stopped and locked it after he got outside," said +O'Malley, with a little chuckle. + +"Rats!" exclaimed Peter, feelingly. "Quit your kiddin', O'Malley. Don't +joke. This is serious. Both these women are missing, and there's blood +in the apartment and on Miss Blake's scarf. We only know how one of 'em +left the place. She left alone ... with a big trunk.... It was a big +trunk, O'Malley. I could tell by the marks it had made on the wall of +the storeroom, and by the place where there wasn't any dust at all on +the floor. It was all pretty clean, but you just could see where the +trunk had stood.... And then, here's another funny thing--the closets +in the bedroom were all full of beautiful clothes, the sort you'd +expect Mary Blake to wear, and the bureau was, or had been, full of +fine, expensive lingerie, before somebody chucked 'em around the place. +Now, I figure Anne kept her clothes in the storeroom--and there wasn't +a rag there--nothing but a few almost worn-out things in an otherwise +empty chiffonier." + +"And you argue from that----" said O'Malley. + +"I'm not arguing," said Peter. "I'm only thinking. It looked to me as +if Anne had taken all her clothes (though there probably weren't so +many, judging by the number of hangers and the size of the chiffonier) +and that Mary hadn't taken anything.... Of course it's only a guess. +I can't be sure. But that's the way it looked.... And how would +Mary get along without clothes--unless she might have been going to +use Anne's?... But they didn't go away together.... Morris has the +idea--and I got it myself from the letter he showed me--that there was +a sort of--a kind of antipathy between them. Oh, hell, O'Malley! You +see what I'm driving at--I've been mixed up with so much crime and +stuff that I can't help wondering----" + +"Yes," said O'Malley, slowly. "Yes, I see.... The bloody scarf that the +cabby pulled through the door ... the blood on the floor of the hall +just by the trunk-room ... the big trunk.... H'm'm----" + +The two detectives looked at each other long and seriously. Then Clancy +brought his closed fist down on the desk. + +"It's Anne--it's Anne I want to find, O'Malley! We'll look for Mary for +all we're worth. We won't leave a stone unturned, as I promised. But if +you ask me what we must do to get to the bottom of this proposition, I +say--find Anne Blake!" + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + FOUR PHOTOGRAPHS + + +"Yes. Find Anne Blake," O'Malley repeated, slowly. "But, in the +meantime, son, you'd have to establish a motive, and it'd have to be +some little motive, at that! And after all, you know, Miss Mary may +turn up at any time. It would be easy enough for her to make a get-away +and nobody see her. Suppose she slipped quietly out into the street and +picked up a cab on the Avenue or somewhere? How'd we find that cab, +I ask you? We don't know where she was going, and there wouldn't be +anything to spot her by but a description or a photograph, if you can +get hold of one." + +"I can do that easy enough," said Peter. "Morris gave me a card to her +manager and I can get one from him. I'm going to see him right away and +find out what he knows about Mary Blake. He's the only person, so far, +that can give me a straight line on her." He reached for the telephone +and instructed the operator in the outer office to get Mr. Frederick +Jones of the Westmoreland Theatre on the wire. While waiting for the +connection, he continued his talk with his partner. + +"Get out the drag-net for those two girls, O'Malley. Spread it all +over the country and up into Canada. Comb the city with a fine-tooth +comb. If Mary really hadn't any luggage, it's on the cards that she +may not have left town. But," he shook his head thoughtfully, "I've +got a hunch, O'Malley, that we won't find Mary Blake. The letter +said, 'There'll be no one left but Anne....' Whatever was to happen +has happened ... and I think--I can't explain it, but I feel it in my +bones--that our only hope is to find Anne." + +The telephone, at his elbow, buzzed sharply. + +"Mr. Jones is very busy," Peter's operator informed him. "Can his +secretary take a message?" + +"Yes," Peter replied. "Let me have the secretary." + +The connection made, Peter was informed that it would be impossible to +see Mr. Jones that afternoon, and it was only by using Donald Morris's +name that he was able to make an appointment for the following morning +at eleven o'clock. + +On Tuesday, therefore, prompt to the minute, Peter presented himself +to the dragon (in the shape of a bobbed and powdered switch-board +operator) who guarded the entrance to the offices of the Westmoreland +Theatre Building. He had to assure her that he was not an actor out of +work, and present his credentials, and it was not until his statement +that he had an appointment had been verified that he was allowed to +climb the three flights of stairs to the office of Frederick Jones, +Manager. Even here he was subjected to a maddening delay before he +could gain audience. + +When he reached Mr. Jones at last, however, he found him genial and +cordial enough. The few lines which Donald Morris had written on his +card turned the trick, and Mr. Jones expressed himself delighted to be +of service. + +Peter had had plenty of time to go over carefully his line of attack. +He regretted the necessity, as he would have expressed it, "of putting +any one wise," but, on the other hand, he felt confident that Mr. +Frederick Jones must be well aware of Donald Morris's interest in +Miss Blake. He was also sure that her disappearance would come to the +knowledge of her manager in short order. He, therefore, went straight +to the bat. + +"I want to talk to you about Miss Mary Blake," he said. Leaning his +elbow on the desk, with chin in hand, he regarded the manager keenly. + +"What about Mary Blake?" Jones questioned, sharply. + +"She's disappeared," answered Peter, without emphasis. + +"What!" The manager started to his feet. + +"She's disappeared from her apartment and left no address," Peter +explained, quietly. + +"Good God!" cried the manager, leaning over and beating his clenched +fist on the desk. "Do you know what you're saying? But, of course, it +can't be! Why, she was going to be in town all summer, and we start +rehearsal on a new play the middle of July! 'Dark Roads' ended its run +last Saturday night. She must have gone off for the week-end somewhere. +You're just trying to get a rise out of me!" + +"I'm not," said Peter, gravely. "She's gone away for some time, and +under peculiar conditions. So far, we haven't been able to find any +trace of her. If you think I'm kidding you, you can call up Mr. Morris +and ask him. He found out, accidentally, that she'd gone away, and he +thought it was so serious that he called me in. I'm a detective," and +Peter presented his business card. + +The manager looked at it and dropped heavily into his chair. + +"This is bad news for me, Mr. Clancy," he said. "Damn bad news. She's +worth twenty-five to fifty thousand a year to me, I don't mind telling +you, and if anything has happened to her--if she's gone off her nut--or +anything--she's a strange sort of girl----" + +"How, 'strange'?" interrupted Peter, his eyes narrowing. + +"Well--she's the greatest emotional actress in the world to-day. +You can take it from me. And I said it to Arthur Quinn, many and +many a time, when he was alive. She can take the heart out of your +body and wring it like a wet sponge. She's beautiful, and clever +as the devil--but, like most temperamental people, she has her own +peculiarities. And sometimes they were a bit hard to deal with." + +"For instance?" prompted Peter. + +"Well, for instance--she'd never rehearse without a full costume and +make-up, and the lights just as they would be at performance. Said she +couldn't feel the part unless the conditions were all the way they were +going to be. It made it necessary to get her costumes ready before we +started rehearsal, and sometimes it was a damn nuisance." + +"But it doesn't strike me that there was anything very unreasonable +about that," objected Peter. "Might be a bit unusual, but----" + +"Oh, that wasn't the only thing," Jones broke in. "I couldn't get her +to meet anybody, not even people who would be useful to her. She would +see a few newspaper men, but only in the theatre, between the acts. She +objected to being photographed, too, and I had the devil and all of a +time getting the right kind of publicity for her." + +"But you have some photographs," said Peter, eagerly. "Surely there are +some to be had. That's what I want particularly." + +"Oh, yes," grudgingly, "we've got some that were taken a year or two +ago. Quinn didn't seem to have so much trouble with her. He got a lot, +and they are beauties, and good enough to use. She hasn't changed any +since they were taken. But people like to see new ones." + +"Can you spare me some?" asked Peter. "I can't get very far without +'em, you can see that for yourself." + +"Oh, sure," answered Jones, readily. "You bet I'll do anything I can to +help you." + +He touched a button on his desk and instructed the sleek youth who +immediately appeared to bring him the photographs of Miss Blake. They +were speedily produced, and Peter gazed at them with deep interest. +There were four different poses, two full length, in evening dress, one +of the head in profile, and one full face. + +It was the latter which interested Peter the most. It was a striking +portrait. The brilliant light, falling from above upon one side of the +face, left the eyes in a transparent shadow, out of which they looked +with a burning, compelling intensity. Haunting, magnetic eyes they +were, full of dramatic possibilities. The nose was short and straight, +with rather full nostrils, expressive of temperament and passion. +The mouth was sensitive, not too small, and exquisite in its subtle +lines and curves. The contours of the face were fine and beautifully +modelled, the cheek-bones and chin delicately defined. There was a +nervous sensibility in the face, a tension and unrest about the pose of +the head upon the slender, gracious neck and shoulders, which suggested +an intense, artistic temperament. + +"Great, aren't they?" said Jones, looking at them as they lay on the +desk between the two men. "Wonder what club old Quinn held over her to +make her sit for 'em?" + +"She and Quinn were great friends, weren't they?" asked Peter. "Do you +know where he picked her up?" + +Jones shook his head. + +"Haven't the faintest idea. He had a way of snatching 'em out of the +atmosphere, had Arthur Quinn, and he was tight as a drum about 'em +all. Nobody had ever heard of her, so far as I know, and I know every +possible bet, from the Keith Circuit up. My business. Quinn sprung her +in the title rôle of 'Constance' the first shot out of the box. Don't +know where she got her training, but she had it all right, all right, +and then some. She never missed a trick, and she was a success from the +drop of the hat. Of course Quinn was a wonder at putting 'em through +a course of sprouts, but the girl appeared on the first night as if +she'd been acting since she was a baby. Maybe they're born that way +sometimes, but I never ran across one that was." + +"I suppose she made a lot of money," hazarded Peter, following a train +of thought of his own. + +"Oh, lord, yes," agreed Jones. "I don't mind telling you in confidence, +Mr. Clancy, that I paid her, on my last year's contract, a cool +thousand a week." + +"Great Scott!" exclaimed Peter. "As much as that?" + +"I sure did," said the manager. "Why, look here. I guess I can show +you." + +He drew toward him a bank book, stuffed with vouchers, which lay upon +the desk. Running rapidly through the cancelled checks, he selected +several and slid them across the polished mahogany to Peter. + +"Just came in from the bank. End of the month," he explained. "Run your +eye over those if you don't believe me." + +Peter did run his eye over them and very carefully. They were all +made out to the order of Mary Blake and for one thousand dollars. He +turned them over and studied the endorsements. They were all alike. At +the top, in a clear, slanting, characteristic hand was written "Pay +to the order of the Scoville Bank--Mary Blake," and at the bottom, +rubber-stamped, were the words, "Pay to the order of the Federal +Reserve Bank of New York," the date, and "The Scoville Bank of New +York, William Dunne, Cashier." + +"I think I'll make a call on Mr. William Dunne, Cashier," thought +Peter, still following an insistent undercurrent of suggestion, as he +made a mental note of the name of the bank. "It might be of interest +to know how much of this corking good salary she's saved--and whether +she--or any one else--has drawn heavily against it lately." Aloud he +said-- + +"That's a lot of money, Mr. Jones! I didn't know they got anything +like that. I can see I made the mistake of my life when I picked my +profession. Think you could get me a job?" + +A slight grin made its way through the trouble and concern on the +manager's face. + +"Better stick to your own job, Mr. Clancy," he said. "There aren't so +many who make what Miss Blake does, believe _me_!" + +Peter had gathered up the photographs and risen to his feet. Jones, +following his example, caught his arm as he approached the door. + +"For God's sake, keep me posted, Mr. Clancy," he said, anxiously. "I +can't think she's thrown me down. Why, only about a month ago she had +a pippin of an offer from a movie concern; far and away over anything +I could afford to give her, though she does net me a lot. And do you +think she'd consider it? Not on your life. She turned it down cold." + +"What reason did she give?" asked Peter, curiously. + +"Didn't give any, to me at least. I didn't know anything about it +until Wolf, the producer, who's an old friend of mine, congratulated +me on her sticking to me so tight. So, you see, I can't believe she's +double-crossed me, and it's a pretty safe bet that I'll hear from her +soon. If I do, I'll let you or Mr. Morris know." + +"Yes, do, by all means," said Peter. "I'll keep in touch with you, and +for the love of Mike, don't let the story leak out. I'm sure I can +trust to your discretion, Mr. Jones." + +"Oh, sure. Sure you can," promised the manager, easily. "It certainly +wouldn't be to my interest to have it known--at least for the present." + +Peter did not like that last phrase very much, but he did not dare to +place in jeopardy his present friendly relation with Jones by taking +it up. He contented himself, therefore, with a smiling injunction to +"keep it under his hat," and added: + +"By the way, Mr. Jones, is there anybody else--anybody you know of that +Miss Blake might be likely to write to?" + +"I don't think there is a soul," answered the manager, frowning. "She +had nothing to do with any member of the company; pretty up-stage with +all of 'em, though not offensive about it exactly. Just kept 'em all at +a distance--same as she did me, to tell you the truth. As I told you, +she'd never meet anybody I asked her to--except Mrs. Atterbury, and I +nearly dropped dead when she asked me if it would be O. K. for her to +give a reading there. I was tickled to death, of course. Great ad. for +her; but she never followed it up. Just like her," he grumbled. "Other +than letting Morris take her around a little she let the whole thing +slide." + +"Had no social ambitions, evidently," Peter remarked. "And you never +met any friends of hers?" + +"Not a soul." + +"Strange," Peter said. And again, to himself, as he hurried from the +manager's office, he repeated, "Strange--so beautiful, so successful, +and so alone. Why?... There was her sister, and there was Donald Morris +and the manager.... And besides them, nobody--nobody but Angelo, and +he'd only just seen her, as he couldn't help seeing her.... And an old +lady, a stout old lady, who called there.... And the voice over the +wire.... It was an odd voice--unusual--I'm sure I'd know it again, +anywhere.... And, by gad, I'd give a hundred dollars to know who was +the owner of that voice over the wire." + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + A SIGNATURE CARD + + +Peter looked at his watch as he ran down the stairs of the Westmoreland +Theatre Building. It was nearly one o'clock, and he decided that he +would have time enough to snatch a bit of lunch before he made the +attempt to see Mr. Walter Dunne, of the Scoville Bank. He stopped in at +a public telephone booth in a cigar store, and called Donald Morris and +O'Malley. To the one he reported what slight progress he had made, and +from the other he received the information that he, O'Malley, had been +down to the apartment and seen the janitor and that there was nothing +new there. No one had called to see either of the sisters and no word +of any kind had been received from them. + +"Get the photographs down here as quick as you can," O'Malley urged. +"I've wired our correspondents all over the country, but you know, +Pete, they can't do such a hell of a lot without the pictures, and +neither can the boys here." + +"Send Maggie over to the Fifth Avenue Bank," said Peter, quickly. "I've +got to go there, anyway. Have her meet me in half an hour and I'll give +her the photographs. You can get them copied, p. d. q., and broadcast +'em all over the map, see. Tell her to meet me in twenty minutes, I can +make it by then." + +Hastily he hung up the receiver, snatched a sandwich and a glass of +milk at a near-by drug store, met Maggie, his switch-board operator, +at the Fifth Avenue Bank and delivered the photographs to her with +instructions to rush them back to the office. + +"Holy cats!" said Maggie, pensively, as she looked at the pictures of +Mary Blake. "Ain't she sweet!" + +"Never mind whether she's sweet or not, Maggie," said Clancy, hastily. +"Put 'em in your bag, and don't lose 'em. Chase yourself back to the +office just as fast as you can, there's a good girl----And for the love +of Mike, stop chewing that gum. You make me nervous! How many times +have I told you----" + +"But I ain't in the office now, Mr. Clancy. It's me lunch hour and me +time's me own and me tastes is me own. If you don't like----" + +"There, there, Maggie. Never mind," said Clancy, soothingly. "I didn't +mean anything; but if there's one thing more than another that spoils a +pretty girl, it's that infernal chew, chew, chew! It gets on my nerves." + +Mollified by the subtle compliment, Maggie blew the offending gum +nonchalantly into the gutter. "'S all right, Mr. Clancy," she said, and +with a wide smile she flappered rapidly away. + +Peter's errand at the Fifth Avenue Bank, where he and his partner kept +their modest but reliable account, was to get a note, accrediting +him to the cashier of the Scoville Bank. The reputation of the firm +of Clancy and O'Malley was above question, and the note was easily +forthcoming. + +Armed with this, Peter proceeded at once to the Scoville Bank and was +readily admitted to an interview with the cashier. + +Mr. William Dunne proved to be a pleasant young man of about Peter's +own age, who looked attentively at the detective's business card, and +asked him to state wherein he, the cashier, could be of service. + +"I want to find out a few things about one of your depositors," said +Peter, proceeding at once to business. "Anything you tell me will be +treated in the strictest confidence, and I'm sure the questions I want +to ask you can answer without any trouble. It's about Miss Mary Blake." + +"H'm'm----" said the cashier. "Miss Blake, the actress? Yes. She has an +account here. Been running up bills somewhere?" with a slight grin. + +"Nothing of the sort," said Peter, readily, "though it may turn out +to be a more serious matter than that. At any rate, it isn't anything +against the lady. It's in her interests that I'm here." + +"Why don't you ask her the questions you want to put to me, then?" +asked Dunne, shrewdly. + +"Because she's out of town and the matter is urgent," explained Peter, +imperturbably. + +The cashier hesitated. + +"Of course I'd be glad to help you out in any way, Mr. Clancy," he +said, doubtfully, "but the relations of the bank to its clients are +very confidential. We have to be very careful about disclosing anything +of their private affairs. You know how you'd feel, yourself. We have +to be very certain that we're not doing anything prejudicial to their +interests." + +Peter saw that it was necessary for him to be very frank if he were +to gain the information he desired from this conscientious and astute +young man. He, therefore, returned the cashier's questioning glance +with an open, candid smile. + +"I'm perfectly aware, Mr. Dunne," he said, "that all good banks protect +their depositors' interests to the limit, so I'll just put my cards on +the table. Miss Blake has disappeared, and her sister also, under most +peculiar conditions, and I have been employed to try to trace them. I +was summoned to their apartment by Mr. Donald Morris." + +"Stephen Morris's son?" asked the cashier, quickly. + +"Yes," said Peter, and seeing that the well-known name had its effect, +he added, "Perhaps you'd like me to get him on the wire, and assure you +that----" + +"I don't like to seem to doubt you in any way, Mr. Clancy," the cashier +interrupted. "I'd be very glad to be of service to any friend of Mr. +Morris's. He has an account here. Suppose I get him on the wire." + +This suited Peter perfectly. Knowing that Morris would be at home, +waiting for news, he realized that there would be little delay, and +waited imperturbably while the cashier verified his statements. In a +few minutes Dunne turned away from the telephone. + +"So far, so good, Mr. Clancy," he said, smiling. "Now bring on your +problem." + +"Well, this is the way it stands," said Peter, with an answering smile. +"It looks as if Miss Blake's apartment has been robbed. Of course we +can't be sure, because we don't know what was there originally, but +things were tossed about a lot, bureau drawers and desk drawers opened, +and that sort of thing. And both the sisters have disappeared." + +"All right. I get that," said the cashier. "Now what do you need to +know about them?" + +"First of all, do you know Miss Blake by sight?" asked Peter. + +"H'm'm--I've seen her on the stage, yes. But I don't recollect ever +having seen her in the bank here." + +"Perhaps one of the tellers----" + +"One of them might have, of course, but I doubt it. You see, I was +paying teller, myself, up to a month ago, and as far as I can remember, +it was always Miss Anne Blake who came to the bank." + +"You know her, then, by sight," said Peter, eagerly. + +"Oh, yes. She comes in almost every week. Quiet, retiring sort of +woman, with a bad birthmark." + +Peter nodded. + +"When was she here last, Mr. Dunne? Do you think you could find out +for me? Would the tellers know her?" + +"Think they would. In fact, I'm sure Parsons knows her. He was my +assistant and is paying now. I'll ask him. Just a moment." + +He left his desk, and went through a glass door at the back of the +metal-latticed cages. Peter could see him, through the grille, talking +to first one man and then another. Presently he came back. + +"Miss Anne Blake was in the bank and cashed a check on Saturday +morning," he informed Peter. + +"On Saturday morning," Peter repeated, thoughtfully. "Do you know how +much she drew?" + +"I do," said the cashier, with a twinkle in his eye. + +"Would you mind telling me, in strict confidence, the amount of the +check?" asked Peter, persuasively. "I promise you, on my word of +honour, that it'll go no further. You can see for yourself that, if +there was a robbery, it's important for us to know whether there was +any large sum of money in the house." + +"I see," said the cashier, thoughtfully. "Well, I don't think there's +any harm in telling you. The Fifth Avenue vouches for you, and Mr. +Morris does, too. No. There can't be any harm. It was a check for five +thousand dollars." + +Peter sat up in his chair. + +"Five thousand!" he exclaimed. "Five thousand dollars? Did she often +draw as much as that?" + +"No, never anywhere near as much as that before. And she took cash, +too. Parsons warned her that it wasn't very safe, these days, to carry +so much money around, and suggested that she take it in A.B.A. checks. +He thought she was going to, for she asked to see the blanks, and then +she decided that she wasn't afraid to take the cash." + +"I'm not awfully familiar with those checks," said Peter, apparently, +for the moment, losing interest in his main subject, "but I understand +they're a great convenience when you're travelling. Got one handy? I'd +like to see one." + +"Yes, they're great," said the cashier, producing a pad of blanks from +the drawer of his desk, and laying it before the detective. + +Peter looked at it for a moment, curiously. + +"You sign here, in the body of the check when purchasing, don't you," +he said, slowly, "and then, when you sign again, here at the bottom, it +identifies you. Yes. Very clever. Very convenient. I'll remember, when +I have another long trip to take. Thanks." + +He sat considering in silence for a little time. Then he asked: + +"How does Miss Blake's account stand with the bank? I mean, is it a +joint account? Can she and her sister both draw checks against it?" + +"Yes," Dunne answered, promptly. + +"Then, if Miss Mary should--die--Miss Anne could still go on drawing +against the account without any bother about a will, or anything." + +"Naturally, but I don't quite see how this applies----" + +"No," agreed Peter, genially. "It probably doesn't. I was only +thinking----" + +He continued thinking silently for a moment, then he went on: + +"Would you feel that there was any harm in telling me how much money +Miss Blake has on deposit here?" + +"I really couldn't do that, Mr. Clancy. It's against the rules of the +bank. I'm sorry." + +Peter grinned--computing swiftly in his own mind. + +"Would I be safe, do you think," he asked, "in extending credit to Miss +Blake to the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars?" + +The young cashier laughed. + +"You would, Mr. Clancy. You certainly would." + +"Suppose it were necessary, and I doubled the credit?" + +Dunne's eyes twinkled with merriment, and he shook his head. + +"I wouldn't advise you to go much above that, Mr. Clancy," he said, +"but at the present moment you wouldn't be risking your fifty thousand +to any extent." + +The grin left Peter's face, and his eyes narrowed. He had, indeed, +found food for thought. A joint account, for about fifty thousand +dollars, which would be entirely under Anne's control if Mary--should +die. Had he found a motive, a sufficient motive? And why had Anne drawn +so large a sum on Saturday? Saturday! The very day before the one on +which Anne and Mary had both vanished, leaving no trace. + +Did someone know of the large sum in currency which the sisters had in +their apartment, presumably, on Saturday night?... But Anne, at least, +had left the apartment, herself unharmed, on Sunday evening. That was +an established fact. + +And why hadn't Anne made use of the safe and convenient A.B.A. checks, +as the paying teller had advised her? She had evidently considered +doing so, for she had examined the blanks--and found, not only that she +must sign them first when purchasing, but also that the signature at +the bottom must agree with the one in the body of the check when it was +cashed. + +There was only one possible conclusion in the detective's mind. She did +not wish to use her own name, and that was why she would not buy them +of the bank where she was known. If she was clever, she would see that +she could purchase the checks elsewhere and use any name she saw fit. +Peter was confident that when, or if, they found Anne Blake, it would +be under some other name. + +These reflections occupied but a moment, so swift were Peter's mental +processes. He had noted and tabulated each circumstance for future +application to the problem in hand, and there had been scarcely a +perceptible pause in the conversation when he said: + +"I'm awfully obliged to you, Mr. Dunne, for the information you've +given me. There's just one thing more. Would you mind showing me any +vouchers you may happen to have on Miss Blake's account? It would be a +great favour." + +The cashier pursed his lips, and shook his head. + +"I'm afraid I really couldn't do that, Mr. Clancy," he said, +apologetically. "Cancelled checks are the property of the client, and +not of the bank. I could show you the signature card, if you'd be +interested in that. It shows both signatures, if that's what you want +to see." + +Peter did not care to explain that he had hoped to get from the +vouchers some clue which would indicate with whom the sisters were +accustomed to have dealings, or that he might stumble on some other +valuable bit of information. This proving impossible, he might as +well look at the signatures. As O'Malley always said, "You never can +tell----" + +"Why, thanks. I would like to see them, Mr. Dunne," he said, "if it +isn't too much trouble." + +"Not a bit," responded the cashier, rising. + +He passed again behind the network of grilles, and presently returned +with the usual signature card in his hand. Seating himself, he laid it +before the detective. + +Peter examined the signatures carefully. Mary Blake's was, so far as +he could judge, precisely like those he had seen at Frederick Jones's +office, the writing rather large, and slanting in the ordinary way. +Anne's signature was small and cramped and written "backhand," very +different from her sister's generous, spirited writing. And yet, in +some ways, they were similar, Peter noted; a fact probably due to long +association. The e's, for instance, were formed in both cases, not in a +loop, but like a written capital e, and they were separate, not joined +to the letter k which preceded in the word "Blake." + +Peter remarked these points in passing, but their full significance did +not dawn upon him for many, many anxious days. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + THE WOMAN AT THE PENNSYLVANIA HOTEL + + +"Here he is," said Captain O'Malley, as Peter, having made a quick +trip from the Scoville Bank, entered the door of his partner's private +office. "You're just in time, Pete. Fox thinks he's found the lady!" + +"What, already?" said Peter, glancing sharply at the round, smooth face +of the detective who stood beside O'Malley's desk. "And which one?" + +"I think I've found Miss Mary Blake. But, of course, I can't be +perfectly sure yet," answered Fox, thrusting forward his chin, eagerly. +"I've been rounding up the hotels to see what ladies, travelling alone, +registered on Sunday night. Been doing it ever since we got our orders, +and I haven't had any luck till just about an hour ago. I'd gone all +through the smaller hotels, thinking she'd sure pick a quiet one, and +then it suddenly occurred to me that maybe she'd think she'd attract +less attention at one of the big ones, and after running through +several, I hit the Pennsylvania. Happens I know the clerk there, so he +took some pains to help me. He was off duty Sunday, and there wasn't +anybody registered that day that could possibly have been either of +the Miss Blakes. But, as you know, Clancy, they're pretty particular +about taking any ladies without luggage, and Watson (that's the clerk) +thought she might possibly have tried to get in and they wouldn't take +her. So he got hold of the man that was on duty Sunday, and I gave him +my spiel. This lad (Franklin, his name is) said there was a lady, very +beautiful and young, that came into the hotel on Sunday evening, about +seven, and wanted a room. She didn't have nothing but a small handbag, +and she was so pretty Franklin was leary of her and said they were +full up. So then I asked him if he had any idea where she'd gone, and +he said that she seemed so kind of timid and upset about not getting +a room, and she didn't look exactly like a rounder (though you can't +always tell, at that), so he suggested that she might go over to the +station and talk to the Travellers' Aid officer that's always in the +women's waiting room; that she could find out there some respectable +boarding house she could get into." + +"Yes?" said Peter, eagerly, as Fox paused for breath. + +"Well, that sounded good to me, so I beat it over to the station, +and sure enough, the Travellers' Aid woman there did remember that a +pretty young woman come in Sunday evening and that she'd recommended +a boarding house on Twenty-sixth Street, where they take nothing but +women. Then I chased over to the boarding house, and sure enough, +she was there, all right. I saw the landlady. She's a respectable +woman, enough, but it's a big house that caters to a transient trade +and I guess they can't be too particular. Anyhow, she said the girl +looked all right and paid for a week in advance, so she should worry. +I described Miss Blake to her, and she thinks it's her, all right. I +couldn't do nothing more without a photo, so I beat it over to see if +we'd got one yet; and that's as far as I've gone." + +"Sounds good so far," remarked O'Malley. "What do you think, Pete?" + +"Well, it fits what we know, as far as it goes," said Clancy. "But the +acid test'll be matching this girl up to the photograph. Have you got +the duplicates yet, O'Malley?" + +"Just come in, not five minutes ago," answered the old man, reaching +for a large envelope which lay upon his desk. "Pretty good service +we're getting from the Swift Camera Company. They're swift in something +more than the name. Here, Fox, here you are." He held out four +unmounted photographs. "You can't make a mistake with all those for +comparison, but see her yourself, and make sure." + +Fox scratched his head. + +"But how'm I going to get a chance to compare 'em?" he asked, +doubtfully. "The landlady says that the young woman, who gave her name +as Mrs. Florence Smith, keeps in her room the whole time. She don't go +out at all. Has her meals sent up. Says she's nervous about meeting +strangers, but it looks to me as if she was hiding." + +Peter and O'Malley exchanged glances. + +"Find out anything else?" asked Peter, with increasing interest. + +"Only that she hasn't had any more luggage sent in. Just had nothing +but the handbag she come with. And that she'd written and sent out one +letter since she come, and last night, the only time she's been out at +all, she asked where was the nearest place she could send a telegram." + +"Wonder when she sent that letter, and if it was by messenger," said +Peter, reflectively. "You didn't happen to ask, did you, Fox?" + +"No, I didn't, Clancy. Does it matter?" + +"Well----I don't know----Might----But that'll be easy enough to find +out from the landlady, I guess," said Peter. "Anyhow, the whole bag of +tricks sounds pretty interesting, Fox. We're bound to follow it up. +Somebody's got to get a peek at her by hook or by crook." + +"But how?" asked Fox, irritably. "How am I going to get at her? I can't +go and bust into her room. And if she never leaves it----" + +"She'll have to leave it sometime, son," said O'Malley, soothingly. +"All you'll have to do is to stick around, and sooner or later she's +bound to come into the open." + +This suggestion of "watchful waiting" made no appeal to Peter, however. +He thought a minute, and then said to Fox: + +"There's a way of getting to her and I'll bet I find it. Your feet get +cold too easy, Fox, and you've got no imagination. I'll take this thing +on, here and now. Come on and lead me to that landlady, and I'll show +you how the thing can be done." + +Fox, grumbling inwardly, did as he was bid, and the two men proceeded +as fast as possible to Twenty-sixth Street. There he introduced Clancy +to the landlady, a lean, middle-aged woman, of respectable appearance, +with a cold, calculating blue eye. + +"I don't know why I should help you to see Mrs. Smith," she said, +in answer to Peter's request. "She's paid her board and lodging in +advance, and she's quieter'n any lady in the house. I don't know you, +and----" + +Peter interrupted her. + +"Mrs. Comfort," (for, inappropriate as it seemed, this was the +landlady's name) "Mrs. Comfort," he said, "we don't know whether or not +Mrs. Smith is the lady we're looking for. And, in any case, there's +nothing against her and we mean her no harm. The lady we're looking +for"--he fixed her with his eye and touched his forehead significantly, +shaking his head in apparent commiseration--"has left her friends, and +has left no address." + +"You mean she's crazy?" asked the landlady, in a horrified whisper. +"I thought she acted kind of queer. I can't bear crazy people," she +shivered. + +Peter was quick to follow up his advantage. + +"But this may not be the lady we're looking for, Mrs. Comfort. We only +want to make sure. It would be too bad to worry you if we're mistaken. +One thing: She sent a letter out since she's been here. Do you happen +to know when it was she sent it?" + +"Yes, I do know that, positive," said Mrs. Comfort, uncomfortably. "She +asked Lily, the waitress, to take it out when she went home Sunday +night." + +"Was it to go by messenger?" asked Peter, quickly. + +"I don't know." + +"Would Lily, do you think? And whom the letter was addressed to? Do you +imagine she'd remember? Could you ask her for me, Mrs. Comfort? If I +knew the address on the letter, I might not have to see Mrs. Smith to +make sure." + +"No," irritably, "I can't ask Lily, for the simple reason that she +hasn't showed up so far this week at all." + +"Too bad," said Peter. "Well, never mind, Mrs. Comfort. It won't matter +to me, anyway, if you'll fix it so we can find out whether this Mrs. +Smith is the lady we want. You will fix it, won't you?" His tone was +very persuasive. + +"Well," hesitated the landlady, rubbing her long nose with a bony +forefinger, "it'd ease my mind to have you see her since what you've +told me. But how can I? I've got no right to let you go up to her room. +This is a respectable house, and----" + +"I know it is," Peter agreed, cordially. "It's got a fine reputation, +Mrs. Comfort. But even if you don't have men boarders, surely you must +have men in to make repairs, or something. How about the telephone? I +could go in to inspect the telephone. You could come along with me if +you like." + +"But there's no telephones in the rooms," objected the landlady. "What +d'you think this is? The Ritz?" + +Peter was checked for the moment. He glanced around the lace-curtained +parlour for inspiration. The house was an old one, and lighted by gas. +The fact, immediately noted, gave him an idea, and he was about to +suggest that he go up and pretend to do something to the burners in +Mrs. Smith's room, when a sharp ring at the front door bell interrupted +him. + +"Them girls downstairs is so slow." With an annoyed gesture Mrs. +Comfort turned quickly, passed through the open double doors of the +parlour, and herself opened the street door. + +Peter heard but one sentence--and he was out in the hall in the +twinkling of an eye. Without a word of explanation he snatched a yellow +envelope from the outstretched hand of an elderly "messenger boy" +who stood upon the threshold, dropped his own hat on the hall table, +unceremoniously appropriated the cap of the astounded messenger, and +turned swiftly to Mrs. Comfort. + +"Which room?" he whispered. "Quick!" + +"Third floor back," gasped the landlady. "But you can't----" + +Peter did not wait to hear her expostulations. He dashed up the stairs +and was out of sight before she could finish the sentence. + +He stopped for an instant before the door of the third floor back, to +get his breath. Then he knocked softly. + +"Who's there?" The voice had a startled, anxious ring. + +"Western Union Telegraph," Peter answered, in a quiet, assured tone. + +The door opened the least crack, and then was flung wide, the envelope +snatched from his hand and torn open, the contents devoured. Peter +stood stock still, with wide-open eyes. + +"Oh, thank God! Thank God! He'll take me home. He'll take me back! Oh, +father, dear father!" She was sobbing, beside herself. She turned, +blindly, to Peter. "How do I get this? This money?--I want to go home. +To go home to California. He'll save me from Roger. He'll protect +me. I won't have to bear anything more. I'll be free, at last!" The +words tumbled wildly over each other, and again, almost without taking +breath, she asked, "How do I get this money?" + +Peter saw it all in a flash. The woman, hiding from a husband who had +ill-treated her, the father who had sent the money, faster than on the +wings of the wind, to bring his daughter home.... It was an old story, +with, Peter hoped, a happy ending, for the girl was beautiful and +appealing--though not in the least, except in generalities, like the +portrait which he carried inside the breast of his coat. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + ONE CLUE + + +And this sort of thing was destined to be Peter's experience for +many days to come. Every waking hour, and many when he should have +been sleeping, was spent in following up clues unearthed by eager +detectives, spurred to incessant action by the large reward which +Donald Morris had privately offered for any news of either or both of +the sisters. + +Morris had been inclined, at first, to limit the reward to news of Mary. + +"I care nothing about the sister, Clancy," he said. "What does it +matter to me where she is, or what she does? It's Mary--Mary----" + +The agonized appeal in his eyes was almost more than Peter could bear. +The two men, so unlike, but with the bond of one common interest, +had become, in those few days, fast friends. Peter could not bring +himself even to hint at the sinister possibility which had presented +itself to his mind and to Captain O'Malley's. Hardened as they were +to the terrible crimes which were committed in this great city every +day, the possibility of murder--a word which they had not whispered, +even to each other--was not one which Peter would willingly suggest to +the client who had become his friend. It was, therefore, with great +difficulty that he persuaded Morris to make the reward applicable to +news of either of the sisters. + +"If we can only find Anne," he said to O'Malley, after Morris had +reluctantly consented, "I promise you I'll put the screws on her and +find out what happened to Mary Blake, if it's necessary to have her +arrested for murder to do it. You watch me! _I'm going to find Anne!_" + +But for once, for all his confidence in himself, Peter seemed destined +to failure. Each day and all day long and far into the night, all over +the country, sharp-eyed men and women trained to the last keen edge of +observation and inquiry sought for the missing women. + +And always there were clues. Their name was legion, and Peter did +not dare, in his own words, "to pass one up," for fear that it might +lead true, at last. It seemed impossible that there could be so many +unexplained women as were unearthed; so many women with birthmarks, so +many who were young and dark, and to the observer's eager eye (dazzled, +perhaps by the amount of the reward) so like the photograph which each +detective carried about with him. + +In his investigations, Peter travelled the country over. A swift +journey to St. Louis--and failure. Returning, he had no more than +reached his office, when a report came in of a young woman, with a +conspicuous birthmark, who had recently taken obscure lodgings in a +back street in Philadelphia. The cases of those who were supposed to +be Anne Blake were the most difficult to cope with and took the most +time. A decision could only be reached, in some instances, by finding +out the antecedents of the suspects, and by determining that the person +in question was definitely in some other place on the twenty-eighth of +May, for there was nothing in Peter's possession with which to identify +her except a meagre description. + +He had made time to amplify this to the fullest extent possible. +To this end, he had called again on the janitor, Angelo Russo, at +the apartment in Waverly Place, late in the afternoon following his +experience with the _soi-disant_ Mrs. Florence Smith. + +He had gone quietly into the old apartment house and, unheralded, had +sought the janitor in his own domain. In the dark, stuffy basement, he +had interviewed Angelo and his invalid wife, who appeared almost too +ill to answer any questions. + +"She not know noding 'bout noding," Angelo said, interposing his short +body, protectively, between Peter and his wife. "She sick long time. +Doc', she say mus' have fresh air--count-ree. How get him, me? Try +ev' way I know, Godalmighty! but no good--Angelo have no lucka--only +troub'--jus' troub'." + +"Did your wife ever see Miss Anne Blake?" asked Peter, touched, in +spite of his preoccupation, by the poor, stupid Italian's sincere +distress. "That's all I want to know." + +"Yes. Me seen her long time 'go," said the wife, in a thin, weak voice. +"Long time 'go," she repeated, sadly. + +"Could you describe her to me? Tell me how she looked?" asked Peter, +kindly. "A woman sometimes sees more than a man." + +But the poor woman's powers of description were little better than her +husband's. She insisted, however, that Anne Blake was not thin, "not +skinny," but--Peter supplied the word--slender. "Yes, she was slen', +but stronga. Me see her lif' biga heavy ting, carry 'em 'roun' lika +easy. No, not skinny--what you say, slen'? Yes." This was the only way +in which her description varied from Angelo's. + +After leaving the Russos, Peter had found two or three tradesmen, in +the immediate vicinity, who knew Anne Blake by sight. He was able to +determine from them that her appearance was, in a general way, such as +before described. As to the birthmark, one or two thought it was on the +left, and the others thought it was on the right, cheek. One perhaps +fanciful lady, who owned a small bake shop, said she remembered it +well, and that it was certainly on the right cheek, extending down on +the neck. That it looked to her something like the mark of a hand, a +big spot below, and four--or was it only three--smaller ones, running +up on the cheek. "Dark it was, like blood, an' awful to have upon ye, +the poor thing!" + +This was all that Peter had to go upon in his subsequent attempts to +trace Anne Blake, and only once, after investigation, had he been at +all assured that he had found a genuine clue. This happened on the +Wednesday following the disappearance. + +He had sent a woman detective to interview the matron of the women's +waiting room in the Pennsylvania Station. This detective found that the +neat coloured woman, in charge of the pay dressing rooms, remembered +seeing a veiled lady come in there on Sunday evening. She couldn't be +sure, but she thought it was after five. It was not very long before +the time when she went off duty, and that was at six. She recollected, +too, that the lady had some sort of disfigurement on her face. She had +received the fee and opened one of the pay dressing rooms for her, but +whether it was because the lady stayed in there till after her time was +up, or for whatever reason, the coloured woman had no recollection of +seeing her again. + +And after three weeks of almost incessant toil this was the one +thing Peter had learned. Porters and conductors of every train which +left the Pennsylvania Station on that fateful Sunday night had been +personally interviewed. Not one remembered seeing any such lady as +Peter described. As far as he was able to learn, Anne Blake might have +vanished into thin air. + +The search for a cab which Mary Blake might have taken on that Sunday +evening had proved equally fruitless. The city, as Peter had promised +Donald Morris, had been gone over with a fine-tooth comb. All the big +taxi companies, the smaller garages, and all the "free lances," from +the Bronx to the Battery, had been investigated, to no purpose. No one +had seen Mary Blake leave Waverly Place and every trace of her was +utterly lost. Like her sister, she had slipped out of sight, leaving no +ripple to betray her passage. + +"It looks as if the only chance of getting results would be to let +the story leak out to the papers," said Peter to O'Malley, late one +afternoon toward the end of June. "Mr. Morris is dead against it. +Thinks that Miss Mary would hate the publicity worse than anything in +the world. And even if we could persuade him to let us go ahead and +practically advertise, even then I'm not any too hopeful." He sighed, +wearily. "I don't see, in any case, why Anne should come out of the +woods. Dammit! If she'd only draw some of that money that's lying +up there at the Scoville Bank, it might give us a look-in. But they +haven't heard a word. I'm sure she's got plenty of funds in hand, all +right, and is lying low. Wonder how she figures to pull out that money +without any one getting wise as to where she is." + +"I've been puzzling about that, too," said O'Malley. "Seems as if she'd +have to take somebody into her confidence to put it across, but if what +we've doped out is true, and Mary Blake never turns up, for the simple +reason that----" He made an expressive gesture. + +"That letter keeps coming back to my mind, O'Malley," said Peter, +reflectively, "the one Mary wrote to Donald Morris. And one phrase +sticks in my crop--'There will be no one left but Anne, if I fail----' +It looks like what we thought--and yet--somehow I can't get it out of +my head----" Suddenly he banged his fist down on the desk and jumped to +his feet. "I'm going through that apartment again, O'Malley," he said. +"I've been trying to ever since--but some damned bright-eyes thought +he had the whole thing cinched, and I've had to beat it somewhere on a +wild-goose chase. But I'm through with that for the present. I don't +care who has a pipe dream, induced by too big a reward, I'm going to +see if there isn't something in that apartment that'll give us a lead. +If we could only find out where they came from, and who they knew, +it might give us a line on where they'd be likely to go. The way it +is, we've just about come to a standstill, as I see it. There must be +something left in the place where they've lived for several years that +would be a hint to the guy who was able to take it. That key's been +burning in my pocket all these weeks, and to-night I'm going to use +it, see! I don't want any gallery, so I'm going late, just before the +street door's closed for the night. That's at twelve o'clock. I'll try +to fix it so that I don't run into the janitor." + +"Oh, I guess you needn't be much afraid of that, from what Rawlins +says. He's been pretty well fed up with just watching the house when +there's been absolutely nothing stirring, and he's sort of made +friends with Angelo to keep from being bored stiff. And the poor old +devil, Angelo, I mean, is just about crazy on account of his wife. She +won't go to a hospital, and there he is, taking care of her and trying +to hold down his job at the same time. With the result that he's only +upstairs when he can't get out of it. So----" + +"So you think there's no fear of my running into him," concluded Peter. +"Well, I don't suppose he'd beef about it much, but you never can +tell with these ignorant foreigners. They sometimes have an attack of +conscience in the most unexpected places. I won't take any chances. +I'll get Rawlins to give me the tip when he's out of the way----" + +"I guess it would be as well, at that," said O'Malley. "But what do you +expect to find, Pete? You went over the apartment pretty thoroughly the +first day, didn't you?" + +"I did take a good look," answered Peter. "It was as thorough as I +could make it at the time, and with Morris champing at the bit. But I'm +not entirely satisfied--haven't been all along. There's a queer feel +about the place, O'Malley. You may think I'm getting fanciful in my old +age, and I can't explain to you just what it is that seems----The place +is shut in--airy enough, and all that, you know, but cut off from the +rest of the world.... You have the sort of feeling that almost anything +might happen there--and no one the wiser.... The windows are all +covered with curtains that are thin enough to let in the light and air +but thick enough so you couldn't see a thing from the outside. They're +not the usual sash curtains, but run from the top to the bottom of the +windows, and there's a rod through them at the bottom so they can't +blow--and there are thick, dark shades.... Of course it might be that +way in any apartment where the outlook wasn't very attractive--and it +may be just that.... You may think I'm a nut, O'Malley, but I've got it +into my old bean that there was something more--a purpose--I don't know +what.... But I'm going to find out. The thing's got me going. I'm going +to find out, O'Malley, if it takes a leg!" + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + THE DUPLICATE KEY + + +It was a dark night, hot and close, with a feel of thunder in the air. +The big arc lights near the arch in Washington Square made spots of +copperas green on the close-trimmed grass and flecks of emerald on the +full summer foliage of the trees. Above, the sky was velvet black, +thick and solid, like a pall, except for the faint, pulsating glow of +heat lightning over in the west. + +In the short length of Waverly Place the shadows lay deep, like those +at the bottom of a cañon. At the far end shone the lights of Broadway, +dim here in comparison with its upper reaches of flashing electricity. +An occasional car banged and rumbled on its way north or south, serving +to accentuate the silence of the short cross street. + +It was nearing midnight when Peter Clancy alighted from the stage at +Fifth Avenue and made his way eastward. When he reached the corner of +University Place, he whistled softly, five notes in a minor key. That +simple little call was as familiar to every man on his staff as the +notes of a robin to a country-bred boy. + +Immediately a shadow, among the shadows on the south side of the +street, moved toward him. Peter advanced quietly. + +"That you, Mr. Clancy?" A voice from the moving shadow, and as it came +closer, Peter could just distinguish Rawlins's face. + +"Anything stirring, Rawlins?" + +"Not a damn thing," the man replied, disgustedly. "This is a hell +of a job to put a live man on, Mr. Clancy. Been hangin' around here +for weeks, and not a soul to speak to but Sullivan and the dago over +there----" + +"Angelo swallowed the story of your being a plain-clothes watchman for +the bank here all right, didn't he? He hasn't any suspicion----" + +"Not a suspish," said Rawlins, confidently. "He and I are good friends, +all righty--and I can't help being sorry for the poor devil. He's such +a fool, and he's up against it, sure enough. He ought to send that wife +of his to a hospital." + +"Those people haven't any sense about that sort of thing," commented +Peter. "But never mind that now, Rawlins. Just slip over and see if the +coast is clear. I'm going up to the apartment for a bit, and I'm not +looking for an excited audience. Beat it over, and give me the high +sign if he's out of the way." + +Peter waited in the dark entrance next to the American Bank, which was +directly opposite number Ninety-nine. He saw Rawlins's short, wiry +figure silhouetted against the dim light which burned in the hallway +of the house across the way; saw him disappear in the darkness at the +other end of the passage. + +It seemed a long time to Peter's impatience before Rawlins again +appeared and, like a shadow, flitted across the street. He was out of +breath when he reached Peter, and chuckling softly to himself. + +"What's up?" asked Peter, sharply. "What are you laughing at, Rawlins? +Let me in on the joke." + +"Gee!" exclaimed Rawlins under his breath. "I'll bet the Federal +authorities would give a good deal to have heard what I just did. Say, +Clancy, did you ever hear that the dagoes in this old burg have got a +real, honest-to-God lottery going strong under cover somewhere?" + +"Oh, there are always rumours like that going around," said Peter, +carelessly. "The Chinese and the French and the Italians. What's that +got to do with the price of cheese?" + +"Why," said Rawlins, still chuckling, "there's a man over there with +Angelo in his little front room--I gum-shoed through the hall and part +way down the stairs, and I heard 'em talking. Angelo is crazy because +he's lost some money on the thing, poor devil, and he talked louder +than I guess he knew. They both spoke Italian, but you know I'm a shark +at lingoes, Clancy," with evident pride. + +"Yes, I know," said Peter, impatiently, "but we aren't here to sleuth +out things for the Government. I'd have been interested awhile back, +but I've got something else on my chest now. D'you think Angelo is +likely to come up in the next few minutes? That's all I want to know." + +"I should say, from the start he's got, that he'd go on cussin' his +friend for some time," answered Rawlins, grinning in the dark at his +recollection of the little Italian's language. "If you chase over right +away, you'll make it without any trouble. Angelo is what you might call +occupied just about now." + +"All right," said Peter, softly. + +Swift and quiet as a cat, he crossed the street, passed through the +gas-lighted hall, and up the stairs. + +There was no gas burning on the third landing, from which he deduced +that the apartment was still unoccupied. The fourth floor also was +perfectly dark and Peter had to flash his electric hand-light upon the +door to fit his duplicate key. + +The lock grated with an uneasy sound and the door swung slowly inward. +Still, black darkness, which could almost be felt, confronted him. +Peter stepped across the threshold, and without a sound, carefully shut +the door. + +The closed rooms, after the oppressive heat of the outer world, seemed +damp and cold, and Peter shivered slightly. In his rubber-soled shoes +he made no sound as he advanced into the living room, flashing his +light carefully about to avoid colliding with anything. + +There was little fear of being seen from the outside, since the +buildings opposite were used for business purposes, and empty at this +time of night, but Peter was taking no chances. His first move was to +pull down the dark shades at the windows. + +Remembering the way the outer halls were lighted, he struck a match +to light the gas, and found, to his surprise, that the apartment was +equipped with electricity. He had not noticed it before, or if he had, +it had made no impression on his then preoccupied mind. He saw nothing +significant in it now--was glad of the more brilliant light in which to +make his investigation--that was all. There was a candle lamp over on +the desk and a big, shaded lamp upon the table. Peter switched on the +smaller lamp. + +In the quiet light which illumined the room he could see that it was +just as he had left it over three weeks before. A little dust had +drifted in through the chinks of the windows, filming the polished +mahogany of table, chairs, and couch, but otherwise there was no +change, except that the scarf, which had proved an open sesame to a +world of anxiety, had been removed. But Peter knew all about that. He, +himself, had taken it to VanDorn and Sawyer to have the stain upon it +analyzed. They found it to be, what he felt sure from the first it was, +human blood. The scarf lay, now, in the safe at his office. + +Peter went into the bedroom and pulled down the shade, lest some +wakeful person in the houses on the street above might catch a gleam +from the light which he had left burning in the living room, and become +curious. Then, softly, he crept into the dining room and lowered +the blinds there, then into the kitchen, where he noted that the +broken pane of glass had been replaced according to Morris's careful +instructions to Angelo on the day it was discovered. He had felt, with +Morris, that it was an unnecessary risk to leave it in a condition in +which any sneak thief might have entered from the fire-escape with +perfect ease. + +Peter drew the dark blue blind down to the sill, and flashed the cold +eye of his hand-torch about, looking for a light fixture. He found +it in the shape of an old-fashioned gas chandelier with two burners, +suspended from the ceiling. He lit them both. The gas burned high, with +a soft, secret hiss. It sounded loud in the remote stillness of the +place, and automatically Peter lowered it to the point of silence. + +Then, supplementing the light from above with the clear gleam of his +torch, he searched the kitchen with microscopic thoroughness, but found +nothing which could be supposed, in any remote way, to have a bearing +on his problem. The two significant details, the fallen glass upon the +outside of the sill and the sliver of ice in the sink, which he had +noted on that perplexing Monday, having disappeared, the kitchen had no +other revelations to offer. + +He proceeded to the dining room, with a like result. Except for the +disarrangement of the side-board already noted, the room was evidently +just as it ordinarily appeared when tenanted. Again he noticed that +there was but one chair drawn up to the small round mahogany dining +table. The rest were standing tidily against the walls, and he +wondered if only one person had partaken of the last meal which was +eaten in that room. + +Passing into the hall, he sent the brilliant eye of his flash back and +forth across the dark waxed floor. It was thinly covered now with a +light, feathery dust. It would blow into the little gray rolls that the +hospital nurses call "kittens" if the air was let in. + +"Gad, I wish I could open the windows," thought Peter. "The air's as +dead as----" + +He paused before the open door of the small storeroom, still looking +at the floor. There was one spot here where the dust had collected +thickly. A big round clot of it lay there and several smaller spots. +Peter, with a slight faint creeping of the flesh, stepped carefully +across this part of the floor and entered the storeroom. + +The only window here gave upon a narrow light-shaft across which was +the window of the bath adjoining. There were only thin muslin curtains +at these windows, but at this midnight hour probably no one would +notice the light at the top of the shaft. + +"Anyhow, I'll have to risk it," said Peter, half aloud, "I've got to +make sure about this room." + +There was only gas here, as in all the rear of the apartment, but the +flow was good and the light fairly strong. Again Peter noted the slight +abrasions of the wall where he concluded the other trunk had stood, +the trunk which Bill, the taxi driver, had found so heavy, the trunk +which Anne Blake had taken away with her to a destination which still +remained veiled in mystery. + +The size of the trunk was--Peter measured from one little sharp +indentation in the wall to another--three feet four or five inches--and +from the floor, approximately twenty-four inches. + +"Big enough," Peter muttered to himself. "Big enough for--almost +anything." + +He folded up his pocket rule and turned to the large brass-bound trunk +which had been left standing against the wall. + +"Makes me feel a bit like a burglar, but it's all in the day's work," +thought Peter, as he knelt beside it and inspected the lock. "I guess +I've got you," his thought ran on, "you're easy," and he took a large +bunch of small keys from his pocket, and after a few minutes' work, +found one that fitted. + +A sharp crack of the lock, and Peter lifted the lid. The odour of +camphor, in a great whiff, filled his nostrils, almost choking him. He +drew back and took a long breath. + +"Gosh, they've used plenty of it," he exclaimed, half aloud. "I'd be +sorry for the poor devil of a moth that took a chance with that!" + +Carefully he lifted up the ends of the various articles in the trunk, +in such a way as not to disarrange them. Except for a pair of woollen +blankets at the bottom, there was nothing there but winter clothing of +various sorts. Extremely various sorts, Peter saw, for first there was +a magnificent evening wrap trimmed with almost priceless fur. Beneath +it lay a plain, rough, dark, heavy winter cloak rubbed a little at the +cuffs and collar, as with constant wear. There were carriage boots, +satin, lined with fur, and next them, wrapped in newspaper, was a pair +of high, fleece-lined goloshes, old and shabby. Peter looked at the +date on the newspaper. + +"The _Planet_, May 25," he read. "Somebody packed this trunk not more +than three days before----Well, I don't see where that gets you, old +top. Come get a move on." + +In replacing the bundle of goloshes, he noticed that an article had +been cut from the paper, not torn out, but cut with sharp scissors. The +fact merely caught his attention in passing. + +"Probably a notice of 'Dark Roads,'" he thought, and dismissing the +subject from his mind, he went on with his task. It proved somewhat +trying, owing to the camphor fumes, which became more overpowering as +he delved deeper into the trunk, and once they became so strong that he +sneezed. + +He tried to choke it back, but it would come, a loud "Atchi!" which +resounded horribly in the stillness. + +Peter held his breath and listened. Nothing stirred. Far away he +could hear the faint "whir--ee--ee" of a passing street car, over on +Broadway, and the low murmuring of thunder overhead, but within was the +silence of the tomb. + +"Cheerful, I calls it," said Peter, to himself, drawing a long breath. +"Well, I guess that'll be about all here." + +He closed and locked the trunk, flashed his light inside the open +drawers of the small white chiffonier, and found nothing that could +give him any help. Not a letter, not a card. No piece of writing of any +sort. The very few articles of clothing which remained were old and +worn. A pair of gray leather gloves, shabby with wear, still held the +shape of slender, long hands. There was something almost pathetic about +them as they lay there, palms upward, an appeal--but Peter was in no +mood for sympathy. + +"Anne Blake's things, without a doubt," he thought, "and too worn +out to bother with.... And her winter stuff packed away with her +sister's.... I wonder if Sherlock Holmes would make anything out of +that. Does it mean that she plans to come back in the fall? Or are they +all things she has no further use for? And, if so, why pack 'em away +so carefully?... And just a few days before--she--quit. Was the whole +business 'sudden at the last,' as they say of people who are a long +time dying?" He shook his red head in perplexity. "Well, no use trying +to think it out now, Peter. Let's get all the dope and then patch it +together the best we can." + +So saying, he slipped softly down the hall, throwing his brilliant +light over every inch of the floor and walls. Almost without sound he +drifted from the hall into the bedroom and stood still, looking about +him. There was electricity here, and he boldly switched on the lights +in the ceiling. The resulting illumination was so bright that it made +him blink. + +Then he proceeded with his investigation. + +Nothing in the waste basket, nothing, not even ashes, in the small, +old-fashioned grate; nothing left in the few pockets he discovered with +exceeding difficulty, in the various rich articles of women's apparel +which hung in the two closets. Nothing of any interest in the rifled +drawers of the big highboy, nor in the empty drawers of the dressing +table. A little drift of pink toilet powder still clung in the corner +of one of them and there was a tiny smear of red on the inner side of +the same drawer. Peter touched it and found that it was a trifle greasy +and made his finger-tip rosy-red. + +"Rouge. Aha, my lady," he chuckled, with a little grimace, "beauty +isn't always even skin deep." And for the hundredth time he wondered if +Mary Blake was all that Morris thought her. "Not that a little paint +and powder is anything against a girl these days, when every flapper, +from fifteen to fifty, makes up for the street, and some of 'em pile +it on so thick you'd think they must have put it on with a trowel--in +the dark. Well," he looked about him, "there's no excuse for her if she +didn't do it right." He reached out and switched on the lights on both +sides of the mirror, at the back of the dressing table. His pleasant, +homely freckled face appeared in the glass, dazzlingly illuminated. +"Humph! Mary took no chances of not looking her best, I'll say that +for her," he thought. "But I wish to God she'd left me some real +light on the problem she's stacked me up against, instead of all this +spotlight stuff.... Well--I guess there's nothing here. Now for the +living room." + +He turned off all the lights, and went through into the room at the +front. Here the little candle lamp on the desk threw a gentle, intimate +glow over the rather austere old furniture and neutral-tinted walls. +There was nothing here that even remotely suggested the theatrical; +none of the customary signed photographs, and but few pictures. Over +the mantel, the Mona Lisa smiled her enigmatic smile, there were a few +fine old Japanese prints, and that was all. In front of the centre +window, on a slender pedestal, was an exquisite little plaster cast +of an Andromeda, chained to a rock. Scratched in the base was the +signature, D.V.L. Morris. + +All these generalities Peter could see in the quiet light, but they did +not appear to have any particular significance. He felt that he needed +all the light, both mental and material, that he could get, so without +wasting any precious moments he took off the shade of the lamp which +stood on the table and turned on both its high-powered bulbs. + +Again, as on that first day, he stirred the dead, cold ashes in the +fireplace. No, there was nothing. Every particle of the paper was +consumed. He could not even tell what sort of papers had been burned. +Sighing, he rose and looked again about the room. On each side of the +fireplace were built-in shelves laden with books and magazines. There +was a good deal of fiction which Peter had never read. Thackeray, +George Meredith (Stevenson, Peter knew, and heartily approved), Henry +James, Edith Wharton, and many others, including the novels and plays +of Bernard Shaw. There was a good deal of poetry, and many plays, old +and new. On the top shelf stood a worn set of Shakespeare, in a quaint, +old-fashioned leather binding. Without knowing just why he did it, +Peter took down one of the volumes at random. It chanced to be "Julius +Cæsar," and on the fly leaf, in a bold, flowing hand, was the name, +"Winthrop Curwood." + +"Winthrop Curwood," Peter repeated, half aloud. "I've heard that name +before somewhere.... Winthrop Curwood.... No, dammit, I can't place +it.... And anyway, it may not mean a thing. The books are old enough to +have been bought second-hand. I'll just see----" He ran rapidly through +a number of the older books. The name did not occur again. "However, +I'll just make a note of it. There doesn't seem to be any other owner's +name written in any of 'em," he thought, and in a little pocket +memorandum book he copied the name "Winthrop Curwood," in his clear, +microscopic hand. + +In returning "Julius Cæsar" to his place on the top shelf Peter's hand +struck a pile of magazines which were closely stacked at the end. One +of the slippery pamphlets loosened, and in a rush the whole lot came +cascading down. + +Peter caught his breath, and thanked his lucky stars that there was +no one in the apartment below. As he carefully returned them to their +place he noted with some surprise that besides the more popular +magazines of the day there were a number of scientific and medical +journals, and several copies of a publication called _Beauty_. He +had never even heard of this latter, and glanced through one or two +copies curiously, smiling a little, in spite of the seriousness of his +quest. There appeared to be no end of ways in which one could heighten +one's beauty, and no practical limit to the absurdities which were +recommended for the purpose. That someone had taken the suggestions +seriously there could be little doubt, for in several cases articles +had been carefully clipped from the body of the magazine. This had also +happened, in one or two cases, in the medical journals. Peter wondered, +in passing, what the subjects treated had been, but could form no idea, +since the entire article, in each case, had been cut away. + +Peter had always been fascinated by people's books, their selection +was a matter so strongly indicative of character. But in this instance +the evidence was distinctly contradictory. "A lot of high-brow books," +he thought, "and some of the rest of the stuff so low-brow it makes +even me feel intellectual. Did Anne pick out one kind, and Mary the +other--and if so, which? Oh, well, it's no use to speculate now. +Better get on." He resumed his painstaking inspection. + +He had saved the desk till the last. Here, if anywhere, he was sure +he would find what he so ardently sought. And yet, never in his life +had he found so non-committal a lot of papers as were in the drawers +and scattered on the floor. A great mass of press notices, with the +little yellow slip of the clipping bureau still attached, were mixed up +with plain white letter paper and envelopes. There were a few business +letters from Frederick Jones, but not one from Mary's old manager, +Arthur Quinn. In fact, there were no strictly private letters to either +of the sisters, and he could find none at all addressed to Anne. + +To avoid the smallest chance of missing anything, Peter had seated +himself beside the desk and had drawn out, one by one, each of the four +drawers, placing them upon his knees while he minutely examined the +contents. + +Satisfied, at last, that there was nothing to his purpose in any of +them, with a feeling of deep discouragement he slid them back into +their places. They all ran in with the ease which one encounters only +in very good old American-made furniture--all but the bottom drawer on +the right. This slipped in smoothly until it was nearly shut, and then +stuck. + +"Oh, damn," said Peter, and pushed it hard. + +It would not move. He pulled it out and pushed it in again, but it +would not close completely. It did not really matter in the least. He +had found the drawers open and there was no reason why this one should +not remain so, but any one who has ever started to shut a drawer knows +precisely how Peter felt. That drawer simply had to yield before he +could go on with anything else ... and perhaps.... + +Peter jerked the drawer out, and dropped to his knees, while his right +hand sought and found the flashlight in his pocket. There was a slight +click, and a brilliant glare lit up the recess into which the drawer +should have gone. + +Peter uttered a forcible exclamation, and stooping low, groped with his +long fingers in the back of the recess, and drew out a small rectangle +of stiff pasteboard. At some time it must have fallen from the upper +drawer and remained, perhaps for years, undiscovered. It had evidently +fallen slantwise across the corner of the back when the drawer was +pulled out, and had been slightly damaged by Peter's efforts to close +it. + +He automatically straightened a bent corner as he hastily took it over +to the table where the bright light from the lamp could fall full upon +it. + +Apparently, it was not an especially valuable treasure-trove. Just +a small old carte-de-visite photograph of a little girl in a plain, +somewhat countrified "best" dress of the last of the Nineties. She +appeared to be about seven or eight years old, and the childish face, +which looked up at Peter, was one of such transcendent loveliness that +he, always a lover of children, caught his breath. + +Peter took an unmounted photograph from the breast pocket of his coat, +and laid the two portraits, side by side, upon the table. + +There could be no doubt. They were the same, they must be the same. +The gay, laughing, exquisite child's face had developed into that of a +wonderful, sad, but equally beautiful woman. The great eyes, with their +long, dark lashes, the small, straight nose, the curving lips, were the +same. Only the expression was different, an unfathomable difference. +The spirit behind the eyes must have undergone a complete metamorphosis +to have made the apparent change. + +"It's Mary Blake, all right, all right. I'll bet my life on that," +muttered Peter to himself. "Mary Blake----" + +Quickly he turned the little photograph over. There was no writing on +the back, as he had hoped, instead, in elaborate, filigreed lettering +was printed the words-- + + WALTER LORD, Photographer + Hobart Falls, New York. + +"By gad," exclaimed Peter under his breath, bringing his closed fist +softly but with emphasis down upon the table. "The first look-in +we've had. The very first! Hobart Falls, New York. That's where she +must have come from--or somewhere near there, at least.... And Walter +Lord.... Who can tell what Walter Lord may know ... if he's still +there--and alive." + +With a rapid motion he slipped the two portraits into an inner pocket +and buttoned his coat over them. + +"I'll find out something about her, at last! My hunch about coming here +wasn't all to the bad. In this way I'll bet I find out something about +the secret past of Mary Blake--and Anne----" + +With eyes alight with the first hope he had known for many a day, Peter +put back the shade upon the table lamp, readjusted various things about +the room so that they should be, as near as possible, in the order--or +disorder--in which he had found them, switched off the lights, and +crept softly to the door. + +Gently, gently, with one hand on the latch and the other on the lock, +he turned the two knobs and drew open the door. As he did so a clock +somewhere outside in the darkness boomed "One, Two." + +"Two o'clock," thought Peter, as he sped noiselessly down the stairs. +"Not much sleep for me to-night. I must find out where Hobart Falls is +and beat it for the first train in the morning. I've got a feeling in +my bones that I've struck something at last. A little light thrown on +the past may reflect on the future. Who knows? Anyhow, it's up to me +not to leave a stone unturned.... And I'm curious ... damn curious.... +I'd like to know...." + +A street door closed, with a faint, soft creak, and the lean figure of +the young detective slipped away into the hot darkness. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + ROSAMOND CURWOOD + + +A clear, bright day followed the heavy thunder shower which had +occurred late in the night. Peter, as he boarded the train for Hobart +Falls, hoped that it was an omen. + +He had just had time for a few minutes' talk with O'Malley, in which +he gave his partner instructions about reaching him if anything of +importance should transpire during the day. + +"Better wire me at Hobart Falls," he said. "Have it left in the +telegraph office to be called for. I can't tell where I'll be stopping +and I can't think of any other way I'd be sure of getting it. I don't +believe there'll be anything." + +After that, he had hastily called Donald Morris on the telephone and +explained briefly that he was rushing out of town on a new scent. + +"Another false clue?" asked Morris, wearily, and Peter saw, in his +mind's eye, the pale, tired face of his client. + +"May be," said Peter, in a friendly, hopeful tone. "But you never can +tell. We mustn't miss a trick and I've found something I'm bound to +follow up. It may lead to nothing, of course, but there's always a +chance. I'm in a deuce of a rush just now and I'll have to wait till +I get back to tell you about it. Don't get discouraged. While there's +life, there's hope. While there's life----" he repeated to himself as +he hung up the receiver--"I wish to God I could be sure that Mary Blake +is still alive. Well, anyway----" + +He made the nine-thirty train for Hobart Falls with four minutes to +spare. "Which is enough for anybody," thought Peter, as he watched the +ugly houses and factories slip by. + +The railroad ran northward on the west side of the Hudson, for Peter +had ascertained Hobart Falls to be situated in the Catskill Mountains. +After a time the train slipped from behind a range of hills into a +tunnel and out again, and Peter, startled from his deep absorption, saw +below him the great river, shining blue and silver, in the morning sun. +No one who has ever seen it thus suddenly could fail to be impressed +by its beauty and grandeur. Peter, city-bred as he was, was strongly +affected by the sight of the blue-green wooded hills, lapping and +over-lapping, and the great, serene river winding in between. + +His thoughts ran--"I wonder if I'll be lucky enough to find Walter +Lord, and what he'll know.... Gee, those rocks are corking, and those +big, soft pines.... It was a long while ago--maybe twenty years since +they wore that kind of clothes.... That's a house, way up on that +mountain! Must have a ripping view.... And he may be dead by now.... +But he mustn't dare to be--I need him too much...." And so his mind ran +on, alternating between hope and discouragement, through the hours that +followed. + +He had to change cars twice, each time to a road of narrower gauge. +"The next'll be roller skates, I should think," he said to himself as +he jerked and bumped along in the little mountain train. + +It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when they ran in to the +tiny, ugly, red-painted station of Hobart Falls. They had passed +through a number of stations, vociferous with red-faced hackmen and +seething with fat, jewelled, and overdressed Hebrews of the middle +class. This little place was quite different. There were no big hotels +or boarding houses in the immediate vicinity, and so few people that +only two trains a day stopped at Hobart Falls. The loungers about the +station were obviously country-bred and American. + +Peter quickly approached one of them and asked where the telegraph +office could be found. He wished to ascertain at once if there was +anything from O'Malley. + +The man jerked his thumb in the direction of the waiting room. "In +there," he said, briefly, "ticket office," and, with stupid, bovine +eyes, watched the stranger as he disappeared inside the station. + +"Nothing ain't come fer nobody to-day," said the agent, in reply to +Peter's inquiry. + +Peter stepped swiftly out again upon the platform, and looked about +him. Blue hills and valleys surrounded the little station on every +side. In the middle distance could be seen one or two small farmhouses, +and in the immediate foreground, drawn up close to the platform, was a +decrepit, dingy Ford. A long, lank man, sitting at the wheel, glanced +up at Peter expectantly. + +"Is this for hire?" asked Peter, indicating the ancient car with a +motion of his head. "And can you take me to the village?" + +The driver grinned at a man who was leaning against the edge of the +doorway, and spat, generously, over the wheel. + +"Git in," he said, laconically. + +Peter threaded himself into the back seat, and the weary flivver, with +a heavy groan, started down the empty road. + +"Any p'tickeler place?" asked the man at the wheel, turning his +weather-beaten face, and looking Peter over from head to foot. + +"I think I'll want to spend the night here," answered Peter, a trifle +dubiously. "Is there a hotel?" + +The man laughed. "This ain't no metrolopus," he vouchsafed, "but I +guess the Widder Lord'll put you up for the night, if you'd like to go +there." + +The "Widder Lord." Peter's heart sank, but he only said, "That'll do +all right, I guess. Take me there, will you?" + +At that moment they turned a sharp corner, and Peter saw why the driver +had grinned at the lounger on the station platform. The village, what +there was of it, was not four minutes' walk from the station, but quite +out of sight, hidden by the small, wooded shoulder of a hill. + +It was a sleepy, quiet little place, shut in by rolling upland. There +was one long street, or, rather, a wide place in the road, on each +side of which were small, old village houses, mostly painted white, +with green shutters. There were two stores, one of which was also the +post office, and a blacksmith's shop. In front of the latter stood an +old-fashioned buggy with empty shafts. From within came the ringing +clink of metal upon metal. Save for an old dog wandering down the +street, and a few loose hens dusting themselves in the road, there was +no sign or sound of life. + +"Rip Van Winkle might have taken his twenty-year nap right here in the +middle of the street, instead of going to all the trouble of climbing +up one of those mountains," thought Peter. "No wonder there aren't any +Jews here. This place sure would cramp their style, and then some.... +Wild-goose chase I've come on, anyway, I feel it in my bones. Walter +Lord is probably as dead as the rest of the village." The silence got +on his nerves and he spoke to the driver. "Think the Widow Lord will be +awake when we get there?" he asked. + +The man turned a sardonic, screwed-up eye upon him. "'S next house," +he said, pointing, "and we'll be there in one shake of a lamb's tail. +What'd she be asleep this time of day fer?" + +Peter looked without much interest at the house indicated. It was +old and gray and weather-beaten but had evidently once been the +considerable house of Hobart Falls. Low and rambling, it faced the +street, standing a few feet back, among some ragged, flowering shrubs. + +Suddenly Peter's eye lightened and he reached over and caught the +driver's shoulder. + +"Stop here," he said, sharply. "This is the place where I want to stop." + +"Sure it's the place ye want to stop," repeated the driver, +disgustedly. "Ain't I been tellin' ye? This is the Widder Lord's." + +"Oh, yes. I forgot for the moment." The light faded from Peter's eyes. +"The '_Widder_ Lord's'," he muttered, inwardly. "The man's dead, of +course. However----" + +He glanced again at the object which had raised a sudden hope within +him. At the far end of the house, standing out at right angles from it, +and partly hidden by vines, was an old battered sign: + + WALTER LORD + PHOTOGRAPHER + +"I've got the right house, anyway, and without any lost motion," +thought Peter. "And that's the luck of the Irish--as far as it goes." + +He paid the driver the "two bits" suggested as the amount of the fare. +The sum was paid so unconcernedly that the driver lingered while Peter +stepped quickly up to the front door and rang the old jangling bell. A +man as free as that with money didn't come to Hobart Falls so often. + +Peter had made up his mind that he would spend the night there, in any +case, if the "Widder Lord" would take him in. He knew he would have +to take a taxi (he thought in city terms) to Kortenkill, two stations +below, to catch the midnight train, which did not stop at Hobart Falls, +if he were to go back to town that night, and the thought of bumping +over the bad roads in a pre-historic flivver, after being up most of +the previous night, made no appeal to him. + +"I'll make her take me in," thought Peter, and rang the bell again. + +"Anybody want me?" + +The voice came from just over Peter's head, but he could see no one, +for the roof of the little old Dutch porch hid the speaker. + +"Who wants me, Josh?" the voice repeated. + +"Nobuddy wants you, Walt," the driver in the road bawled out. "'S a +stranger wants to spend the night. 'S yer sister-in-law to home?" + +Peter's heart leaped harder, if not so far, as his long legs. One jump, +and he was on the narrow brick walk, looking up at an open window from +which protruded the quaintest old head he thought he had ever seen. + +The face was that of a man of seventy or more, but the hair and long +sweeping moustache were brilliantly black. The hair was thin and +carefully brushed forward above the ears, in a bygone style. Two little +twinkling eyes looked down from either side of a long, thin, pointed +nose--looked down at Peter in mild surprise. + +"You wanted to stay the night, Mr.--uh----" + +"Clancy," Peter supplied, eagerly. "Yes. I want to look around Hobart +Falls a little. Could you----This is Mr. Walter Lord, isn't it?" He +glanced aside, as if for verification, to the half-hidden sign. + +"That's me," replied the owner of the craning head, with a smile. +"That's me, all right." + +Peter's heart settled down to a steady beat. + +"Well, Mr. Lord," he said, "it's just like this. I've got a little +business here in Hobart Falls, and I want to spend the night. Josh," he +spoke as if the driver, who still lingered, were an old and intimate +friend, "Josh thought Mrs. Lord would take me in. I'm sorry she's away, +but couldn't you manage to put me up? It'd be a great favour." + +"Aw, take him in, Walt," urged Josh, from the road. "'N let me know if +you'll need a hack again, Mister. I got the best car in the Falls." + +Peter was anxiously watching the face above him. + +"Well, you see, Miranda not being here, and all--makes it kind of hard. +She's awful particular about the linen closet, and I don't know what +sheets----" + +"Never mind the sheets," Peter interrupted, quickly. "I'll sleep on +the floor, if necessary. I've just got to stay to-night, Mr. Lord, and +if you don't take me in----" + +"Wait a second, and I'll come down," said Walter Lord, disappearing +from the window with the abruptness of a Jack-in-the-box. + +"He'll take ye, all right," Josh called out, encouragingly, as he +turned his little car. "Lemme know when ye want me agin," and was gone, +in a cloud of dust. + +"If you wouldn't mind coming around this way, Mr. Clancy----" + +The entire figure of Walter Lord disclosed itself at the corner +of the house, and the figure was in strict accord with the face. +Slender, bent, and old it was, but almost jauntily clad. Light gray +trousers, somewhat stained with chemicals, were carefully pressed +into a knife-like crease down the front. A double-breasted waistcoat +of starched white duck sported a long festoon of old worn gold +watch-chain. Around his neck was a standing collar with tall points, +and so large that it made his thin neck look, so Peter thought, +like a lily in a pot. About the collar was tied a long, black +"shoe-string" tie of silk. He was just settling his thin shoulders into +a wide-lapelled, square-tailed, black broadcloth coat which he had +obviously donned for the occasion. + +"Come this way, Mr. Clancy," he repeated. "The front door sticks in +this warm, damp weather, for we scarcely ever use it. All our friends +come in here," and with a gracious, hospitable gesture, he held open +the side door for Peter to pass. + +Peter had just time to notice that there was a small outside stairway +leading to the second floor, built on at this end of the house, and +that, upon the second floor, there was a fairly good-sized slanting +window, and on the roof a skylight. "The photographic studio," thought +Peter, as he followed Lord into the house. As he crossed the threshold, +he unostentatiously dropped his small handbag just inside the door. + +"I'm afraid I can't make you very comfortable, Mr. Clancy," said the +old man, doubtfully, drawing forward a sagging rocker with an elaborate +"tidy" on the back. "Won't you sit down? My sister has gone over to +Letty Bowen's just for the day and to spend the night. She'll be home +in the morning. Too bad, too bad. There's only a cold supper. D'you +mind cold suppers? I rather like 'em myself, this hot weather--and +I said to Miranda, 'I'll be as happy as a clam at high tide.' But I +didn't expect to have a visitor. (Let me take your hat.) Not that +I'm not always glad of company. Miranda says I'm worse than misery. +(Misery loves company, you know. Her joke.) But I do like to see new +people--new faces. Keeps you young, don't you think?--Oh, I almost +forgot. Do have a cigar----" + +He slipped one thin, stained hand into his breast pocket and drew out +a Pittsburg stogie of the longest, thinnest, and stogiest type. Peter +shuddered inwardly and ventured to ask if he might smoke cigarettes +instead. "Perhaps you would have one yourself, sir," he added, noting a +funny little twinkle in the old man's eye. + +"Well--you know----" Walter Lord spoke with slight embarrassment, at +the same time reaching out an eager hand, "I must say I do prefer 'em +to cigars, but Miranda, well, she kind of feels that--that cigars are +more suitable for a man of my age--and so----" + +He lit one of Peter's cigarettes, inhaled a long, delicious whiff, and +smiled gently. + +"Dear old duck," thought Peter, "with the heart of a kid, and scared to +death of his sister-in-law. Bet she's a Tartar. Thank heaven she isn't +here." + +Peter leaned his head back against a large yellow butterfly worked in +wool on a black background, crossed his long legs and smoked leisurely, +with the air of a man at ease. + +"There must be a lot of good fishing around here," he remarked, taking +a long shot at a possible hobby of the man he had determined should +be his host. "Crossed a lot of likely looking streams as we came up +through the mountains." + +He saw, by the expression of Walter Lord's face, that he had made a +bull's-eye. The little man leaned forward and spoke with enthusiasm. + +"There's the best fishing to be found in the Catskills just beyond that +meadow over there," he pointed out of the window. "You can't see the +stream from here, on account of the tall grass, but it's fine, open +fishing and just full of trout. Of course they're not very large, but +along at the beginning of the season I caught one that weighed two +pounds. Yes, sir. He was a beauty. And there are more of 'em, if you +know the pools. I could show you----" + +After that, Peter had things pretty much his own way. The talk ran +largely on flies and tackle. ("He was sure to be a fly fisherman, if +he fished at all, the good old sport," thought Peter, smiling at his +host.) Peter told a story of some wonderful fishing he had once had, +up in Nova Scotia, and Lord capped it with an experience of his in the +Adirondacks when he was a boy--and so the minutes flew. + +There was no further question as to Peter's spending the night there. +The lonely old man was too eager for society, and too trusting and +unsophisticated to raise any objections to the harbouring of an +unheralded guest, particularly since the guest was a fisherman, and a +fly fisherman, at that. + +If Walter Lord had any idea that Mr. Clancy had come to Hobart Falls +with a purpose other than to investigate the fishing possibilities of +that region, his curiosity on the subject was completely held in check +by his innate courtesy. + +In the first few minutes of their acquaintance Peter's quick mind +had invented several stories to account for his presence there. He +hesitated between the advisability of being a doctor, seeking a good +site for a sanitarium. ("For patients troubled with insomnia, this +would be ideal," Peter grinned to himself.) Or, perhaps, it would +awaken more sympathy to have a young wife who was ill, and needed +mountain air and seclusion. + +But before he had talked with the old man very long Peter conceived a +deep distaste for subterfuge. "Dammit all, I won't lie to the good old +scout unless he makes me," he said to himself, as he watched Walter +Lord making his fussy little preparations for supper, and listened to +his constant flow of pleasant chatter as he passed back and forth from +the kitchen. + +"Cold lamb and some of Miranda's currant jelly," he said, as he +placed a blue platter and a sauce dish filled with a truncated cone +of wobbling, clear crimson upon a small table near the west window. +"Beautiful, rich colour where the sun strikes it, isn't it?" He stepped +back to note the effect. "Let me see, there's a salad, too. Lettuce +from our own garden, Mr. Clancy. Pretty late for lettuce, but I plant +it right along through the summer and it does real well. Oh, I almost +forgot the pot cheese." + +He bustled out in the kitchen and presently returned with a crisp salad +and a yellow bowl brimming with creamy cheese. + +"The coffee's almost ready, and it'll be good, too," he chuckled. +"Miranda thinks strong coffee, three times a day, is bad for my nerves, +but I made this myself, and I'll bet you won't get a better cup of +coffee at the St. Denis Hotel." (Peter had told him that his home was +in New York.) "I used to go there quite a bit when I was younger. It's +a grand, good place, don't you think so, Mr. Clancy?" + +His tone was so wistful, so full of pleasant pictures and +recollections, that Peter hadn't the heart to tell him that the old St. +Denis had vanished long ago. He only said that it certainly was one of +the best places in New York, and let it go at that. + +In a few minutes they were seated on either side of the little table +near the window, a simple but bountiful meal spread between them. The +westering sun gleamed on the quaint old blue-and-white china and on the +jug of larkspur and madonna lilies which Walter Lord had moved to one +side of the table so that he could look at Peter as they ate and talked. + +Peter had but one object, for the moment, and that was to captivate +the mind of his host, a feat which his experience and ready Irish wit +made easy of accomplishment. He told some stories which brought tears +of laughter to Walter Lord's little, twinkling eyes, and made him rock +backward and forward in his chair. In order to invite the old man's +confidence, Peter told some of his early experiences. Truthful stories +they were, in the main, only slightly embellished, and most effective +in their skilful blending of humour and pathos--but in them was no hint +of Peter's present profession. + +By the time supper was finished, Peter had achieved a footing of such +friendly intimacy that he was allowed to help clear away. And all the +while he had been studying the little old man, whose quaint appearance +would have been simply ridiculous to one less sympathetic than Peter +Clancy. To him, the dyed hair and the jauntily worn old-fashioned +clothes spoke aloud of a spirit of undying youthfulness and simplicity, +a heart kept young by the love of all things beautiful, a mind so +filled with imagination and artistic longings that it had selected a +thing as impractical as photography for its profession. + +Peter thought of the little, sleepy village and the emptiness of the +wooded hills, and could imagine how few were the sitters who came to +Walter Lord's old photographic studio. And he wondered, in that remote +spot, what incentive kept the light gray trousers so carefully creased, +the linen vest so stiffly starched, the old, worn broadcloth coat so +immaculately brushed. + +"He must be like 'St. Ives'," Peter concluded, at last. "Since there's +no one else to dress for, he 'dresses for God.'" + +They had left things tidy in the kitchen, and now, at ease in their +pleasant relationship of host and welcome guest, they sat beside the +open west window, smoking limitless cigarettes and talking endlessly. + +Peter, looking always for an opening for the introduction of the +subject which was uppermost in his mind, carefully guided the old man +into speaking further of himself and his pursuits, a matter presenting +no difficulties whatever, for Walter Lord had many hobbies and rode +them with an enthusiasm which age could not abate. + +He learned, among other things, that the Lords had once been well off, +but that the family estate had dwindled before Walter and his older +brother, Tom, came into possession, and that after Tom had died and +left his elderly widow and the remainder of the property to Walter's +care, it had suffered still more. + +"I did the best I could," said the old man, wistfully, "but there it +was--I always felt that I could have made more money if I could have +gone to New York--but Miranda--and the old house--they seemed sort of +to anchor me." + +"And your photograph studio, Mr. Lord. I should think you'd have hated +to leave that," said Peter, at last boldly approaching the subject +deepest in his thoughts. "By the way, speaking of photography"--he +smiled and leaned forward across the table, confidentially--"you may be +surprised, but I've seen some of your work. It's bully, too!" + +"What?" cried Walter Lord, excitedly. "You don't say so, Mr. Clancy. +Some of my work in New York! Now I wonder who it could have been. +I've only taken pictures of people around here--and there aren't so +many--it's never been what you could call a paying profession, and +Miranda----But never mind. Whose picture was it that you saw? And how +did you know that I----" + +"By George, I believe I've got it with me," said Peter, slapping his +pockets, the while his heart beat quickly. Now or never--"Here it is, +sure enough," he added, gleefully--and laid the small carte-de-visite, +the sole trophy of his midnight quest, face upward on the table. + +There was a moment of suspense while the old man carefully adjusted his +glasses and took the old photograph up in his hand. Peter watched his +face, narrowly. It had been many years. Would he---- + +"Why! Why!" exclaimed Walter Lord, in tones of deep surprise. "Why, +how, in Heaven's name, Mr. Clancy, did you get a picture of--of little +Rosamond Curwood?" + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + ANOTHER PHOTOGRAPH + + +"Rosamond Curwood!" Peter's heart skipped a beat and then raced on +again. Could he have been mistaken? But no! He had found the picture +in her apartment, and it could be no other than Mary Blake. He was +sure, positive.... And Curwood? With a click, his mind fastened the +connection. The name he had written in his notebook--the name in the +old set of Shakespeare--Curwood. Winthrop Curwood! + +Though he had been staggered for an instant, Peter resumed the +conversation with scarcely a perceptible pause: + +"It's Winthrop Curwood's daughter, isn't it?" he said, smoothly, +watching closely the old man's expression. + +There was immediate and unqualified acquiescence in the eyes of Walter +Lord. "Yes. But where did you get it?" he asked again, wonderingly. "I +thought----" + +"Yes?" Peter encouraged, as the old man hesitated. + +"It seems odd to me that you should have her picture." + +There was a slight emphasis on the last pronoun, and for the first +time Walter Lord looked at Peter with almost a hint of--was it +suspicion?--in his eyes. + +"I just ran across it in an old desk," Peter hastened to explain, "and +I kept it because it's such a pretty kid, and the photograph so well +taken. Looks as if she was just going to speak--and you can almost hear +her laugh. I don't know the original----" + +"But you knew who it was." Lord's tone was puzzled. + +"Yes. I knew who it was," said Peter, easily. "Beautiful little thing, +isn't she? It was a fine subject for you, and I must say you've done it +justice." + +Peter had struck a very vulnerable spot. Walter Lord's faint feeling +of suspicion, if so strong a term may be used, melted away before the +frank praise of his work. + +"Not bad, not bad at all," he said, smiling now, "and, as you say, she +was a beautiful child. The most beautiful child I ever saw," dreamily, +"except her mother--Anne Blakeslie." + +"Anne Blakeslie--Anne Blake----" Peter repeated to himself, +thoughtfully. Aloud he said: + +"So you knew her mother, too? Isn't it strange how things come about? +The world is a little place, after all." + +The banality of this last remark did not strike Walter Lord. Instead, +he seemed to think it quite an effective sentence. + +"The world is small, Mr. Clancy. Yes, the world is a little +place, after all," he agreed. "Here you drop into Hobart Falls so +unexpectedly, and come to my house, which you couldn't possibly have +heard about--and all the while you have a picture of one of Anne +Blakeslie's children in your pocket." + +His innocent wonder made Peter feel almost ashamed. But the matter was +too important for squeamishness, he assured himself. That last remark-- + +"So there was more than one child," said Peter, quickly. "Were they all +as beautiful as this--this Rosamond?" + +"There were only two," answered Lord, reminiscently. "Two twin girls. +The other was named for her mother." + +"Anne?" + +"Yes. Anne and Rosamond," said the old man, gently. + +"Did you know them well?" asked Peter, and added--"It's such a funny +coincidence, altogether. Makes me sort of curious about them." + +Walter Lord leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and gazed out at +the red gold of the summer sunset. + +"Yes," he said, softly. "Yes, I knew them well. That is, I knew the +children--and their mother--I knew her best of all----" + +There was something in Walter Lord's quaint old face which kept Peter +silent. He could not interrupt with the questions which were burning +to be asked. He would let the story come in its own way.... After a +moment the old man went on: + +"Yes," with a little sigh, "I knew Anne Blakeslie--you might say I'd +always known her. She lived on a farm, up back in the hills, and we +both went to the little brick school house down at the end of the +village. Guess you didn't see it. It's just around the turn of the +road." + +"No," said Peter, softly, so as not to break the thread of the old +man's thought. + +"Yes--we saw each other every day--until I went away to school--and +when Tom died, and I had to come home to stay--Anne Blakeslie had grown +up in the meantime, and she was beautiful--beautiful in soul as well as +in body--or, perhaps, it wouldn't have happened----" + +A purple cloud drifted across the setting sun. Its shadow fell softly +upon the old face. + +"What was it that happened?" prompted the younger man, gently. + +"Why," Walter Lord roused himself with an effort, "it was about that +time she must have come to know Winthrop Curwood. It's sort of an odd +story. Maybe you'd like to hear----" + +"I would." Peter's answer should have left no room for doubt. + +He was conscious, as the old man proceeded with the story, that it was +the drama of Walter Lord's life. Sometimes he forgot Peter altogether; +at other times he was aware of the younger man only as a ship that +passes in the night. He spoke to him in passing. It did not matter +how much he told. They would never see each other again, in all human +probability. As one sometimes may tell a stranger the thoughts of an +over-burdened heart, thoughts which would for ever remain hidden from +the nearest and dearest, so Walter Lord told Peter, without himself +realizing it, the story of his life's tragedy--the story of Anne +Blakeslie. + +"I never knew when she saw Winthrop Curwood first. Not that it +matters." The old voice was low and gentle. Throughout the pronoun +"she" was spoken with such reverence as to suggest that it would have +been written with a capital--as if, instead of Anne Blakeslie, a deity +were its antecedent--"She must have known him pretty well when I saw +them together for the first time.... I was going up to her house one +day, soon after I got back from school, and.... They were standing just +where a little wood road from up the mountain comes in to the sawmill +road, about two miles west of the village.... They didn't see me, +though I was in plain sight, a hundred yards away.... He was standing +with his hat off--and a look on his face.... It was a fine face, +too.... And just then he reached out, sort of uncertainly, and took her +hand.... I thought I'd better go home, and come back to see Anne some +other day--perhaps. But she caught sight of me before I'd gone more +than a few steps, and called to me. I went back, of course--and I saw +him again, climbing up the steep road, it was hardly more than a trail, +and feeling ahead of him with a long stick. It was then I saw, from the +way he moved, that he was blind----" + +"Blind!" echoed Peter, aghast! "Blind." + +"Yes," said the old man, sadly. "He was stone blind. Anne told me about +him, at once, with tears standing in her eyes. He had a little house +over on the far side of the mountain, and lived there all alone. He +had come there, she said, while he could still see a little, and built +the place with some help from a man down in Job's Corners, who still +brought up his supplies. Nobody knew anything about him except it was +easy to see, she said, that he was a gentleman, and educated. And +indeed he was. I saw him, myself, several times after they--after they +were married." + +He paused on that word, and the golden sun, freeing itself from the +passing cloud, lit up the kind old face, with its pitiful, dyed hair, +the quaintly youthful garments, and made of them a thing touching, +tender, wistful in its appeal. He went on, almost immediately: + +"He was a wonderful-looking man, tall and straight; and his voice--I +don't know how to describe it. It was clear and deep, like the sound +of a big bell.... But I don't think it was any of these things that +most appealed to Anne Blakeslie. It was his helplessness, his pitiful +blindness. She talked to me about it quite often that fall. I knew +by that time that there was no hope--I mean that I knew, by then, +that she loved this stranger, and she said I was the only person she +could talk freely to. Her father was a hard man, and she the only +child.... She told me, at last, that she was going to marry Winthrop +Curwood whether he wanted her to or not. She was high-spirited in +those days--headstrong, you might call it--and, when she'd made up her +mind definitely that Curwood should not live alone, she----You may +not understand this part of the story, Mr. Clancy. Her father didn't, +and cut her off completely--refused to see her, and left the farm +and everything he had to a distant cousin, who lives there to-day--a +selfish wretch!" For the first time there was bitterness in the old +man's tone. Peter said, with quiet sympathy: + +"I'll understand, you may be sure of that. Tell me what happened." + +"Well, one night, just at dusk, Anne Blakeslie climbed this side of the +mountain for the last time. She took some clothing with her, and a few +other things.... She didn't tell me much, but I can imagine--knowing +her.... She went in, quietly, and told him she had come to stay. He--he +protested. He pointed out the sacrifice she was making. She overruled +all his objections--as Anne Blakeslie would know how to do--and +then----" + +The room was growing dark. A big white moth flew in through the open +window and fluttered softly among the lilies. + +"The next morning they went together down the far side of the mountain, +and were married by Father O'Connell.... Anne sent me a letter and I +went to see them. I was the only one, of all the people hereabouts, +and I went only when Anne sent for me, which wasn't often. Somehow, +Curwood, in his quiet, dignified way, made me feel--well, anyway, I +never went except when Anne needed me. But in those few times it seemed +to me that they were managing very well. They seemed quite comfortable +as long as Curwood lived.... He was an Englishman, I think. At least, +he spoke differently from us. I'm quite sure he must have been English, +though Anne never told me anything about him. He did not wish it, was +all she said. If she was satisfied, it was enough for me. + +"I found out, later, when he died, that he had only--what they call an +annuity, which ended with his life. Anne had known it all along and had +saved what she could, which wasn't a great deal. The two little girls +were growing up, and it took something to care for them. They came +down here to the little old brick school house every day for several +winters, and I used to see them often." + +Though he did not say so, Peter knew full well that Walter Lord had +taken pains to keep an eye on the children of Anne Blakeslie. + +"They were interesting children, very interesting. All children and +young people are, of course; but these two were more so than any I +ever came in contact with. Rosamond was beautiful beyond anything I, +or anybody, ever saw, I think. I used to delight in taking pictures of +her. I could show you a dozen up in the gallery. And she was always +more than glad to sit for me. She knew pretty well how she looked. +Didn't need any one to tell her, and who could blame anything so lovely +as that for knowing it was lovely? Might as well blame a water-lily +that looks at itself all day in a pond.... But Anne, poor little +Anne--she was always my favourite." + +Peter glanced up in surprise. That Anne Blake should have appealed, +even as a child, to any one, least of all to this gentle, sweet old +chap, was a decidedly new thought to him. Perhaps it was just because +he was so gentle, Peter reminded himself, and because she was the +daughter of Anne Blakeslie----Walter Lord went on, with a little laugh-- + +"She was always an odd little thing. I remember one time when Anne sent +for me--her father was very ill; she had heard of it, and wanted me to +take him a message. Well, I went up there, and little Anne, who must +have been about five years old, happened to meet me, just at the edge +of the woods, near the house. She was shy, and started to run, but I +called her and told her my name and gave her some candy, one of those +long peppermint sticks we used to like. She took it and thanked me +very prettily, and then she ran on ahead, and I heard her say to her +mother, in such a funny little awed tone, 'Mother! Mr. God's coming to +see you.'" + +Peter laughed and the old man chuckled softly. + +"She certainly was an odd little thing--Anne. She was shy, naturally, +and was not as fond of coming up into the gallery as her sister was, +because she was afraid that I would want to take her picture, a thing +she absolutely refused to let me do. I did entice her into the gallery +sometimes, with books and candy, and some of the other little things +that children love. I had an idea that it might be nice to get a +photograph of her for her mother. I had plenty of Rosamond, but had +never been able to overcome Anne's prejudice against sitting for me." + +"What a funny idea for a kid to have," said Peter, thoughtfully. +"I know some boys would almost as soon go to a dentist as to a +photographer, but I never knew a girl, of any age, who didn't love it." + +"Well," said Walter Lord, slowly, "Anne had her reason, poor little +thing. She was high-strung, and sensitive almost to the point of +obsession about----But there"--he broke off--"she might have trusted +me. I'd never have put the poor child--Anne Blakeslie's child--to +shame.... And I finally got what I was after." Even though many +years had passed, there was a little triumph in his voice at the +recollection. "I got her to playing with a doll in the sitter's chair, +and I caught her one day in just the position I wanted. Would you like +to see? I know just where----" + +"I certainly would," said Peter. + +Walter Lord jumped quickly up from his chair, threw the end of a +cigarette out of the window, and disappeared up a small back stairway +which led directly from the room. Peter heard him walking about +overhead for a moment. Presently he reappeared, with something in his +hand. + +He laid it down, and lighted a lamp on the table, for the room was now +almost dark. + +"There she is," he said, leaning over Peter's shoulder, and pointing to +the little old photograph. "And, whatever chance has happened to her, +I'll wager that's the only photograph in existence of Anne Curwood." + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + ROSAMOND'S SECRET + + +Peter took the yellowed card in his hands and looked at it long and +eagerly. For nearly a month past he would have been ready to pay almost +any price for a portrait of Anne Blake, and now, here in his hand, he +held the thing he had been wishing for--and, for his purpose, it might +as well have been a piece of blank pasteboard--or so he thought at the +moment. + +The child face of Anne Curwood was shown in profile, facing the left. +The tell-tale mark, which had probably changed but little in the +succeeding years, the birthmark by which Peter hoped to identify her +without shadow of doubt, appeared not at all. This was the way in which +Walter Lord had shielded a child's sensitiveness. He had, with careful +purpose, selected a view which showed the little face unmarred. + +That there was a hidden disfigurement Peter had no reasonable doubt, +both because of what Lord had already said and because of his own +previous knowledge, but he must make sure. He must force Lord to tell +him. + +"Why, she's a beautiful little kid," Peter said, abruptly. "I thought, +from what you said, she must be as ugly as the dickens. Why in the +world was she so funny about letting you----" + +"Poor little thing! It wasn't funny," said the old man, +compassionately. "If either you or I had the same reason, we'd have +felt the same way." + +"But I don't see----" Peter began. + +"No, you don't," said Lord, quickly. "I took very good pains that no +one should see it." + +"See--what?" persisted Peter. + +"Why," said the old man, hesitatingly, "the little thing was born with +a dreadful mark on the other side of her face, the right side." + +("I knew it was the right side," thought Peter, swiftly. "That would +have been the side in shadow, when the cabman saw Anne Blake standing +before her sister's dressing table. I told O'Malley it must be the +right side." He was thinking this even while he listened attentively.) + +"That's why I took her in profile," Lord was saying--"so it wouldn't +show, you see. The child was painfully sensitive about it and so was +her mother, though of course not to the same extent. I wanted them +both to be pleased, and I knew Anne Blakeslie must hate to be reminded +of--of----Oh, Mr. Clancy, such a horrible experience.... I hate, even +now, to think of it." + +Peter did not say, "Don't think of it, then." He wanted to hear, to +learn every detail. He did not want to miss even a remote chance. So +he looked eagerly, inquiringly, into the old man's face, but said +nothing. + +"It was awful, terrible," Walter Lord went on as Peter knew he must +now that he was fully started. "It wasn't so very long before Anne +and Rosamond were born. She was--she had gone into the woods to pick +blackberries or something I think.... There was a sort of clearing +behind some big rocks not so very far from the house.... And there--I +learned it all much later--she came upon a vicious, half-witted tramp, +who was harbouring up on the mountain. He was squatting on the ground, +dressing a chicken he'd stolen, and she didn't see him until she was +right beside him.... He looked at her--and leaped up. She was a woman, +beautiful--alone, and, as he thought, far from help. He bent over, and +crept toward her, with his hands all bloody.... She screamed--and--and +he caught her by the throat----" + +The old man lifted his clenched hands and pressed them, quivering, +against his forehead. Peter sat in horrified silence. + +"If she hadn't screamed"--Walter Lord went on, after a moment--"if +she hadn't been able to fight, and keep on screaming--God"----Again +he paused, but after a long, shuddering breath, continued--"Curwood +was inside the house, but he heard her. He had almost a sixth sense +of direction, and all his senses were preternaturally acute, but he +was blind! Think of it! To be blind, and to hear someone--someone you +loved--calling--calling for help! + +"He got there--just in time. The fiend heard him coming and made off +through the woods.... Anne was ill, terribly ill, and for a long time +it seemed as if she could not live. It was a fearful time for--for +everyone who cared for her. + +"A few days before her little twin babies were born, the body of +the--of the wretch was found at the bottom of a cliff. There were black +marks of fingers on his throat--but he was known to be a worthless +scoundrel--and the coroner's jury brought in a verdict of accidental +death." + +There was a long silence, broken only by the call of an owl away off in +the woods--"Who-o-o--Who----" + +After a time Walter Lord went on, in a slightly altered tone: + +"I don't know how it was, but little Rosamond never showed the +slightest effect of her mother's fearful experience, while Anne, poor +little Anne, not only will bear, as long as she lives, a terrible +birthmark, but her whole character seemed to be affected by it. Whether +it was the shock to her mother's entire nervous system, or whether it +was because she was not like other children, I can't tell, but she was +painfully, almost morbidly, shy and retiring. She came down here to +school only when she was forced to do so, and the rest of the time she +spent with her father, whom she positively adored. I think the fact +that he was blind and could not see how badly she was disfigured may +have had something to do with it, for on this point she was abnormally +sensitive and self-conscious. I don't believe, strange as it may seem, +that her father ever knew anything about it. There was no necessity, +and I can't think any one would have been cruel enough to tell him. The +few times I saw them together he showed no consciousness that there was +anything amiss with his little favourite, Anne. He would stroke her +smooth little face and call her his 'beautiful, little, dear girl.' In +fact, so far as he could tell, there was no striking difference in the +appearance of the two children, for in feature they were almost exactly +alike, as you may be able to see from these photographs." + +Peter studied them again, as they lay, side by side, in the warm glow +of the lamp. It had not struck him before, but as he compared them, +feature by feature, he could see that in childhood, at least, the two +little twin sisters must have looked startlingly alike, though even at +that time the expression of the two faces was strikingly dissimilar. + +There was the same thick, rich, dark hair, the same smooth, broad +brow, the same delicate modelling of feature, but in the case +of Mary--(Rosamond, he corrected himself)--the eyes and mouth +were laughing, careless, and gay, while Anne's were serious and +quiet--almost tragic--a thing not good to see in one so young. + +"All kinds of possibilities there," thought Peter, with a slight shake +of the head. "Plenty of intelligence and nervous force--a kind of +courage, too, I should imagine, with a strong little chin like that.... +The devil's own lay-out for a girl, handicapped as she was----" + +Walter Lord, looking at the portraits and not at Peter, did not notice +his abstraction. + +"Yes," he said, "they did look a lot alike, in a way, but even at +that, the resemblance was only physical, and they showed more and more +difference as they grew up. Their father died when they were about +fifteen, and after that her mother had more difficulty than ever in +controlling Rosamond. I saw a good deal of them at that time, and +though she talked little about it, I could see that she was worried. +Even at that age, Rosamond was careless, reckless, and extravagant. She +always longed for finery, and when I brought books for little Anne, I +always took a bit of ribbon or some such foolishness to Rosamond. It +was wonderful to see what the child could do with the few things at +her disposal. She had a sense of dress and adornment that was really +remarkable." + +(Peter remembered that he had read, somewhere, that Mary Blake was the +most skilfully costumed woman on the stage.) + +"Little Anne had it, too, in a different way. Her clothes were always +quiet and pretty and suitable. Dress seemed to be a kind of instinct +with both of the girls, but Rosamond's taste was almost--almost +theatrical." + +Peter nodded to himself. + +"I suppose it was a desire for admiration," Lord went on, in his +gentle, kindly voice, "that was the cause of--of the trouble that came +to poor little Rosamond." + +Peter pricked up his ears. Was he to learn something at last? Something +of the secret, perhaps, that Mary Blake thought no one would ever +know--the reason that she---- + +"What trouble?" asked Peter, aloud, carefully restraining his eagerness. + +Walter Lord's chin was on his hand and his eyes were bent upon the two +little pictures. He spoke slowly, sadly: + +"It didn't happen until after their mother passed away.... I could +always thank God for that.... The girls were eighteen then, well grown, +tall and graceful, and Rosamond most beautiful--magnificent--though I +always thought that Anne----" + +Lord paused an instant and then caught up again the thread of his +narrative. + +"Well--no one knew exactly how it happened. On the mountain, beyond +that valley over there"--he pointed through the window, where a full, +bright moon lit hill and vale with tender radiance--"on the far side of +the mountain there had sprung up a summer colony of city people. We saw +them, once in a while, riding through here on horseback--a gay lot of +young people, rich and careless.... + +"How Rosamond met--the man--Anne never knew. She loved her sister +passionately, devotedly, but Rosamond never confided in her. All Anne +knew was that Rosamond went off for long walks by herself. She'd be +gone all day, and come home, laughing and happy, with a brilliant +colour in her face and her eyes alight.... And then, one day, she did +not come back.... Anne watched, in sleepless agony, all through the +night, and in the morning she came down to me.... + +"We never heard from Rosamond but once.... Only once, and that was +the next day. Just one letter to Anne, which she never showed me. I +don't know if even she knew the name of the man.... All she said to +me was: 'She's never coming back, Uncle Walter,' and then she covered +her poor face with her arm and laid her head against the wall. 'She's +not married to him,' she sobbed, 'and she says--oh, God!--she says she +doesn't care.....'" + +"So that was it," thought Peter. "That was Mary Blake's secret. Good +God! How shall I tell Morris? A young, pleasure-loving, untaught, +unmoral creature.... And he thinks her perfect.... What was his phrase? +'A wonder-woman'!" + +Old Walter Lord talked on sadly, reminiscently, but for a long time +Peter did not hear what he was saying. He was thinking--"What shall I +tell Morris? How shall I tell Morris?" + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + IN THE OLD PHOTOGRAPH GALLERY + + +When Peter awoke very early the next morning, though the problem was +still the same, the form of his inner question had slightly changed. + +"How much need I tell Morris?" he asked himself. "If Mary Blake never +is found, why dig up the sad old sordid story? It must have happened +ten years ago--and perhaps she'd redeemed herself--who can tell? And +it's a thankless job, chucking stones is, Pete.... If what O'Malley and +I doped out turns out to be true, and Anne, in spite of the virtues old +Lord attributes to her.... If Anne, for the sake of her clever sister's +money--or from jealousy of her perfect beauty----H'm'm'm." + +He broke off here to wonder how the sisters came together afterward. +Lord evidently knew nothing about it. So far as Peter could learn he +was quite unaware that they had ever met again. + +After recovering from the shock of Lord's disclosure in regard to +Rosamond, Peter had, carefully and skilfully, questioned him. The talk +lasted far into the night, but all he had found out was this: + +Upon Rosamond's disappearance from Hobart Falls, Anne had retired, +absolutely, within herself. All that winter she lived alone in the +small house on the other side of the mountain and never came at all to +the village. Lord had gone up to see her many times, and at last she +confided to him that she had almost no money at all. + +He didn't say it in so many words, but Peter gathered that the +generous, kind old man had offered to share what little he had with her +and had been refused. + +"When summer came," he told Peter, "without saying anything to me, she +went over and got work from the rich city people in Fennimore Park." + +Peter understood that the old man was very angry when he found it +out, but that it had had no effect on Anne's unyielding spirit. She +continued to take washing and to do day's work for the summer people. +There was nothing else to be done. She was too proud to take money she +had not earned, and this seemed to be the only way in which she could +make a livelihood. + +And then, one day late in the fall, Lord had received a letter from her +saying that she was going away as a sort of maid or companion to an +old lady, a Mrs. Rutherford, who had a cottage in Fennimore Park. She +told him that she hoped, before very long, to be able to send the money +he had loaned her on her father's watch and an old seal ring. (Lord +had been worried for fear Mr. Clancy might think he had exacted this +security. Peter assured him that he readily understood that it must +have been forced upon him.) + +"And did she send for them?" Peter had asked with interest. + +It transpired that she had and that Lord had returned the watch and +ring in Mrs. Rutherford's care, to the Holland House in New York. + +And that was the last he had ever heard of Anne Curwood. He had made +a pilgrimage to Fennimore Park the next summer, only to find that +Mrs. Rutherford had gone abroad and that no one knew anything about +Anne. The following year he succeeded in seeing Mrs. Rutherford, who +was obviously, from Lord's tone, an awe-inspiring lady. She had dimly +remembered that she had once had a maid named Anne Curwood, but the +young woman was no longer in her employ and she could, unfortunately, +give Mr. Lord no address. + +Peter was going over all this in his mind as he bathed and dressed. He +was in a somewhat despondent mood for one of his sanguine temperament, +and rather wished he had not humoured Walter Lord's absurd request +that he should sit for his photograph before he left in the morning. +To be sure, he had refused once, on the ground that his train left at +nine-thirty, but when he saw how disappointed Lord was not to have +this souvenir of what was, evidently, an event in the old man's life, +he hastily relented, and as a result, he was up and dressed at seven +o'clock. + +He had heard his host pottering about the kitchen before he was up, +and when he presently descended the old carpeted front stair, he found +an ample and savoury breakfast awaiting him. It was rapidly, and by +Walter Lord gleefully, dispatched. + +"The light is great this morning," the old enthusiast said, as he led +the way up the back stairs, "and I'm going to make a fine picture of +you, Mr. Clancy. It's awfully good of you to be willing to humour an +old codger like me. I hope you won't mind the gallery being a bit +dusty," he added, opening a gray painted door. "I don't have much +incentive, these days, to keep it spick and span, and I never have +allowed Miranda to tidy up here since the day she carefully dusted six +wet negatives." He laughed over his shoulder as he went into a closet +for his plate holders. + +Peter, left to his own devices for a moment, wandered about the room. +It was an ordinary country photograph gallery, with the usual top and +side lights, platform, screens, and chairs. The only odd thing about +it was that the walls, from a chair rail at the bottom to well above +the eye line, were completely covered with photographs. It was a big +room, and there was not one inch of space wasted. It must have been the +enthusiastic work of a lifetime, and Walter Lord was, obviously, a good +workman for even the portraits which, judging by the costumes, dated +far back, were not badly faded. + +"This is some collection you've got here," said Peter, admiringly, as +Lord came back into the room. "Wish I had time to look it all over." + +Lord laid his plates down on a table near by, and smiling at the +compliment, motioned Peter to a chair on the platform. Then he ducked +under the black cloth of the camera, talking all the while: + +"Yes, I've done a fairish amount of work in my time, Mr. Clancy, though +a lot of it was gratis, as you may imagine. (A little more to the +left, please.) I haven't made a lot of money, but I've had a splendid +time. (Chin up, just a little. Not quite so much--there, that's fine. +Couldn't be better.) I'll show you some things you may be interested +in, in just a moment. Now, don't move, _please_." + +He slipped out from under the black cloth, caught up and adjusted the +plate holder with expert hands, and then stood beside the camera, with +the bulb ready. + +"Now imagine that you've just caught a two-pound trout, Mr. Clancy! +That's what I want! That's fine, fine! Oh, that's going to be splendid, +Mr. Clancy," he said, gleefully, as he manipulated the plates. "Now +just once more to make sure. A little to the right--there--and another +fish!" + +Peter laughed aloud. The shutter clicked. The old man was delighted. + +"I caught that laugh of yours, Mr. Clancy, and that was just what I +wanted--to remember you by. It's good to be young, and to laugh. I +don't believe you have a care in the world!" + +Peter laughed inwardly, sardonically, at this. And all the while he was +thinking of Donald Morris. How much need he be told? + +"Come over here, and I'll show you something pretty, Mr. Clancy." +Walter Lord, having disposed of his precious plates, was again at +Peter's side. "I think this is one of the most charming pictures I've +ever made. See if you recognize it." + +He led the way to a corner of the room where some of the photographs +were turning a little brown; evidently they had been placed there years +ago. He pointed to a cabinet-size picture half way up the wall. Peter +looked and saw, dressed in a fanciful costume of fluttering gauze, a +delicate, slender child's figure standing, fairy-like, beside the trunk +of a great beech. The flicker of sun and leaf shadows was all about +her, and her little oval face was alight with joy and mischief. The +beauty of it caught Peter's breath. + +"Why, it's Mar--Rosamond Curwood, isn't it?" he exclaimed. "And, by +George, I'll say you're some artist, Mr. Lord!" + +"It is lovely, isn't it?" said the old man, happily. "I remember +how I enjoyed taking it. Not many regular photographers were doing +outdoor backgrounds at that time, but I had nothing here"--he glanced +scornfully at the stiffly painted old screens--"nothing that was +suitable. And I did want to keep a memory of the way the child looked +in that fairy dress. I saw her at the school in a little play, and +persuaded her--not that there was any trouble about that--to sit for +me. It was a curious thing how well Rosamond acted in all the little +entertainments they gave at the school.... At the same time, I don't +think she was half so clever, in that way, as Anne, but of course Anne +was so shy that she would never appear in public, and I imagine almost +no one knew that she had any talent. I only found it out, myself, by +accident." + +Peter saw in this the old man's habitual defence of his favourite, a +natural siding with "the underdog." To humour this kindly quality, he +asked: + +"How was that?" + +"Why," said Walter Lord, reminiscently, "it started one day when I was +going up to their house through the woods. I was walking along quietly, +and suddenly I thought I heard someone talking, half singing, a little +way to the left, behind a screen of young hemlock. The words, such as +I could catch, sounded strangely familiar. My curiosity got the better +of me, and I slipped quietly through the bushes and parted the hemlock +sprays. There, in a tiny open glade, was little Anne, dancing lightly +in the sunshine and half singing: + + "If we shadows have offended, + Think but this, and all is mended---- + That you have slumbered here, + While these visions did appear---- + +"You know, Mr. Clancy--the last part of 'Midsummer Night's Dream'." + +Peter was not any too familiar with Shakespeare, but he nodded in +silent acquiescence, and the old man went on: + +"I found out, after that, that she knew simply miles of Shakespeare. +She used to recite for me, under strict pledge of secrecy, in the +woods, on long, summer afternoons. You should have heard her, as little +Arthur, in 'King John,' plead for her eyes--'O, spare mine eyes, if +for no use, but still to look on thee!' Her voice was enough to break +a body's heart.... But, of course, she had no chance, poor child, with +that dreadful mark on her face." + +"Was it such a terrible disfigurement?" asked Peter, eager to get an +accurate description. "Where was it and how large?" + +"It was just here"--Walter Lord placed his curved palm upon his lower +jaw, with the fingers extending up on the cheek. "It was almost like +the mark of a hand, a bloody hand----" The old man frowned and sadly +shook his head. "Too bad, too bad. Wrecked the poor child's life ... +seems terrible ... such a little thing--but, for a girl----" + +"Yes, too bad, too bad," echoed Peter, absently, the while he made a +mental note of the probable shape and position of the identifying mark +by which he hoped at last to recognize Anne Blake. "Well," he added, +rousing himself and looking at his watch, "I'm afraid I ought to be +going, Mr. Lord. How long will it take to get to the station?" + +"Oh, not more than ten minutes," answered the old man, dragging out his +own watch and comparing it with Peter's. "You've twenty minutes to +spare. I want to write down your address so I can send you prints of +the pictures I took of you just now. I'm pretty sure you'll like 'em." + +He went over and began fumbling in his desk for something to write +upon. Peter followed and stood beside him. + +"Forty-seven East Thirty ---- Street." Peter supplied his private +address, and as Lord seemed to be having some trouble in finding what +he sought, Peter waited, glancing absently about. + +Suddenly his eye was arrested by a picture on the wall--a man and a +girl on horseback. Could he be mistaken? He stepped nearer. No, he was +right. He had never seen the girl before, but the man, the man on the +left of the photograph, was Donald Morris. There could be no possible +doubt. But what was he doing here? How had it happened---- + +Suppressing an ejaculation, Peter turned to the old photographer. +Making his voice perfectly casual, he asked: + +"Who's the good-looking chap on horseback over here?" + +Lord looked up, following Peter's pointing finger. + +"Oh, that?" he said. "I don't know the man's name. The lady is a Miss +Stone--lives over at Fennimore Park. She's quite a friend of mine. +Rides through here two or three times a season, and is always having +her picture taken with some man or other. You'll find several of 'em +along there.... Now, where the dickens? Oh, here it is." He pulled, +from a crowded pigeonhole, a small, dusty, black leather notebook, +dragging a mass of letters and papers out with it. "Now, Mr. Clancy, +give me the address again, if you don't mind----" + +Peter, his mind full of conjectures, leaned over the old man as he +sat at his desk, and absently repeated his address: "Forty-seven East +Thirty ---- Street, New York City." And as he did so, his eye lighted +upon one of the letters which had fallen to the floor. + +Automatically, he stooped to pick it up, and as he lifted it, +inadvertently he caught the words: + +"... money order, and if you will return my father's ring, which I +value, and the----" + +Peter's heart almost stopped beating as he looked at the writing. His +brain was in a whirl. He must leave immediately, and he had no time to +weigh problems of right and wrong. He only knew one thing. He must have +this letter of Anne Curwood's--of Anne Blake's. He must have time to +consider. + +The old man's head was bent above his notebook. With a swift motion +Peter, feeling like an unmitigated hound, slipped the letter into his +pocket. "I'll make up some story--I'll return it later," he thought, +confusedly. "In the meantime----" + +"I'm afraid I've got to hustle to make the train, Mr. Lord," he said, +aloud, grasping the old man's hand. "You've been awfully good to me, +and I do appreciate it, though I may not show it much. I'll write to +you, and I hope you won't forget me. Don't come down. I'll just grab +my bag and beat it. Thank you a thousand times for your hospitality, +and if you ever come to New York, don't forget that you have my +address. Good-bye. Good-bye"--and in the midst of Walter Lord's hearty +farewells and invitations to come again, he was gone. + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + PETER CLANCY CHANGES HIS PLANS-- + + +And again, as Peter made his swift way to the station, the question +which had been hammering in his brain took another form--"How much can +I keep from telling Morris? How much can I keep to myself till I can +think things out? It's absurd, Pete! It can't be, and yet--if--if----" +And again: "How much can I keep from telling Morris?" + +The answer to the question which was uppermost in Peter's rapid +thoughts was destined, within the next few minutes, to be influenced +in a most unexpected manner. He had scarcely entered the little old +smelly waiting room of the Hobart Falls station, when, at the sound +of his footsteps on the bare boards, a man looked out of the little +grated ticket-window, the same man who had replied to his inquiry as to +telegrams on the previous evening. + +"There's a wire here for you now, if your name's Clancy, Peter Clancy," +the agent said, turning back to refer to a yellow sheet of paper which +lay beside the telegraph instrument. "That was the name you said last +night, wasn't it? It's just come in, not five minutes ago. Night +letter. Sign here, please." + +He slipped the telegram and a thumbed pad through below the grating, +watching Peter curiously the while. Evidently the residents of Hobart +Falls were not used to receiving night letters. + +Peter scrawled his name on the pad, and hastily catching up the +telegram, he went swiftly over to the window. What had happened? What +new complication---- + +The telegram was written out in the operator's none too legible hand. +It was maddening, for, not very far away, Peter could hear his train, +whistling for a crossing. And he wanted to get back to town--to talk to +O'Malley--to think. + +Slowly, perforce, he puzzled out the unpunctuated sentences: + + Full story M. B. disappearance to-night's Earth devil to pay think + F.J. must have spilled beans D.M. all broken up left for Fennimore + Park private car with sister night train Fennimore Park near you + report there for God's sake make him understand no leak this office + + (Signed) O'MALLEY. + +The train thundered into the station and out again, but Peter took no +notice. His plans had undergone a complete change. The agent, who was +also the expressman as well as the telegraph operator, was surprised to +find the intending passenger still there though not so much so as he +would have been if he, himself, had not received the queer telegram. He +was somewhat prepared for the question with which the stranger greeted +his reappearance. + +"What's the next train for Fennimore Park?" Peter asked, quickly. + +"Ain't no train for there on this line," answered the agent, helpfully. +"Ye have t' go back to the junction and ketch the Mountain Express +there. Ye should have taken number fifty-three down," he jerked his +head in the direction of the rapidly receding rumble. + +Peter's silence was more profane than any speech. Then a sudden thought +struck him. He threw a withering glance at the indifferent agent, and +jumped to the door opposite to the one on the platform. He was just in +time to see a tired flivver strolling slowly down the dusty road. + +"Josh!" he yelled, at the top of his voice. "Josh!" + +His lungs were strong, and his intent was sincere. Slowly the old car +came to a standstill and the driver, craning his long neck, looked back +down the road. + +"Ye want me?" he bellowed. + +Peter answered with a peremptory wave of the hand. The creaking car +turned in a cloud of dust, and came slowly back. + +"How far is it to Fennimore Park from here?" Peter asked, as soon as it +came within reasonable calling distance. + +"Pretty clost to twenty mile," said Josh, promptly. "Why?" + +"Is the old boat good for it?" Peter eyed the poor old car with some +disfavour. + +"Ye betcha she is," said Josh, enthusiastically. "I told ye, she's the +best car in town. Want I should take ye there? I'll do it fer five." + +Peter wasted no more time. He jumped, bag and all, into the back seat. +"Shoot!" was all he said. + +He was silent for almost the entire +way--thinking--thinking--thinking---- + +The old car bumped and skidded over the mountain roads, and groaned and +laboured up the long, rough hills. Peter kept himself in by clinging to +the iron braces of the top, but aside from these automatic efforts at +self-preservation he was practically unconscious of the way they went. + +A strange thought had come to him in Walter Lord's old photograph +studio. A thought so odd and bizarre that at first it seemed absolutely +impossible and insane. And then he began piecing things together. +Bit by bit, apparently unconnected scraps of information were fitted +together, now this way and now that. Once, making sure that the driver +was completely occupied with the difficulties of the winding road, +Peter took from his pocket the letter he had appropriated. ("Stolen, +dammit!" he thought, disgustedly. "Mine's a hell of a job for a decent +man. But if I could prove, even to myself----") He looked long and +wonderingly at the letter before he slipped it back into an inner +pocket. + +"Mary, apparently, took no clothes at all," he thought, going back +for the thousandth time over the old ground, "and Anne took a big +trunk.... Well, that would fit--either way.... The large sum of money, +left at the bank, subject to Anne's order as well as Mary's.... +Yes--either way.... But the blood on the scarf--and on the floor.... I +don't see--unless.... By George! I'll bet----" + +The driver heard his passenger slap his leg with a resounding thwack. +He turned his head slightly. "Mosquito?" he threw over his shoulder. +"Did ye git him?" + +"No. Yes--I'm not sure," said Peter, coming, confusedly, back to the +present. "How far are we now from Fennimore Park? And do we pass +through any town on the way?" he added, his mind reverting to immediate +necessities. + +"We'll be there inside of twenty minutes," Josh answered the questions +in order, "and we pass through Tollenville about a mile this side. 'S +quite a big place. Why?" + +"Think I could get yesterday's New York papers anywhere there?" asked +Peter. "Must keep up with the times, you know." + +"Oh, sure ye can," said Josh, easily. "Must have 'em at the Tollen +House, I should think. I'd like t' stop there, anyway," and he drew the +back of his hand, in a suggestive gesture, across his mouth. + +"All right," said Peter, with a comprehending grin. "If it's that kind +of a place I may get the paper I want. So don't forget to stop." + +"I won't," said Josh, with evident sincerity, and Peter retired again +into his thoughts. + +It seemed to him not many minutes later when they pulled up in front of +a big, ugly red brick hotel with many wooden porches and gay, striped +awnings. + +"Tollen House," remarked Josh, briefly, and disappeared around the +corner of the building. + +Peter entered the lobby and anxiously enquired for the New York +_Evening Earth_ of yesterday's date. One was found for him, much to his +satisfaction. He gave the porter, who brought it to him, a generous +tip, and dashed out to the poor old waiting "Lizzie," which looked more +weary and woebegone than ever. + +Josh was nowhere in sight, and while Peter waited he ran a quick and +practised eye over the paper. + +"No wonder Donald Morris was in the devil of a stew," he thought, as +he absorbed the principal article on the front page, with its blatant +headlines and its large half-tone picture of Mary Blake. "Wonder if he +could think our office would be guilty of letting his name appear! Gee! +that would be a rotten thing for a client. 'Absence first discovered by +Donald Morris, son of Steven Morris, and heir to the Morris millions'," +he read, disgustedly. "Dammit all! It's a beastly shame. I'll bet his +house was besieged by reporters before the story had been on the street +ten minutes. Nobody could have leaked but Jones, confound him! Bound to +get some publicity for his leading lady, whether she liked it or not, +and a lot for himself into the bargain. 'Frederick Jones, Miss Blake's +manager, interviewed,' and in pretty good-sized type, too. Oh, damn!" + +At that moment Josh returned. Wiping his mouth with a soiled red +handkerchief, he took his place at the wheel. "Some hooch!" he +remarked, with a wise, sidelong wink, and the car started laboriously +up the road. + +Peter, still looking at the offending paper, rapidly formulated his +defence as they crawled up the steep mountain side. The roadbed here +was of red shale, smooth and well tended, a strong contrast to the back +roads they had been traversing. Soon they came to a great rough stone +gateway and a lodge. They were held up here, while the lodge keeper +telephoned the Atterbury cottage, where, he said, Mr. Donald Morris was +stopping. + +"It's all right. You can go right up, sir," he said, returning after a +moment. "Do you know where it is? Well, you take the first turn to the +right after you pass the inn, and it's the last house before you come +to the church. You can't miss it. Thank you, sir." + +"Some style," grumbled Josh, as the car moved away. "Would ye think +this was once a free country?" He addressed the world at large, and +Peter did not trouble to answer. He had too much to think about even to +notice the exquisite woodland park through which they were passing; the +great old mossy trees, the broad red road, the ferns and wild flowers, +the primitive forest, broken here and there by wide velvet lawns and +low, broad, picturesque cottages. He was the first, however, to realize +that they had reached their journey's end. + +"There's the church, Josh," he said, "and this will be the house. Drive +in and wait a minute till I make sure." + +He sprang up the two low steps almost before the old car had stopped, +and in a second returned and slipped a bill and some jingling coins +into Josh's outstretched hand. "More hooch," he explained the coins +with a wink, and Josh trundled away with a large admiration of his +"fare" in his leathery old heart. + +The servant, from whom Peter had made his inquiries, again met him at +the door as he crossed the porch. + +"Mrs. Atterbury would like to see you before you go up to Mr. Morris, +if you please, sir," he said in a soft, tired voice, and led the way +through a living room which seemed endless to Peter, and out on to +another wide veranda. "Mr. Clancy, 'm," he announced, in a tone which +disclaimed all responsibility for so plebeian a name, and softly +vanished, leaving Peter face to face with Mrs. Francis Atterbury. + +It was an ill moment for poor Peter, judging by the lady's expression. + +"Mr. Clancy," she said, motioning slightly to a chair near the one in +which she was seated. "This is a most unfortunate circumstance. My +brother is quite overcome. He's really ill, yet I had to drag him up +here, almost by force, last night. The reporters were simply besieging +the house, and my brother was so nervously unstrung that I had to call +in a doctor. I've seen it coming for a long time, and that terrible +article in the paper yesterday was the last straw. You've seen it, I +suppose?" Her eyes narrowed as she keenly regarded Peter, and there was +a drawing together of her handsome eyebrows which boded ill for him if +he could not assure her of his innocence in the matter. + +"I had a wire from my partner early this morning," Peter replied, with +the calm of conscious rectitude, "and I was able to get the paper at +Tollenville on my way over. That was absolutely the first I knew that +the story had leaked out. You must see, Mrs. Atterbury, from the tone +of the entire article, that my office could not possibly have given +it to the papers. A firm of detectives couldn't last long, if it was +as leaky as that. I will admit," he added, candidly, "that I advised +Mr. Morris some time ago that our best bet was to give out the story +so as to get the help of the general public in tracing Miss Blake--and +her sister. You sometimes get information that way that you can't +get by private inquiry. We would have been able, through personal +connection with the papers, to keep Mr. Morris's name entirely out of +it. I urged it on him several times, but he couldn't see it that way, +and I was forced to give it up. We are acting entirely in Mr. Morris's +interests"--he said this gravely, and with a dignity which was very +convincing--"and my office would not go contrary to his wishes in any +particular. I must ask you and Mr. Morris to believe this." + +"Well," conceded Helena Atterbury, unbending slightly, "I suppose I +must take your word for it, Mr. Clancy. My brother seems to have a +great deal of confidence in you. But I can't think--I can't see how +Mr. Jones could have done such a thing. I believe your partner told +Mr. Morris that the story could only have come from him. Why, I've +entertained him at my house. He accepted my hospitality, and----" + +"Mrs. Atterbury," Peter interrupted, with a shake of his head, "I'm +afraid you don't understand what lengths people will go to for the +sake of advertising. They seem to lose all sense of decency sometimes. +I knew it was a risk to let Frederick Jones in on the game, but there +were certain things we had to know and he was bound, being her manager, +to find out sooner or later, probably sooner than later, that she'd +disappeared. I hope you can see that we had no choice." + +Helena Atterbury, in spite of her annoyance at the contretemps, could +not fail to be impressed by the ingenuous sincerity of the young +detective's speech and manner. Her voice had lost much of its icy +hauteur when she spoke again. + +"Well, I won't detain you any longer, Mr. Clancy," she said, rising. +"Mr. Morris is anxious to see you. He is in a very bad nervous +condition, and I know you will be careful." Her natural, woman's +anxiety spoke in her voice and eyes, and her natural, woman's curiosity +prompted her to question: "Did you find out anything new yesterday? Can +you give my brother any hope that----" + +"I don't know, any more than I did before, where Miss Blake is, Mrs. +Atterbury," he said, frankly. "But I did find out some things--some +things that I hope may prove of value. It was only last night and +this morning that I got hold of the information, and I haven't had +time really to think it out. But I will say this much to you, Mrs. +Atterbury: for almost the first time since I took the case I have hope. +I really feel that I have definite hope." + +His clear, bright blue Irish eyes looked straight into hers, and Helena +Atterbury's distaste and distrust melted slowly away. + +"I pray, for my brother's sake, that your hopes are well founded, Mr. +Clancy," she said. "Come. I'll take you up to him." + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + --AND ASKS A QUESTION + + +Peter found his client comfortably ensconced in a long, swinging couch +on a wide porch on the second floor. He looked pale and worn and +appeared nervously exhausted, but his tired eyes lighted a little as +Peter came through the bedroom door. + +Helena Atterbury tactfully left them alone at once, and Peter was glad +to find that there was little difficulty in convincing Donald Morris +that he and his staff were in no way responsible for the newspaper +article which had caused so much pain and annoyance. + +"I wouldn't have had it leak out for the world," said Donald, +anxiously. "Mrs. Atterbury was furious about the reporters coming to +the house, but I wouldn't have minded that so much. What knocked me up +completely was the thought of how it would affect Mary. Somehow, that +just bowled me over, Clancy. I'm ashamed to say I went all to pieces. +You see, her letter to me--well, I'm sure, no matter what happened, she +wanted me to wait--to wait till I heard from her." + +"By the way," said Peter, leaning suddenly forward in his low wicker +chair, "that letter--have you got it with you? or anywhere handy? I'd +like to look at it again. There's something I want to make sure of----" + +A quality in Peter's voice caused Morris to look up at him quickly. + +"What!" he exclaimed. "Have you found out something new? Did you get +hold of anything at Hobart Falls yesterday? It seems the most unlikely +place in the world, and I haven't the least idea why you went there." + +"I did--and I didn't," answered Peter, non-committally. "As I just told +your sister, I don't know, any more than I did before, where Miss Blake +has gone. But I did come across something--something that may help. +_Have_ you got the letter?" + +Morris, regarding him with serious, puzzled eyes, put his hand into +an inner pocket and drew out a leather case. Silently he opened it, +extracted a letter and handed it to Peter, intently watching the face +of the young detective. + +Peter looked at the letter long and earnestly. He read it through +carefully, from the folded page at the beginning to the end. Neither +of them spoke. In the silence, a low murmur of voices came up to them +from the porch beneath, a question in a servant's controlled tone, and +a slightly louder answer from Mrs. Atterbury, but neither of the men +heard or heeded. + +Peter folded the letter and handed it back to Donald. + +"You'd better keep it," he said, slowly. "I'll ask you for it again, +later." + +"Very well," said Donald, carefully replacing the letter. "And now, +tell me, Clancy, for God's sake, what it was you discovered at Hobart +Falls?" + +"Well," said Peter, deliberately, "it wasn't so much, you may say. But +there's one thing I know you will be interested to learn: I have found +out positively what Miss Blake's own name really is." + +"Her own name?" repeated Morris. "And in such an unlikely place?" + +"Yes," answered Peter. "It does seem strange, but I can assure you that +I'm correct. Her name is Curwood." + +"Curwood," Donald echoed. "Curwood." + +"Yes," said Peter. "That's the name. I verified it carefully, and you +may be sure----" Suddenly he started violently, and his hand shot up in +a warning gesture. He leaned close to Morris, and whispered in his ear: +"What----Who is that?" + +A voice had come up to them from the porch below. What it said was +commonplace to a degree. Donald could see no possible reason for the +detective's evident excitement. + +"Good morning, Helena, dear," the voice said. "I'm so glad you're here +once more. I only just heard----" + +There was the sound of a chair scraping on the tiled floor, and Mrs. +Atterbury said something in a cordial tone. + +"Who is it?" Peter repeated, insistently. "Who is that down there?" + +"Why," said Morris, looking at Peter in astonishment, "why, that must +be Aunt Kate. Nobody else has a voice like that," and he shook his head +with a whimsical half smile. "What in the world----" + +"Speak low," said Peter, anxiously. "I don't want to miss----" + +Again the voice came up to them: + +"Did Donald come up with you, Helena? I saw that thing in the paper, +and somebody told me----" + +Followed a low murmur in reply from Mrs. Atterbury. + +"Who is it?" Peter asked again, excitement apparent in every line of +his face. "A relative? What is her name? Her full name?" + +"No, not a relative," Donald answered, bewildered by Peter's obvious +agitation. "We've always called her that. Her name is Rutherford, Kate +Rutherford." + +"Good God!" said Peter, starting to his feet. "Rutherford!" Under his +breath he whispered to himself--"The voice! The voice over the wire. +I'm sure, certain. There can be no mistake. I knew I'd recognize it if +ever----" + +"What is the matter, Clancy?" Donald had thrown aside the rug under +which he had been lying, and had dropped his feet to the floor. "What +do you know of----" + +Peter interrupted sharply with: + +"I want to meet her. I must meet her, Morris. Fix it for me. It's +essential I should meet her at once. There's no time to explain. She +may go--oh, for the love of----Mr. Morris, I give you my word that I'm +not crazy--and I must see and talk to Mrs. Rutherford!" + +Staggered by the other's impetuosity, Donald got slowly to his feet. + +"Wait, wait just a moment," he said, passing his hand over his +forehead. "I don't understand, but of course--what shall I tell her?" + +"Just say you heard her voice and came down to see her," whispered +Peter. "Introduce me as a friend--if," he added, with an anxious, +questioning look, "if you think you can go that far." + +Morris looked him steadily in the eyes. Then he nodded slightly. +Placing his hand on Peter's shoulder, he said, "I think I can go that +far, Clancy. Come on." + +Peter felt Morris's weight on his shoulder as they descended the +stairs, but by the time they had reached the lower porch he was erect +and master of himself. + +Mrs. Atterbury started up in surprise as the two men came through the +door, but her brother gave her a warning look, and she subsided into +her chair without a word, though her eyes said plainly, "What in the +world is Don bringing that detective here for?" + +He ignored their puzzled question, and advanced with a smile to the +visitor. + +"Good to see you again, Aunt Kate," he said, cordially, as he took her +hand, and leaning over, kissed her on the cheek. "It was bully of you +to come down so soon." + +Peter, who was directly behind him, did not see the visitor until +Donald stepped back, and said: + +"Will you let me present my friend, Mr. Peter Clancy--Mrs. Rutherford." + +Then Peter saw, seated in a high-backed Indian chair, as on a throne, a +magnificent old lady whose impressive presence and mien were scarcely +affected by the great weight of flesh which seemed to billow all about +her. + +She spoke to him at once, in a voice deep, clear, and resonant. "I'm +glad to meet any friend of Donald's," was all she said, but her +exquisite enunciation made of the commonplace sentence a thing of +beauty. + +Morris, observantly following Peter's lead, sat down and joined in the +quiet, ordinary, everyday conversation. The weather and everybody's +health came in for their stereotyped share. Peter, watching, was quite +sure they had interrupted a more intimate talk between the two women. +He guessed what its subject had been but knew that it would not be +resumed in the presence of a stranger. + +How was he, himself, to get an opportunity for a private conversation +with Mrs. Rutherford, the necessity for which was uppermost in his +thoughts? And who was she, anyway? That she was a personage there +could be no doubt. Peter racked his brains to remember if he had ever +heard of her, to no purpose. She was of a previous generation, but a +personality like that---- + +Unconsciously, Mrs. Rutherford proceeded to enlighten him. He was +so preoccupied that he only caught his own name in the middle of a +sentence: + +"And Mr. Clancy, judging by his name and appearance," she was saying, +"ought to enjoy the story as much as I did. We're both Irish, aren't +we, Mr. Clancy? As you may possibly know, my name was Rohan once upon a +time, and----" + +Rohan. Kate Rohan! Something clicked in Peter's brain. Who, even of his +comparative youth, had not heard of the old Athenæum Company, and of +Kate Rohan, its planet among stars? So! That accounted for--much--the +gracious presence, the wonderful voice--and many, many things besides, +Peter thought. + +He missed, almost completely, the amusing Irish story, told with a +delicate, subtle brogue and a perfect inflection, but he heard just +enough to join spontaneously in the laugh which irresistibly followed. + +At the end of the story Mrs. Rutherford rose majestically, and like a +great ship getting under way, started toward the door. + +"I must be going, Helena," she said, holding out her still beautiful +hand. "I'm coming to see you and Don very soon again. Take care of +yourself, Don, and," with a little quick shake of the head as she put +her hand in his, "don't worry about things, my dear. There's nothing +really worth wasting a lot of expensive worry upon." + +"I'll see you to your car, Aunt Kate," said Morris, placing his hand +under her elbow. + +She turned on him at that, and drew herself up with a little laugh. +"I'd have you know, Donald, that I walked down here and intend to walk +back," she said, proudly. + +"But, Aunt Kate!" + +"Yes, my dear. The doctor says that if I don't take some gentle +exercise I'll spoil my figure" (she pronounced it "figgah"), "to +say nothing of having another heart attack. And he calls walking up +the mountain 'gentle exercise'! To be sure, I take it slowly, but +whu-u-u----!" She drew a long breath and let it go in a tragic sigh, +but her eyes were full of an inextinguishable humour. + +"Are you going to be long here, Mr. Clancy?" she asked, turning to say +"good-bye" to Peter, who stood close beside her. + +"I don't quite know," replied Peter, quietly. "It will depend a good +deal on circumstances. I ought to go back to town this afternoon, but I +haven't been around the--the Park much yet, and I promised myself I'd +see something of it--only Don"--(he referred thus familiarly to his +host without the flicker of an eyelash)--"you see, Don doesn't feel +quite up to going about with me, and----" + +Quick as a flash Donald Morris intuitively caught Peter's intention. +He did not know what the reason might be, but he grasped the fact that +there was some unknown necessity for Clancy to see Mrs. Rutherford +alone. So completely had the young detective won his confidence that +this was enough for him. + +"I do feel a bit seedy, Aunt Kate, and that's a fact," he said, +promptly, "and Peter's just crazy to stretch those long legs of his. +Take pity on him, there's a dear, and let him go along with you." +Again he ignored the questioning, perplexed glance of his sister, who +stood just behind Mrs. Rutherford. "The road up to Mrs. Rutherford's +cottage is the loveliest thing in the park, Peter. When you've seen +that, you'll agree with me that it's one of the most paintable bits in +America." + +"Are you a painter, Mr. Clancy?" Mrs. Rutherford asked, a few moments +later as they started up the curving road, Peter accommodating his +long stride to her stately, ponderous step. "I should hardly have +thought----" + +"I don't look much like one, do I?" Peter laughed. "Well, frankly, I +don't consider myself one, but I'm very fond of nature--and art. It's +one of the chief regrets of my life, Mrs. Rutherford, that I never saw +you act." + +She gave him a quick, almost youthful glance, and smiled. "I think you +could hardly have been born when I left the stage, Mr. Clancy. That was +over thirty years ago." + +"But why, Mrs. Rutherford!" exclaimed Peter, tragically, "why did you +leave the stage before I was born?" + +She threw back her white head with a hearty, infectious laugh, and +pausing in her slow ascent, she turned to him, making a broad, sweeping +gesture with both hands. + +"The answer is before you," she said. "It was this infernal--I may +say infernal to you, Mr. Clancy, may I not?--Well, then, it was this +infernal flesh that came upon me like a thief in the night, and +nothing I could do would stop it--so I had to stop--to give up my +career"--there was bitterness in the beautiful voice now--"all on +account of--oh, Mr. Clancy, who could stand a fat 'Portia'! Thank God, +I had sense enough to stop when I did. At least there are no grotesque +memories of Kate Rohan." + +Up to this point in the conversation they had passed several houses +and quite a number of people, to whom Mrs. Rutherford had bowed, +graciously. Now the road before them lay, for a long way, fairly level +and devoid of any sign of life. Unbroken ranks of tall trees threw +their leafy shadows across the red shale of the road, and the soft +whispering of the wind only served to accentuate the sense of solitude. + +In another mood, Peter would have been sensible of the wonderful beauty +of the place, but now he saw nothing in it but an opportunity, the +opportunity which he must not miss. + +Just ahead, in the shadow of a big pine, he saw a low, flat ledge of +rock, lichen covered on its face and strewn above with a generous +cushion of soft pine needles. + +"You're tired, Mrs. Rutherford," he said, gravely. "Let's rest a minute +over there." + +She assented, with a whimsical nod, and allowed Peter to place her +comfortably upon the rock. Peter remained standing just in front of her +and regarded her in silence for a moment. There was a seriousness in +his pleasant, homely face that caught her attention. + +"What is it, Mr. Clancy?" she asked, with a hint of perplexity in her +deep voice. "Why do you look at me as if--why, as if you wanted to ask +me a question and didn't quite know what to say----" + +"That's just it, Mrs. Rutherford," said Peter, eagerly. "That's just my +trouble. There's something I want to know--something I must know----" + +"And you think I can tell you?" she asked, wonderingly. + +"I _know_ you can tell me, Mrs. Rutherford--if you will." + +She gazed up at him in sheer bewilderment. "I can't think what it can +be," she said, conscious of the gravity of the young face before her, +"and I won't promise to answer. But I'm curious to know. Ask your +question, Mr. Clancy." + +Peter bent his head and said, slowly, with pauses between the words: + +"Will you tell me, Mrs. Rutherford, why--on Monday, the twenty-ninth +of this May--from a pay booth in the Vanderbilt Hotel--you called Mary +Blake's apartment--and asked to speak to her sister, Anne?" + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + "ON MONDAY, THE TWENTY-NINTH OF MAY----" + + +A slow flush spread over the face of Kate Rutherford, mounting to her +snow-white hair. Her eyes never left Peter's. + +"On Monday, the twenty-ninth of May, from the Vanderbilt Hotel," she +repeated, slowly. "Yes, I did call--I did call her apartment, one day, +about that time. Well"--a slight pause--"well, what of it? What of it, +Mr. Clancy?" + +"Don't you know--why, you must know from yesterday's paper, Mrs. +Rutherford, that it was on Sunday, the twenty-eighth, that Mary Blake +disappeared." + +"And you think"--she studied his face intently--"you think I may know +where she's gone?" + +"It would seem on the cards, perhaps." + +"Well, I don't." She threw out her clenched hands and looked up at him. +There was deep concern in her eyes. "I wish to God I did." + +Was she acting? Peter thought. And if so, why? Aloud he said: + +"How was it that you happened to call her on that particular day, Mrs. +Rutherford? And why did you cut off so suddenly when----" + +"It was you--it was you who answered the call!" she exclaimed, a little +light breaking in upon her. "What have you to do with this affair, Mr. +Clancy? Why should I answer your questions? I don't see----" + +"You're a friend of Donald Morris's, an old and intimate friend," said +Peter, gravely. "You must be affected, deeply affected, I should think, +by the sight of his unhappiness." + +"Yes," she said at once. "Yes--and I didn't know--I didn't realize +completely until this morning. But," she broke off, and cast a keen +glance at Peter, "forgive me, Mr. Clancy, but I don't see what concern +it can be of yours. I know most of Donald's friends--and I never saw +you before." + +"Yet I think I can truly say that I am a friend to Donald Morris," said +Peter with evident sincerity. "And, aside from that, Mrs. Rutherford, +I'm a professional detective. I----" + +"Clancy--Peter Clancy," she exclaimed, quickly. "I thought I'd heard +that name! Why, you're the man Dick Schuyler told me about, several +years ago." + +Peter nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Rutherford, and it was Mr. Schuyler who +recommended me to Donald Morris. They both trust me, I think I can +safely say. Won't you trust me, too, Mrs. Rutherford?" + +She looked at him for a long time in silence. Then she said: + +"Yes, I think so.... I think, perhaps, I must.... It's a terrible +responsibility I have upon me. I didn't realize how serious it was +until to-day.... And now, I don't know.... I can't be sure what I ought +to do. But let me see. Ask your questions, Mr. Clancy, and I'll see if +I can answer them. What is it you want to know?" + +"I've already asked one question that you haven't answered, Mrs. +Rutherford," Peter said with a little smile. "Perhaps you don't realize +that you haven't." + +"No," she said, her straight black eyebrows drawn together in a +thoughtful frown. "What was the question?" + +"I asked you how you happened to call Miss Blake's apartment on the day +after she disappeared?" + +"Oh, yes. I remember, you did ask me that. Well," she spoke slowly, "it +was because of a letter I'd just received from her. It had just come +in, and I got it at the hotel desk when I turned in my key. I was so +worried about it that I went immediately to a booth and called her up." + +"Yes, but what was in the letter?" asked Peter, eagerly. "Did she say +where she was going, or why?" + +"That was what puzzled, worried me," said Mrs. Rutherford, frowning +still more. "It was a--a sort of wild letter. I couldn't understand +it. She said she was going away. That she might never come back.... It +sounded desperate.... She thanked me for all I had been to her. Asked +me to forgive her.... Not that I had anything to forgive. The whole +thing was my fault, if there was a fault." She paused, and added, "And +that was all, Mr. Clancy. There was nothing else in the letter. I give +you my word, that was all." + +Disappointment was written large on Peter's face. + +Kate Rutherford went on: "I thought that possibly she might not have +gone, so I called her apartment at once. I wanted to see her, to +dissuade her, if possible. Her career ... it seemed a shame--a terrible +waste. I couldn't understand why, when she had reached the height +we all crave, she should----And then I found she wasn't there. That +there were strangers in the apartment. I couldn't imagine why. I was +frightened, and rang off. I knew it would be no use to go down there. +She had said definitely, in her letter, that she was going away at +once. It was only on a bare chance that I called up----" + +"I--see," said Peter, slowly. He thought in silence for a moment. Then +he dropped down upon the rock, bringing his face on a level with the +clever, mobile face of old "Kate Rohan." + +"You said, a few minutes ago--" he hesitated--"I think you admitted, +Mrs. Rutherford, that you felt concerned for Donald Morris." + +"Yes," she said, quickly. "I had no idea, until I read that article +in the paper last night--and saw Donald this morning--I knew, of +course, that he was interested in Mary Blake. He made no secret of it. +But Don has had a great many women friends, and he had the artist's +enthusiastic way of speaking of them--I didn't realize that this was +really serious." + +"But you do realize it now?" + +"Yes," she replied, sadly. "Yes. I think there can be no doubt. The +poor boy----" + +"Mrs. Rutherford," Peter said, leaning forward and watching her face, +"do you know of a reason why Donald Morris should not marry Miss Blake?" + +There was a long silence. The majestic old lady leaned slightly +forward, her tightly clasped hands resting on her ample knees. Her +white head was bent, her eyes fixed on the ground. After what seemed to +Peter a long time, she said: + +"I--I think she would have--must have felt--that there was a reason." + +"And do you feel that it was a reason, Mrs. Rutherford? A sufficient +reason?" + +"I"--she raised her head, and threw out her hands in an expressive +gesture--"I don't know. I don't know how I would have felt, Mr. Clancy. +Knowing Donald as I do--no, I don't know how I would have felt," she +repeated, disconsolately. + +"Will you tell me the reason, Mrs. Rutherford?" said Peter, with deep +seriousness in his tone. "I know a good deal. But I need to know +more. I can't form a definite plan until I'm sure. I've made some +guesses--just to-day and yesterday--that have sent me off on a new +tack. If what I've suddenly come to believe turns out to be true, +I think there's a chance, possibly a remote chance, of finding--of +finding Miss Blake." + +"You think--you think there is?" There was an eager light in the +expressive old eyes. + +"I think there may be," said Peter, evasively. "But I can do nothing +without your help, Mrs. Rutherford. That's my trouble. I must know +the whole story, as I am sure that you, and you only, can tell it. +All I am certain of, at the present time, is that Rosamond and Anne +Curwood (whom I first heard of as Mary and Anne Blake) were the twin +daughters of a man called Winthrop Curwood, who lived somewhere up in +the mountains, between here and Hobart Falls." + +"Winthrop Curwood! You know, then, of Winthrop Curwood?" exclaimed Mrs. +Rutherford, sitting up straight, and looking at Peter in surprise. + +"I know that he was the father, and that he was blind," said Peter. + +"Yes, blind," sighed Mrs. Rutherford. "Poor Win!" + +"You knew him, then?" said Peter, quick to note the familiar use of the +name. + +"Oh, yes. I knew Win Curwood well. Very well, indeed," said Mrs. +Rutherford, sadly. "You're too young to remember, but he was leading +man at the Athenæum and I played opposite to him for two seasons." + +"Ah, I--see," said Peter. "An actor. That explains--but go on, +Mrs. Rutherford. Tell me about him. How he came to be here, in this +out-of-the-way part of the country--who he was--everything. He was an +Englishman, wasn't he?" + +"Yes, and well known in England. Arthur Quinn saw him play in London +and made him a big offer to come over here. He joined the company while +it was still at its best, and he was a great addition. A wonderful +actor, and handsome almost beyond belief. He was younger than I by a +number of years but we soon became great friends. I was jealous of him, +of course," with raised eyebrows and a whimsical smile, "but not so +much as I might have been, perhaps. He was very generous and tactful, +and after all, at that time, I didn't have much need to fear a rival in +popularity." There was an expression in the great, dark eyes, half sad, +half amused at the recollection. + +"He was with us only two seasons," she continued. "I remember it was +in the middle of the second winter that I began to notice that he +wasn't quite himself. He hadn't quite the same certainty of movement, +and once, during performance, when he stumbled against a low table and +overturned it, I felt sure that he had been drinking. I said nothing at +the time, but afterward I spoke to him--and he told me. He was going +blind! Think of it, Mr. Clancy. Going blind, with no hope!... I don't +think he confided in any one but me until the very end. He managed to +get through the season--it would have left Arthur Quinn and the company +in an awful hole if he hadn't, and with my help--I played up to him +and helped him as well as I was able--he saw it through.... And then, +simply disappeared. He did tell Arthur Quinn (the manager, you know) +why he would not be able to play again.... And that was the last any +of us ever saw, and the last for a great many years that I ever heard, +of Winthrop Curwood." + +The deep tones ceased, and Peter saw that there was a mist in the fine +old eyes. After a moment he said, gently: + +"And then, after many years, you met Anne Curwood." + +She roused herself at that and looked at Peter. + +"Yes," she said, slowly. "I don't know how you found that out--but it +doesn't matter. Yes, I saw Anne Curwood, and curiously enough, too, it +was at Helena Atterbury's house that I saw her first." + +Peter started in surprise. "At Mrs. Atterbury's house!" he exclaimed. +"Why, then, Morris must have seen her--must have seen Anne Blake!" + +Mrs. Rutherford shook her head. "I don't know whether he ever saw her, +or if he did, whether he noticed her or would have given her a thought +if he had. She was doing menial work--Win Curwood's daughter: I can +hardly bear to think of it.... And, too, she was painfully shy and +self-conscious." + +"On account of that birthmark," Peter interjected. + +Mrs. Rutherford gave him a quick look, but went on at once, as if he +had not spoken--"You see, she appeared to be only a servant, after all. +She came in to do cleaning by the day. There was a great scarcity of +help here that year and we all had to manage as well as we could. That +was how I came to speak with her. I was telling Helena about a lot +of trouble I was having with the servants, and she said she thought I +might be able to get Anne Curwood for at least one day a week. At the +moment I thought nothing of the name, but when I saw her and heard +her speak--well, I became interested and engaged her at once for two +days a week. After a time, when she became used to me and my ways, I +asked her, point blank, about her father--and established, to my own +satisfaction, that she was, really, the daughter of my old friend, Win +Curwood." + +"Did she tell you, at that time, about her sister, Rosamond?" asked +Peter. + +"No, it was later, much later, that I learned about the sister," she +answered, quietly. + +"You found her after you'd taken Anne to New York as your companion?" + +Mrs. Rutherford slowly turned her head, and looked long into Peter's +eyes. Then Peter did a curious thing. They were all alone, in the deep +solitude of the leafy woods. There was no one, apparently, within miles +of them, certainly no one within earshot, but Peter leaned forward, and +with his keen eyes fixed on Kate Rutherford's face, he whispered, just +above his breath, one sentence--only one--but the effect was electrical. + +She started forward and grasped his arm with clutching fingers. Her +face was white. + +"How--how did you guess?" she asked, breathlessly. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + A MIDNIGHT ERRAND + + +Donald Morris paced nervously back and forth, back and forth, upon +the wide, ground-floor veranda of his sister's house. He could look +out along the road up which Clancy had gone, hours before, with Mrs. +Rutherford. + +As the slow minutes dragged themselves away, his impatience mounted, +but he kept himself in hand. Clancy knew his business--of that he +was convinced--but what possible connection it could have with Mrs. +Rutherford he was at a loss to determine. + +The luncheon hour had come and gone, and it was after three o'clock +when Donald, eagerly watching, saw Clancy make the turn which brought +him into sight, and saw him coming at a run down the sloping road. + +"What has happened, Clancy?" Donald cried, impetuously, as they came +close. "Where have you been all these hours?" + +Peter's face was red with hurry and excitement. + +"I--I can't stop to explain," he panted. "I've only just time to make +the train. I must be in New York to-night." He caught Donald's arm. +"Is there a taxi I can get? The train leaves Tollenville in fifteen +minutes. There's only barely time. Oh, Mr. Morris, for the love of God, +don't stare at me like that. Tell me how to get a taxi. Quick!" + +Peter's excitement communicated itself to Morris. He was bewildered, +astonished. He longed intensely to ask the questions for which there +was no time, but Peter's insistence was overpowering. + +"I'll get a car for you here," he said, swiftly. "Saunders will make +the train if it's a possibility. Your bag's still on the porch. Get it, +while I----" + +He dashed across the lawn and around the corner of the house. In a +moment, Peter heard the thin buzz of a starter, followed instantly by +the heavy, rhythmic hum as the engine picked up, and in a few seconds +more a big car rolled around the corner of the house. + +Donald Morris was standing on the running board. He dropped off as the +car slowed down, and Peter, bag in hand, jumped into the seat beside +the chauffeur. + +"Give her gas, Saunders," cried Morris. "You haven't a minute to spare. +Good-bye, Clancy! For God's sake write or wire me." + +"I'll let you know! I'll let you know the minute----" Peter's voice was +drowned by the roar of the engine as the car swung away. + +Down the broad road and through the great park gate the big car honked +and whirred. Past picturesque artists' cottages and white-painted +farmhouses it fled, and then, with slightly slackened pace, it rolled +between ugly ranks of mountain boarding houses, down to the busy, noisy +little station, where the train stood, panting to be gone. + +It was already in motion when Peter leaped upon the step, breathless, +without a ticket, but thanking his lucky stars that he was in time. + +The train was crowded, and Peter had to wedge himself in beside a fat, +jewelled lady, who ate frequently and copiously from greasy paper +packages all the way to the junction, but Peter did not even notice the +discomfort, so occupied was he with his own thoughts. + +They were briefly broken in upon when the conductor demanded a ticket, +but after Peter had paid for one, and ascertained that he would have +time to send a telegram from the junction, he relapsed again into +depths of intricate speculation. + +At the junction he sent a telegram to O'Malley: + + Made peace with D. M. Returning to-night. May have to leave again + at once. Will call up if time. + + PETE. + +He had considered telegraphing Morris from the same place, but had +decided against it. + +"I only have a hunch that I know where to look," he thought. "Better +not raise hopes till I'm sure. It's a damn shame to keep him in +suspense, but I don't see any other way.... No, I'll let it ride as is +for the present." + +The afternoon waned, the sun went down in a mass of soft clouds, and +night came stealing on. The train was badly lighted, but Peter did not +mind. He had no wish to read. He had plenty to occupy his mind, and +it did not matter to him that the train was not due until after ten +o'clock. What he had to do in town would better be done late at night. + +"Just so I get there before midnight," thought Peter, glancing, +absently, at his watch--"Nine-forty-five--Nine!----Why, we must be----" + +He had changed cars at the junction and had been able there to get +a window seat. It had become cold and damp after sunset, and he had +closed the window. Now he made a shadow, with his hand, upon the glass, +and looked out. He could see nothing; not a light or other sign of +human habitation, and suddenly he realized that the train was running +very slowly. + +"I wonder what's up?" he thought, slightly troubled but not yet +anxious. "Guess I'll see if I can find out." + +He stepped cautiously over the feet of an elderly man who was +slumbering noisily in the other half of the seat, made his way down the +dull and smoky aisle, and gained the platform. Stepping down one step, +he clung to the hand rail and leaned far out. + +Fog. Fog everywhere, thick and gray. The lights from the coaches fell +on it as on an opaque veil of floating gauze. Peter, cursing inwardly, +went forward into the smoking car. Here he found men hanging out of +open windows, looking down the track, and exchanging speculations. Just +then the conductor came through, a lantern swinging by his side. + +"What's up?" said Peter, addressing him anxiously. + +"Little foggy," said the conductor, passing rapidly forward. + +"Oh, he won't tell you nothing," said a man in the seat near which +Peter was standing. "They're always mum as an oyster when there's any +trouble. They say there's a wreck ahead." + +"Oh, my God!" ejaculated Peter, in a tone which was half profanity, +half prayer. + +He looked again at his watch. They were due in five minutes now, but +were still, obviously, far from their destination. + +"The doors will be closed at twelve o'clock," thought Peter, "and if +I'm too late----" + +Just then the train came to a grinding stop. + +Peter hurried to the door and down the steps. He paused on the bottom +one and, hanging on to the hand rail, swung out so that he could see +down the line. + +Ahead of the engine a red lantern bobbed along beside the track, close +to the ground. Still farther ahead another red light, apparently +suspended in mid air, winked through the mist. He could hear raised +voices in the smoking car behind him, and several men came out on +the platform, talking excitedly. Minutes passed and then, to Peter's +infinite satisfaction, in a breath, the light against the foggy sky +changed from red to green. + +"Thank God," said Peter, as, with the successive jerk of couplings, the +train moved slowly ahead. + +Peter regained his seat in an anxious frame of mind. He had reached +a point in his intricate problem where his impatient spirit could +brook no further delay. The train did not again come to a complete +standstill, but its progress through the fog was agonizingly slow. +Many times he looked at his watch, many times he shaded the glass of +the window to peer outside. The fog had changed to heavy mist, and it +became more and more difficult to form any idea as to where they were. + +And then, when it seemed as if time had ceased, and that a lost train +was wandering wearily through the fogs of the ages, a big arc light +flashed through the window--another, and another. Lighted windows were +all about. The train roared and rumbled into a cut, and Peter, with a +sigh of relief, realized that he was near his journey's end. + +He was the first person to alight from the train when it clanked +and hissed into the station. He stood on the forward deck of the +ferry boat, and impatiently watched the slowly nearing lights of the +great, dim city, wherein all his hopes were centred. He was the first +passenger to reach the rough block pavement of its streets, and in a +moment he was whirling through them as fast as, and perhaps faster +than, the traffic laws permit. + +He dismissed his cab at a dark corner of Washington Square, and once +more, a little before midnight, in a dripping mist, Peter crept along +the south side of Waverly Place. + +His soft whistle, twice repeated, brought the faithful Rawlins from the +shelter of a doorway. + +"Is it yourself, back again so soon, Mr. Clancy?" he asked, +superfluously. "And have you come to tell me that I can go home and to +bed this cheerful night, please God?" + +Peter ignored the question. + +"I'm in a hurry, Rawlins," he said, quickly. "Is the coast clear? I +want to go up to the apartment again." + +"You can chase yourself right along then," said Rawlins, promptly. "I +seen the dago go out half an hour ago, and he hasn't come back yet. If +you hustle----" + +Peter did not wait to hear more. He slipped across through the mist and +up the worn brown steps. He found the vestibule door open. The inner +door was closed but not locked. He was in time. + +Softly, soundlessly, he ascended the dim stairs, one flight, two +flights, three. Again he inserted his duplicate key in the lock, as he +had two nights before--only two nights, but what a difference there was +in the feeling with which he listened to the soft click of the lock as +the bolt threw back. Then it had been a forlorn hope. Now---- + +He closed the door softly, and went without hesitation into the living +room, in the front, setting down his handbag just inside the door. +Again he pulled down the shades at the three big windows, but this +time there was no uncertainty in the movements which followed. + +Flashlight in hand, he went quickly over to the desk and turned on +the small electric lamp. Then, slipping the flash into his pocket, +he immediately crossed the room and took down with care the pile of +magazines which were in the corner of the top book-shelf. + +He carried them over to the desk, and in the light of the candle +lamp went through them, one by one. The pages passed swiftly through +his fingers with a soft, fluttering noise which sounded loud in the +stillness, but Peter did not hear it, so intent was he upon his odd +quest. + +He looked like a student, as he sat there at midnight, with bent head, +poring over the pile of magazines, but he read nothing. His swift +fingers turned the pages, one by one, without pause, until he came to +a place where an article had been cut away. Then he stopped, drew out +a little leather book from his pocket, and made an entry--the name and +date of the magazine and the number of the page. He did this with each +magazine in turn, working methodically down through the pile until all +were finished. + +"I may be a damfool," he said to himself, with a tired sigh as he +rose from his cramped position, and lifting the mass of magazines, +replaced them on the shelf. "If I am, I am. That's all. But it's a +bet, a good bet, Pete. Even that wise old Mrs. Rutherford thought +so--and we're not passing any of 'em up.... Now, let's see. There's +one thing more--may not be any use, but it's better to get the whole +dope now I'm on the spot. It was the _Planet_. I remember that, and +the date was--no, I'm not exactly sure--the twenty-fourth, or the +twenty-fifth--and I've no idea what page. Better make sure----" + +Peter never knew exactly why he turned out the light in the living room +then. Some habitual instinct of caution, perhaps. At any rate, he did +turn it out, and guided his steps by his flashlight only as he made his +way down the long, narrow hall to the storeroom. + +Here he proceeded again, swiftly, unhesitatingly. He lit the gas, and +dropped to his knees beside the big trunk. There was a faint jingle +as he selected a key from the big bunch which he took from his pocket +and inserted it in the lock, a click as the bolt was released. There +was not a sound when he carefully raised the lid and folded back the +garments on top, until he came to a bundle wrapped in newspaper. + +This he lifted out and looked again at the wrapping. "The _Planet_, +May twenty-fifth--and the page--the fourth page," he muttered. "This, +probably, has nothing to do with the case. There'd be likely to be +a notice of the closing of 'Dark Roads' that she'd have wanted to +keep--but, anyway, now I've got the whole bag of tricks--and that's all +I can do to-night, thank Heaven. Gee, but I'm tired!" He pushed his +hand up through his hair, tilting his hat, which he had not removed, +to an acute angle, and again he said, with feeling, "Thank Heaven, I'm +through!" + +Then he replaced the package and closed and locked the trunk. He had +just turned the key, and was still upon his knees, when his whole body +suddenly stiffened. With a spring, he was upon his feet, and with one +swift, soundless motion, he had turned out the light. Then he waited, +every muscle tense, listening. + +In the solid darkness, far away at the other end of the hall, he heard +the unmistakable sound of a key cautiously turned in a lock. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + "HANDS UP!" + + +There was silence, absolute silence, and darkness impenetrable. Peter +waited, breathless, listening, the one available sense sharpened to +preternatural acuteness. + +Then faintly, faintly he heard the outer door move on its hinges, heard +a tiny click as it closed again, was aware of a little gleam of light +stealing along the floor, and of stealthy footsteps, coming nearer and +nearer, as the light perceptibly increased. + +Inch by inch, without a sound, Peter crept behind the storeroom door. +His right hand closed firmly on the edge and he drew it toward him, +widening the crack between the door and the jamb sufficiently to be +able to see the midnight intruder, if he--or she--came that far along +the hall. + +Softly the cautious, secret footsteps continued their advance. The +light was a distinct ray now, and Peter drew back into the shadow, +keeping his eyes in a line with the narrow aperture. Then the light +became a small, blinding circle, and as it flashed away Peter caught a +dim glimpse of the figure behind it. The reflected light from the wall +brought out the whites of the eyes and, less distinctly, the features +of the face. + +Peter gave a little inward gasp of satisfaction. His right hand +slipped swiftly back, with an accustomed gesture, and when he brought +it forward again it was not empty. Silent and quick as a cat, he slid +around the edge of the door. Three long, noiseless steps--a ring of +cold steel pressed against a sweating neck, and: + +"Hands up, Angelo!" + +The voice was low and stern, filled with icy menace. + +There was a crash and a sobbing oath. Two trembling hands shot up into +the air and remained there, rigid, protesting mutely against any need +for violence. + +"Keep 'em up, and turn around," said Peter, in a fierce whisper, +pulling out his own strong flashlight to take the place of Angelo's +little, cheap one which had fallen to the floor. "So--it was you--you, +all the time, Angelo! I might have known. An inside job--yes, it was +an inside job, all right. I knew that from the start, and I've had you +watched all along. You hear! And now I've caught you--you!" + +The little Italian shook and shivered, blinking in the blinding +light, glancing fearfully from Peter's face to the small, blue-black +instrument of death which pointed so unerringly at his pounding heart. + +"Don' shoot! Don' shoot, Boss," he pleaded in a sobbing whisper. "Me do +noding, noding only justa lika you say! Oh, Santa Maria dell' Angeli, +put up dat damma gun!" + +Still fixing the trembling wretch with menacing eyes, Peter slowly +dropped his hand and slid his small automatic into the side pocket of +his coat. + +"I'll shoot you through my pocket if you make a move, Angelo," he +hissed. "And I'd rather do it than not, see! Make no mistake about +that. Now, come with me," and he seized the janitor roughly by the +wrist. + +"Ug-g-gh!" Angelo cringed and caught Peter's grasping hand with his +left. "Take hol' furder up," he begged. "Gotta da sore arm, me--ver' +bad." + +Peter loosened his fingers just enough to disclose a long, scarcely +healed cut across the inner side of the man's wrist. He looked sharply +at it and at Angelo, then shifted his hold higher on the forearm. + +"I don't know why you think I ought to be tender of your feelings, you +scoundrel," he said, gruffly. "But come in where we can get a light. +I want to have a heart-to-heart talk with you, you lying, thieving, +murdering----Hell! What's that?" + +As he turned, Peter's foot struck hard against something which lay upon +the floor. + +"Datta da silv'!" Angelo wailed, softly. "Come putta him back--me." + +"Pick it up and bring it in here," ordered Peter, sternly. "And don't +try any tricks. I warn you----" + +Obediently, the Italian stooped, and picking up a rather large package, +roughly wrapped in newspapers, preceded Peter to the dining room, where +Peter swiftly lit the gas. + +"Now," said Peter, "you sit there. And keep your hands above the table." + +He drew up a chair on the opposite side, and ostentatiously laid his +automatic close beside him upon the dusty mahogany. + +"Now, Angelo," he said, grimly, "you're going to tell me how you killed +Miss Mary Blake." + +"Ah, Jesus Maria!" cried the little Italian, in agony, lifting his +trembling, shaking hands in the air, and looking at Peter with staring, +panic-stricken eyes. "Me no killa! Me! Mees Mary she go 'way--sist' go +'way! Nobod' here. Nobod'! Me no killa nobod' no time!" + +Peter's eyes narrowed as he looked fixedly at the man's face. + +"Did she tell you she was going away?--Miss Mary, did she tell you?" he +asked, earnestly. + +Angelo nodded quickly, and then shook his head. + +"What does that mean?" asked Peter, angrily. "Yes or no? You're a liar +anyway, Angelo. You said you thought they were still here. Now which is +it? Yes or no?" + +"Non, no! Mees Mary' sist', she tella me--Mees Anne!" + +"And what did she tell you? Think carefully, Angelo. Your life depends +on what you say now. You've got to convince me that you didn't murder +one or both of them. I can send you to the chair if you don't, see! +Take your time, but tell me exactly what Miss Anne said." + +The little Italian, thus tenderly admonished, was a pitiful sight to +see. His brown face was a sickly colour, like that of cocoa with too +much milk in it. His forehead was covered with beads of perspiration to +which his dark hair clung when he removed the shaking hand which had +been pressed against it. His heart may have been in his throat, for he +gulped once or twice, spasmodically, before he spoke: + +"Tella you da trut' now, Boss, by da great San Michaelo an alla da +Ange'." He crossed himself fervently, and raised his tense hand high in +the air. "Tella da trut', now, sure! Tella da lie once, me--but no any +more. Dis da trut'. _Si. Si._" + +He dropped his hand. Peter leaned forward, fixing him with unwinking +eyes. + +"All right," said Peter. "But you've got to make good this time, +understand. Come across with it. What did Miss Anne say, and when was +it?" + +"On Sunday morn', early, ver' early. Mees Anne she come down w'en me +wash vestabula. She say, 'Angelo, my sist' she go 'way las' night. +Me go to-day. May stay longa time. Da rent he is pay t'ree mont'. Me +fixa ev't'ing. No needa you go inna da flat. Ev't'ing alla righta.'" +He threw his hands out, palms upward. "An' dat alla she say. But she +no leava da house till five in da eve'. See her in tax' wit' bigga +da tronk. She go herself, an' sist' she go night before. Me no killa +eith' one, me! No! No! Believa me--no! Madre de Dio, Boss, me tella da +trut'!" + +"That sounds all right, Angelo. You say it easy," said Peter, still +glowering. "But I've only your word for it. And how about all that +blood we found, spilled around the apartment, and that big spot on Miss +Mary's scarf? How can you account for----" + +"Signore! Boss! Listen!" broke in the excited Italian. Jumping up from +his chair, he supported his trembling body with one hand, pressed flat +down, upon the table, while with the other he gesticulated wildly. "Me +tella you 'bout alla blood, how he come. He was alla from dis, from +dis!" He raised his right hand, and with the left struck the wounded +wrist rapidly, many times. "He cutta himself on wind' in kitch'." + +"On the window in the kitchen. That's a likely story," said Peter, in +apparent disgust. "Why, that was a month ago, Angelo. It would have +healed twice over in that time, if----" + +"Non. No!" Angelo interrupted, passionately. "He not come well. He stay +sick--all swella up. He hurta lika hell. I t'ink he punishmen'--_Si, +si!_" + +"Punishment for what, Angelo? If you didn't murder Miss Blake, what was +there to be punished for?" + +"Non. No!" Angelo reiterated the agitated disclaimer. "No murd'! No +murd'! Me tella da trut'!" + +"You said that before," said Peter, sternly. + +"Ye-ah, ye-ah! Alla right! Now I tella. See, Boss. Listen! Me gotta +sick wife. Maria. _Si, si._ She ver', ver' sick, longa time. Doc' say +she mus' go countree. Me no gotta da mon'--dat's easy. How me getta +da mon'? No good. Can do noding, me. Den, Boss, listen. Night before +Mees Anne an' Mees Mary go 'way me hava da dream--longa dream----" +His voice dropped, and his eyes were wide. "All inna da dream me see +nombre--7741. Jus' lika dat--7741.... Inna da morn' me tella Maria. She +say mus' be nombre for lot'----" + +"Lot?" asked Peter, frowning, and then, a light breaking--"Lottery--you +mean lottery?" + +"_Si! Si! Si!_" Many nods. "_Si_, lot'! Me t'ink lika Maria, ye-ah, +me t'ink lucky nombre! But," a shrug, "no gotta da mon'. Den, alla +same day, dat ver' same Sunday--Mees Anne, she go 'way.... Mees Anne +gone--sist' gone--me t'ink--lil' dev' whisp'--me bor' some lil' +t'ings--no steala, bor', see? I can--what you say?--pawna da silv', da +ringa, da necklace, da pin--an' bringa back w'en lucky nombre come, I +maka some mon', see?" + +"I see what you mean me to think," said Peter, gruffly. "Go on." + +"So-o--me come up here--late--alla dark, but me hava da lil' +flasha light, see? Come in--looka all 'roun'--in desk, in draw', +alla place.... Noding--no ringa, no necklace, no pin.... Come outa +here--fin' silv', lotta silv' in draw' an' onna da top. Me maka him in +bund', queek, queek! Me getta him all-read'! Den, presto, I t'ink--Mees +Blake, she come back--maybe somebod' come befora da lot' is draw. Who +gotta da key but Angelo? Den gotta fright', me, Boss. Gotta ver' bada +fright'.... T'ink, queek! queek!--me feex so dey t'ink t'ief, he come +fire-'scape. Sure. _Si, si_, ha! Go in kitch'--me slip queek over by +wind'--den! S-s-h! Me hear biga, longa ringa, downstair' on bell! Me +stop--listen. Know I mus' go down, queek!--Hava da big bun' of silv' +onna da arm!--What I do? All afraid dey catch Angelo! Mus' feex so dey +t'ink t'ief come from da outside, see?... Queek, queek--me smasha da +wind' right by da lock--so! Diavolo! feel cutta on da wris'. Grab him +queek--go run inna da hall. Me know he isa bleed', so pull outa da +bandan'--he red, so no can see da bleed--wind him roun' tight!--All I +do, fas', fas'--alla tima da bell ring---- + +"I know it is da groun' floor. Dat lady, she alla time forgetta da +key--so I run down queek, an' leava da bun' in dark onna da stair.... +I go open da door--it is da groun' floor, lika I know--an' t'inka me +alla right now!--Santa Maria!" It was a bitter wail, and overcome by a +succession of troubles, the poor wretch laid his head down on the table +and sobbed. + +The grim austerity of Peter's face softened. + +"And what is this, Angelo?" he asked, touching the newspaper-wrapped +package which was lying beside him on the table. + +"Da silv', da silv'!" moaned Angelo, without raising his head. "Me +tella you, it was da silv'." + +Peter drew the package toward him and pulled off the string which held +it fast, disclosing a number of pieces of flat silver and a small +coffee service. + +"Is it all here?" asked Peter, quietly. + +The rough head upon the table moved up and down in assent. + +"But how did you get it back?" Peter's voice had taken a new tone. "I +thought you lost out when the lottery was drawn." + +Angelo was too far gone to notice this evidence of Peter's omniscience. + +"Playa da same nombre twice--two day'," muttered Angelo. "Firs' +day--lose; secon' day he come alla right, lika dream." + +"And as soon as you won you took the silver out of hock and brought it +back?" + +Again the silent nod. + +Peter sat back in his chair and looked for a long time at the rough, +bowed head. At last he spoke, and in his voice was a half-quizzical +kindliness. + +"You're a great rascal, Angelo, and a stupid fool to boot, and you've +made me a lot of trouble, dammit. But I believe you've told me the +truth at last----" + +Angelo raised his stricken head. A gleam of something like hope shone +in his eyes. + +"Yes," Peter went on, "I believe you've told me the truth, and I +will say it's helped to clear things up. But now, listen. One thing +more--how did Miss Blake's scarf come to be stained with blood, and +how did it happen to be just where we found it?" Peter was thinking +aloud more than he was addressing Angelo. "It fell down behind the +trunk, and nobody noticed it. The cabman pulled it along the hall when +it caught on the bottom of the trunk, and he shook, or kicked it loose, +just at the hall door.... And afterward, that same night, you chanced +to walk over it, and it must have caught--that sort of soft, fringy +thing would catch on anything--a rough place on your shoe, perhaps.... +You dragged it across the sill, and when the door shut, it held the +scarf fast.... But the blood on it? If you bound up your wrist I don't +quite see----" + +"_Si, si!_" cried Angelo. "But looka, looka, Boss. Listen! Me feex da +bandan' 'roun' him--so, an' hol' him fas', but w'en I comma to da door, +mus' use bot' han', see? Lika dis----" He made the motion of turning +two knobs at once, and Peter remembered that it was necessary to do +this in order to open the hall door. "I mus' let him go, an' da blood, +he jumpa out an' fall onna da door. You showa me da place, Boss! You no +remember?" + +"And it fell on the scarf just below," Peter nodded, slowly. "Yes, I +see. I guess that's right, Angelo. I guess that explains--well, and +that's that," he added, rising to his feet. "Put the silver back where +you found it, Angelo--so--that the way it was? All right. Now," he laid +his hand heavily on the Italian's shoulder, "come with me." + +Angelo drew a deep sigh, and slowly twisted his head to look up into +Peter's face. What he saw there caused him to start--to cry out--and +then, with head bent before the array of silver he had been honest +enough to redeem, to sob out his heart in a long string of thankful, +reverent profanity. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + A HIGH WALL + + +The doors of the great columned façade of the New York Public Library +were scarcely opened, on the following day, when a young man with eager +Irish blue eyes and very red hair might have been, and probably was, +seen, at least by the doorkeeper, making his way toward the Periodical +Room. + +Probably, too, he was remembered for some little time by the young +librarian in charge of the magazines, for not only was he of +exceptionally pleasant address, but his wants, though definite, were +astonishingly varied. + +He spent some time in going over the magazines which were brought to +him, made several notes in a little worn leather-covered book, and +once, when he referred back to places he had marked with cards in two +previously examined periodicals, and compared them with the one in his +hand, there was a gleam of satisfaction, triumph, perhaps, in his eye. + +At last he rose, and passing into the newspaper department, consulted a +file of the New York _Planet_ for May. After that he left the library +and proceeded, as rapidly as possible, to a small office building near +Broadway, where the sign "Clancy and O'Malley" was modestly displayed +in bronze upon the side post of the entrance. + +"Well, O'Malley," said Peter, plunging into his partner's private +office, "I've had one hell of a time!" + +"That so?" said the old man, looking up with a hearty, welcoming glance +into the face of his young colleague. "I got your wire, Pete. Glad you +fixed it up with Morris. Sit down, lad, and tell me all about it." + +"Gee, O'Malley, I'd like to," said Peter, wearily, "but I can't tell +yet whether I'll have the time. Oh, there you are, Jack," he broke +off as a boy came into the room with several time-tables in his hand. +"That's quick work, son. Now, let's see----" + +He dropped down upon a chair beside the desk, and began running through +the time-tables at a rapid rate. + +"Are you off again, Pete?" asked O'Malley, anxiously. "You look done +up, boy. I know your wire said that you might have to----" + +"Yes, and it spoke the truth," said Peter, hurriedly. "I've got to get +the next train for Chicago that will connect with one going down to +Cordenham. Cordenham," he repeated, running his finger down a column of +names. "Here we are--Cordenham----" + +"For the love of Mike, Peter," said O'Malley, "what the devil, and +where the devil is Cordenham?" + +"I don't know yet what the devil it may turn out to be," said Peter, +still intent on the time-table, "but Cordenham is a little place +somewhere south of Chicago--and it's destined to be famous one of +these days if what I've learned this morning turns out to be true. You +can take it from me----Oh--leave Chicago," he was reading now, "leave +Chicago one-twenty-six, arrive Cordenham four-seventeen. That can't be +right--nearly three hours--yes, it is. Leave Chicago one-twenty-six, +arrive Cordenham four-seventeen. Gee! Must be a rotten little road.... +I say, O'Malley, how would you rather go to Chicago?" + +"In a coffin," replied the confirmed and prejudiced New Yorker, +promptly. + +Peter chuckled. "No, but I mean it, O'Malley. Which is the best train?" + +"The one that takes longest to go and the one that's quickest coming +back," answered O'Malley, and Peter was forced to decide his route from +his own, more limited experience. + +He chose a train which left the Pennsylvania Station at eleven o'clock, +and reached Chicago at nine on the following morning. This would give +him ample leeway, in case the Western train was late, to make the +connection for Cordenham. After his last night's experience he wished +to run no risk. + +When he had made his decision, he threw the time-tables down on the +desk and turned to his partner. + +"I only have a little time, O'Malley," he said, "but I want to put you +wise to something I turned up last night. It was a peach of a piece of +luck, and explains a lot, as you'll see for yourself." + +And he proceeded rapidly to relate the story of his having surprised +Angelo in Miss Blake's apartment. + +"I put the screws on him after I'd caught him," Peter said. "You may be +sure of that, O'Malley. I made him believe that I thought he'd murdered +one or both of the sisters." + +"But you couldn't have thought that, Peter," interrupted O'Malley, +quickly. + +"No, of course not," answered Peter, readily. "I sized the situation up +pretty well, from the minute he told me there was silver in the bundle +he was carrying. But I wanted to get the dope straight, and the best +way, of course, was to scare him into it, poor devil." Then he went +on to tell of Angelo's confession. "I let him off easy," he said, in +conclusion, "what else could I do, O'Malley? If either of us had a wife +who was desperately ill, and we needed the money for her--well, all I +said to him was, 'It's a poor bet, Angelo. Nobody gets away with it for +long. Promise me you'll never try it on again.' And he promised by all +the saints in the calendar.... And that was that." + +O'Malley was silent for a moment when Peter had finished. Then he said: + +"So--our murder theory's knocked into a cocked hat. At least it seems +that way to me, Pete. Doesn't it to you?" + +"Well," said Peter, eyeing his partner meditatively, "you mustn't +forget that the only person seen to leave the apartment took with +her a big trunk. That the large sum at the bank could be drawn out by +Anne as well as by Mary--that, apparently, only Anne's clothes are +gone--oh--and all the rest of it. We've only solved the one problem, +that is, as to why there was blood in several places in the apartment +and why the rooms were all upset." + +"Do you believe Angelo's story, Pete?" asked O'Malley, earnestly. + +"I do." The answer was sharp and to the point. "I think even an old +hand like you, O'Malley, would have been convinced. I think you may +take it for granted that the only blood spilled was Angelo's.... Now, +where do you go from there?" + +"Are you kidding me, Pete?" asked O'Malley, with a little twinkle in +his sharp old eyes. "Are you trying to draw me so as to get the laugh +on the old man? Have you got something new, boy?" eagerly. "You have, I +can see it in your eye! What is it, Pete? What----" + +"Oh, lord!" After a hasty glance at his watch Peter had jumped to his +feet. "I've got to clear out this minute, O'Malley," he said. "I've +just time to get my ticket and catch the train. Send up a prayer that +I'll get a night's rest on the train, if you think you have any pull +up above, for I need it, old top. Yes, I was kidding you." He laid his +hand on the old man's broad shoulder. "I've got something, and I think +it's good, but I can't tell you till I'm sure. It may be a pipe dream, +after all. And, anyway, I can't stop now. Good-bye, old scout. Wish me +luck." + +"Good-bye and good luck, Pete," said O'Malley, gravely, as their hands +met. "I'll be thinking about you, boy. Good-bye." + +He turned back when Peter, in his tumultuous exit, slammed the door. + +"Youth," he said, shaking his gray head. "Youth and courage--and +brains--brains!" + + * * * * * + +A day and a night and almost another day passed uneventfully for +Captain O'Malley. For Peter the time was marked only by the click +and rumble of swiftly moving wheels, the roaring and shrieking of +the train; a few hours' respite in Chicago, and then on again, more +slowly and with lessened comfort, in the dingy, red plush-covered seat +of a day coach, counting the little stations as they passed--and, at +last--Cordenham. + +At the tiny way-station he alighted from the train and proceeded to +make his inquiries. + +"Oh, yes. You can find it easy enough," said the old expressman in +answer to Peter's question, eyeing him a trifle curiously, Peter +thought. "It's about half a mile straight down the road. You'll know it +by the high wall all 'round the place. The old Mayhew place, we calls +it. It was a crank of an Englishman that built it. He died a spell ago. +But you'll know it by the stone wall. You can't miss it. It's only +about half a mile, and ask for the Mayhew place. Anybody can tell you." + +With these explicit directions Peter set off down the flat and lonely +road. The day had been hot and breathless, but now, in the early +evening, a cooling breeze was springing up, rippling the fields of +standing grain and rustling in the trees along the dusty road. Peter +bared his head to the refreshing air, and strode forward with swift and +determined steps. + +He passed few houses along the way, and fewer people. One of these, a +bright-looking boy, in torn overalls, he stopped and asked if he was on +the right road to the Mayhew place. + +The answer was a nod and a pointing finger, and the boy passed on, +kicking up the soft dust with his bare feet. + +Just after this Peter crossed a wooden bridge over a thread of water +running between wide, eroded banks, and came to a small, dark wood. +The wood passed, he came suddenly upon a long stretch of high stone +wall, incongruous in such a setting, and behind the wall, at some +little distance, he could see the top of an old stone house which +appeared more incongruous still, for it was on the lines of an old +English castle, with high, crenelated walls. On the top of the roof, +most incongruous of all, was a modern super-structure, largely of +glass, and, as Peter looked, a strange, brilliant light of a queer +bluish purple flared out through the windows--died down--flared once +again--and was gone. + +Peter muttered something to himself, and went on along the wall, +stopping quietly on the closely trimmed grass which lay between it +and the road. Soon he came to a closed gate, a high gate of heavy +wrought-iron work. He paused here only long enough to look down a +well-kept driveway shaded with dark trees and thickly planted with +shrubbery. There was not a soul in sight. Then he continued on about +five hundred feet to the visible end of the wall. + +He had hoped that the wall had simply been built to ensure privacy from +the road, as is the case in so many American homes, but he found, to +his disappointment, that the wall continued at right angles, probably +enclosing the entire estate. + +Peter was rather at a loss how to proceed. He had wished, if possible, +to make sure of one point before coming out into the open, and the +height of the wall bade fair to defeat even the possibility of +accomplishing his purpose. + +He stood for a moment at the corner thinking how best to proceed. As +he glanced about him, he noticed a rough though well-worn path leading +away from the road and, following the turn of the wall, through a wood +of tall trees and thick underbrush. + +"I'll take a chance," thought Peter, and quietly entered the path. + +He had walked far enough to be certain, though he could not see it, +that he had passed the house, when suddenly he came to a stop. On the +other side of the wall he could hear voices. Two women's voices he +made them out to be, though he could not hear the words. It was the +first sign of life he had found around the odd, lonely place. + +"I _will_ have a look in," he thought, determinedly, and glancing +swiftly about, he saw a tree tall enough and near enough to the wall +for his purpose. + +Quick and light as a panther, he was up among the leafy branches in +a second. He had chosen well; for below him, clear to view, were the +lawns and garden of the queer old house. + +Just beneath, to the left of the tree he had chosen, were the two +women whose voices he had heard. One was dressed in the crisp white +of a nurse. The other Peter could not see well, for she was in a +wheel chair, the back of which was toward the wall. He could hear +the voices a little more distinctly now, though the words were +still indistinguishable. The nurse's voice had the usual cheerful +professional ring, the other spoke in a high, thin, "society" drawl. +Both voices dimmed as the women moved slowly away across the lawn. + +"Nothing doing," thought Peter to himself, and immediately losing +interest in the couple who had been so near him his quick eyes roamed +farther afield. + +On the lawns and about the garden, gay with flowers, several other +figures moved. They were mostly in couples, a nurse, and with her +another woman, some walking about and some being wheeled in chairs. + +At some distance from the rest one woman walked alone, a slender figure +dressed in black. She walked swiftly, with long, even, purposeful +steps. She was opposite the house and moving away from Peter when he +first saw her. The instant he caught sight of her there was no one else +in all the grounds for Peter. His eyes followed her every movement. +She reached the shrubbery which closed the view on the opposite side +of the lawn. Peter held his breath. Would she enter the shrubbery and +disappear from sight? No. She had turned, and was coming slowly toward +him. + +When the dark figure again reached the house, Peter had another bad +moment, but, without pause, like one who paces a deck for exercise, the +woman rapidly advanced. Nearer and nearer she came. Now she skirted the +end of a flower bed and was on the lawn just beneath Peter's tree. + +In his excitement, Peter's foot slipped a little, and a small, dead +branch broke with a sharp snap. The woman looked up--and Peter +knew--knew without shadow of doubt, that he was looking into the face +of the woman he had so long and so earnestly sought--the woman who +called herself--Anne Blake. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + THE WOMAN SHULTZE + + +The hours which followed Peter's abrupt and unexpected departure from +Fennimore Park passed long and heavily for Donald Morris. He waited +for nearly twenty-four hours, hoping to get a wire, and all the while, +though he was physically better for the change, his mind chafed at his +distance from the scene of action. + +Soon after Peter had gone Morris had motored up the hill to Mrs. +Rutherford's cottage, only to be told that she was suffering from a bad +headache and had gone to bed. In the morning he had called her up on +the telephone, to inquire as to her health, and to ask if he might see +her, but found, to his great surprise, that she had gone to town on the +morning train. + +Disappointed and anxious, he felt that he could stand it no longer. The +momentary collapse, of which his sister had taken advantage to get him +away from town for a time, was practically over. He felt considerably +better, but the uncertainty and inaction, combined with Peter's odd +behaviour and Mrs. Rutherford's sudden return to New York, made him +feel that he must follow them. He had no means of knowing that Clancy +was no longer there. He hoped to see him not later than that evening, +for he had determined to take the noon train from Tollenville. + +"I'll be just as comfortable at home as I am here, Helena," he said, +when she remonstrated with him. "I'm taking Hobbs back with me and +he'll look out for me as well as you could. Don't worry, dear, I'll be +much better off at home." + +He kissed her, gently, and went out to the car which was already +waiting to take him to the train. + +On the evening of the day, then, when Peter arrived at Cordenham, but +at a somewhat later hour, Donald Morris reached New York. Late as it +was, his first action on arriving was to call Peter's office on the +telephone, and he was lucky enough to find O'Malley still there. + +The old man told him briefly of Peter's sudden departure from the city, +and added: + +"He was in a devil of a rush, and I don't, myself, know what he's up +to, Mr. Morris. But he did give me some information which I think would +interest you. I've got to go out just now, but I'll be back here by +eight o'clock. Lot of work I must make up--and if you could find it +convenient to come over after dinner--or I'll come to your house----" + +"No, no. I'll come to you," said Morris, hastily. "I can, perfectly +well, and I think I'd rather be there than anywhere else. Clancy +probably thinks I'm still at Fennimore Park, and you'll be likely to +get any news there is before I would. I'll come over a little after +eight. It's good of you to take the time----" + +"Not at all, not at all," said O'Malley, cordially. "Wish I had some +real good news for you--not that this isn't good, as far as it goes----" + +Donald therefore made ready to leave his sister's house in Gramercy +Park a little before eight that evening. Somewhat encouraged by +O'Malley's cheerful tone, and the fact that news, good news as far as +it went, awaited him, he had dined with more appetite than he had known +for several days. As the hands of the tall clock in the hall marked the +hour of seven-forty-five, having noted from his window that the taxi he +had summoned to take him to O'Malley's office was already drawn up at +the curb, he descended the stairs from his room, expecting to leave the +house at once. + +He had seen the cabman run up the steps, and after a short colloquy +with someone at the door, return to his cab. He was surprised, +therefore, as he passed his sister's apartments on the second floor, to +hear the sound of voices in the hall below. Since he had dismissed his +valet for the night, he knew that, besides himself, there was no one +in the house except an old coloured woman who had been in the family +for two generations, and who always took charge of the house when the +family were away for the summer. + +Fearing that it might be a casual friend who would detain him, Donald +waited, out of sight, in the upper hall, until he could determine +who the unexpected caller might be. As he paused to listen, he heard +Susan's soft old voice: + +"I don' think you can see Mistah Morris to-night," it said. "He jus' +goin' out." + +"But I must see him." It was a woman's voice, sharp, thin, and nasal. +"He'll want to see me when he knows who I come from. You tell him, and +tell him quick, that there's a lady here waiting to see him that can +tell him something he wants, most particular, to know. Tell him that I +seen the piece in the paper Monday and that I know where the lady is. +You tell him that, and----" + +"It's all right, Susan," cried Donald, running swiftly down the stairs. +"I'll see her. Just go out and tell the cabman to wait, please." As +Susan quietly disappeared, he spoke quickly, breathlessly, to the other +woman. "Come in here," he said, leading the way into a small, formal +reception room at the right of the hall, and switching on the lights as +he entered. + +The woman followed obediently. She was a large, stout, middle-aged +person, dressed elaborately in a cheap imitation of the latest mode. +There were many gaudy rings on her ungloved hands, and in her ears +were earrings of such size and weight as to make one fear for her +equilibrium should she lose one of them. Her face, which must once +have been handsome in a common way, was slack-skinned and puffy, and +covered heavily with powder and rouge. As she walked, her fluttering, +scanty garments exhaled a heavy perfume. + +Donald was too much excited to be seriously affected by her +unprepossessing appearance. + +"Please sit down," he said, quickly, "and tell me what you have to say." + +She sank luxuriously into a soft-cushioned chair, and with a keen, +observant eye took in her surroundings and the appearance of the man +who remained standing before her. + +"You're Mr. Morris--Mr. Donald Morris?" she asked, looking sharply up +at him. "Yes. Well, then, I'll tell you--and if there's anything in +it----" + +"There'll be something in it for you," Donald hastily assured her, "if +you can give me the information I'm looking for." + +"How much?" asked the woman, tersely. Her eyes were little points of +avaricious light. + +Donald recoiled a little, and hesitated. The woman, keenly observant, +hastened to retrieve her mistake. + +"Not that I care for myself," she said, softening her nasal voice. +"It's the poor thing I'm thinking of. She needs care and attention +that I can't afford to give her, but if some of her friends would come +across I could do for her as any one would wish to, the poor, beautiful +young thing." + +"Of whom are you speaking?" asked Donald, rendered somewhat cautious, +in spite of his keen desire to hear more. + +"Why, you know, of course, Mr. Morris. Who would I be speaking of to +you like this? It's Miss Mary Blake I'm talking about, though I wasn't +sure, myself, at first, and never would have known at all, if it hadn't +been for that piece in the paper." + +"Mary! Miss Blake?" cried Donald, starting forward. "Do you mean to +tell me you really know where she is?" + +"I certainly do, Mr. Morris," said the woman, confidently. "Why, she's +been in my house for about a month now. She come the first of June, or +a day or two before." + +"Mary!" muttered Donald to himself. "Here, all this time we've been +looking--hunting the country over----" Aloud he said, eagerly: "And +she's there now?" + +"She is that, Mr. Morris. I come straight from her." + +"Did she send you to me?" The question was anxious, but filled with +wondering hope. + +"Well," said the woman, slightly evasive, "you can't exactly say she +sent me. Not exactly. But she'll be all right when she sees you--I'm +sure of that." + +"All right?" asked Donald, quickly. "What do you mean by 'all right'? +Is she ill? Is anything the matter----" + +"Now, now, don't get excited, Mr. Morris," she interrupted, +soothingly. "She's all right. She's well and comfortable. Just a little +queer, maybe, but nothing to speak of, and when she sees you----" + +"But I don't understand----" Morris began, anxiously. + +"No, probably you don't, and I'd better tell you the whole story," said +the woman, easily. "I'd better spill the whole dope, and then you'll +see just how the land lays." + +Donald sank into a chair near by and the woman, leaning forward, spoke +confidentially: + +"My name's Shultze, Mrs. Gertrude Shultze, though all my friends call +me 'Trudie'," she said, in what she evidently considered a society +manner. "I keep a very classy boarding house for ladies and gentlemen +at 111 West Forty ---- Street. Well, that's me. Now, about the first +of June, a young lady comes to my house, a very beautiful young lady, +I think you'll agree, Mr. Morris. She's very quiet, respectable, and +ladylike"--Donald shuddered--"keeps herself to herself, and at first +she paid right along, as a real lady should. I thought, from the +start-off, that her manner was a bit strange, but I didn't really begin +to notice nothing till just a week or so ago. I hadn't seen much of +her, to tell you the truth, Mr. Morris, for the simple reason that +she paid to have her meals sent up until a short time ago, and after +that, she only took the room, and had her meals out, I suppose, though +I never seen her go out that I can remember, but, of course, I'm that +busy what with all the gentlemen taking up my time and that----" + +Donald was frowning heavily. His interruption was rather brusque: + +"What name did this young lady give when she came to your house, +Mrs.--Mrs. Shultze?" + +"Oh, didn't I tell you? She gave the name of Curwood." + +Donald caught his breath. "Curwood?" he asked, sharply, and, +remembering the name Clancy had discovered at Hobart Falls, he repeated +it again--"Curwood." + +"Of course I'm aware now that it wasn't her real name," the woman went +on, knowingly. "As soon as I seen her photo in the paper, it set me +thinking. I couldn't get it out of me head, and the more I thought, the +surer I was. But this child don't go off half-cocked, believe me! So, +thinks I to myself, I know a place where they sells pictures of actors +and actresses, and I slipped over to Broadway this very afternoon, and +I buys three of Mary Blake, all different views. I studies 'em, you +may be sure, and when I goes up to see if she can come across with the +bit of money she's owing me, I give her the once-over--and there ain't +no doubt left in my mind. There couldn't be. It's Miss Mary Blake, all +right, all right"--confidently. "You can put all your money on that +horse, Mr. Morris." + +Donald Morris shut his teeth together. He could not bear to think +what this month had been to Mary, shut up in the sort of house this +woman would have. Why had she hidden there? What reason could there +have been? As to her identity, he had no doubt. The woman, Shultze, +was sharp and keen enough--and there was the name--Curwood. It was an +unusual name, and Clancy was sure that his information was correct. No. +There could be no doubt. + +It was horrible to his sensitive nature to be obliged to make use of +this woman, but he saw no other way. Something she had said---- + +"I think you told me you noticed something strange in the lady's +manner, Mrs. Shultze." His voice was abrupt though he strove to speak +in his usual tone. "Just what did you mean by that?" + +"Why," the woman hesitated slightly, though Donald was under the +impression that she was not trying to be evasive, "I don't quite know +how to put it, Mr. Morris, but between friends, it seemed to me that +Miss Blake--or Miss Curwood, as she calls herself--has kind of--lost +her memory." + +"Just how do you mean?" asked Donald, groaning inwardly. If the woman +was right, if Mary's mind were affected---- + +"She doesn't even seem to remember who I am," answered Mrs. Shultze, +quickly. "And when I asked who her friends were, and if some of +'em mightn't stake her for awhile, she looked at me, kind of +blank-like, and she says, putting her hand to her head, like this, +'Friends--friends? I don't believe I have a friend in the world.' And +you know, Mr. Morris, that's all nonsense. Of course a young lady like +her's bound to have all the friends she wants. And then, when I found +out who she was, why, 'twas only natural I should come to the gentleman +the paper mentioned, thinking that any one that knew the poor thing +would be glad to help her. But, if you don't see your way to that," her +raised eyebrows and lifted chin were slightly aggressive, "why, the +paper give the name of her manager, Mr. Frederick Jones, and I can go +to him. I don't believe he's no tightwad, and I guess----" + +Donald Morris leaped to his feet. His subsequent actions were almost +automatic, so poignant were his emotions. + +"Wait one moment, Mrs. Shultze," he said, hurriedly. "I'll go with you +at once. Just wait one moment." + +He dashed through the hall and into a big library at the back of the +house. Seating himself at a telephone desk, he called O'Malley. When +the connection was made: + +"I can't come to your office to-night, Captain O'Malley." He spoke +rapidly, and the old man at the other end of the wire caught the +excitement in his tone. + +"Why, what's up, Mr. Morris?" he asked, quickly. + +"I know where Miss Blake is, O'Malley," Donald cried. "She's staying +with a woman who's here in the house now. I'm going to her at once. +I----" + +"Don't you want me to go with you, Mr. Morris? I can as well as not, +and I'll keep in the background if you say so. Don't you think it would +be advisable? Where is she?" + +"The address is 111 West Forty ---- Street...." O'Malley whistled under +his breath, but Donald did not hear him. "I don't quite know----" He +hesitated. + +"Pick me up at the northwest corner of Broadway and Thirty-ninth +Street," said O'Malley, crisply. "I'll be there before you are and it +won't cause any delay. If you don't need me, I'll just stay in the cab." + +"All right, O'Malley. I think I'll be glad to have you along," Donald +agreed, and with a caution born of his estimate of Mrs. Gertrude +Shultze, he added, swiftly, "Don't mention your--your profession before +the person you'll find in the cab with me. I'll say you're a friend of +Miss Blake's." + +"I'm on," said O'Malley, briefly, and Morris hung up the receiver. + +He went swiftly back to the reception room. + +"I'm ready, Mrs. Shultze," he said. + +The woman gave him a long, calculating glance, and followed to the +waiting cab. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + 111 WEST FORTY ---- STREET + + +Gertrude Shultze listened attentively while Donald instructed the +cabman to go to number 111 West Forty ---- Street, but to stop on +the way and pick up another passenger on the northwest corner of +Thirty-ninth Street. She looked at him shrewdly from the corner of her +eye as the cab started forward, and after a moment she said: + +"Who's your friend, Mr. Morris? I shouldn't think Miss Blake would be +any too crazy to have a crowd----" + +"It's a friend of Miss Blake's," said Morris, shortly. "Someone who is +almost as interested in finding her as I am." + +"Oh," said the woman, and remained silent for several minutes, much to +Donald's relief. + +She started talking again (it was obvious that she could not be +silent for long), but she said nothing of any consequence to Donald. +Her chatter annoyed him because it gave him no time to think, and he +was relieved when he saw O'Malley's bulky old figure standing at the +appointed place. + +O'Malley jumped in, with surprising agility for one of his age and +figure, almost before the cab came to a standstill, and after being +introduced to Mrs. Shultze, he bore the brunt of the conversation. Even +then, Donald had little opportunity for concentrated thought for his +attention was distracted by the clever way in which the old man drew +the woman out, making an excellent impression by the interest he showed +in her personal concerns. The adaptable old fellow had no difficulty, +apparently, in meeting her on her own ground, and in the few minutes +which elapsed before the cab stopped in front of her house he had +gained such headway that she made no difficulty whatever about his +accompanying Mr. Morris. + +With her own latch-key she opened the door of the big, somewhat shabby +house, and requested the gentlemen to follow her upstairs. + +Donald hesitated to go up unannounced, but she imperatively overruled +his objections. + +"Your best bet is to go in sudden, Mr. Morris," she said. "It may be a +shock, but if you ask me, I think a shock is just what the poor thing +needs." + +O'Malley cast a sharp, questioning look from one to the other, and +Mrs. Shultze told him at once of Miss Blake's loss of memory. When he +understood: + +"I think she's right, Mr. Morris," he said. "I've had some +experience--I mean I've seen a case of this sort, and it was just the +shock of seeing someone well known in the past that brought the memory +back. It's worth trying." + +Donald agreed to that, and all three, Mrs. Shultze in the lead, went +up the heavily carpeted, dusty stairs. When they reached the top floor, +she pointed to a door and placing her finger on her lips, knocked +softly. + +"Who's there?" + +Donald started forward at the sound of the voice within the room. +O'Malley put his hand on Donald's arm. + +"Wait," he said, in a low whisper. + +"It's only me, dearie," said Mrs. Shultze in honeyed accents. She tried +the door, and finding it locked, added more sweetly still, "Won't you +let me in?" + +There was no answer except the sound of a key turning in a lock. Mrs. +Shultze cast a warning glance at the two men, opened the door and +stepped quickly inside, leaving it ajar. + +"How are you to-night, dearie?" + +"I'm very well, I think. I'm not sure. What is it you want? You've been +here before about something, but what is it, I can't remember." + +At the first words Donald started again, convulsively. He stepped close +to the door and listened intently to that voice, that beloved voice, +now so uncertain, so strangely altered, yet the same--the same. + +"Oh, forget it, dearie," Mrs. Shultze had responded at once, with +exaggerated cheerfulness. "We won't talk about that now. I've brought a +friend to see you, sweetie. That's the way little Trudie looks out for +them she takes a fancy to. I've brought an old friend----" There was a +low murmur and the woman, evidently replying to it, said: "You look all +right, dearie. He won't mind." Donald knew that she had turned toward +the door, for her voice was louder as she added, "Come in, Mr. Morris." + +"I'll stay here," whispered O'Malley in Donald's ear. "Leave the door +open. I'll keep out of sight." + +Scarcely hearing, with heart beating wildly, Donald pushed open the +door. + +"Mary," he cried, chokingly. "Mary! At last!" + +She was seated on the other side of a small table, leaning slightly +forward, her cheek resting on her right hand, in a position poignantly +familiar; but the exquisite face--oh, how changed and ravaged it was! +Only the great, gold-gray eyes burned with the old fire. + +Donald cried out again, "Mary!" and threw himself on his knees beside +her. Mrs. Shultze, keeping herself well in the background, watched with +calculating eyes. + +O'Malley, in the hall, saw the woman at the table draw back, turning +sidewise in her chair. + +"I--I don't understand----" The voice was sweet, low, and troubled, +"Ought I to know you? I can't think----" She passed her hand across her +forehead, pushing back the lovely curves of soft dark hair. + +"Oh, Mary," there was heart-break in the tone, "don't you remember? +It's Donald. Donald. You must----" + +"I can't remember," she said, gently drawing her rather worn silk +négligée closer about her. "There was someone--someone once, who spoke +to me like that.... But it was long ago--long ago, I think." She looked +at the upturned face steadily, trying to thread her way back through +the darkness of her mind. "Who was it? There have been so many--so +many faces.... They come and go--in dreams--but they have no names.... +They're like scenes in a play. The curtain comes down ... and it's all +dark--all dark----" The beautiful voice trailed off into silence, and +again she dropped her cheek on her hand. + +"But, Mary, Mary----" Donald strove, in agony, to regain her attention +by the reiteration of her name. + +She roused herself a little, and looked at him again. + +"Why do you call me that?" she asked, confusedly. "My name is Rosamond, +Rosamond Curwood." + +"I know, dear," he replied, gently. "But you were called Mary on the +stage. Try to remember. Mary Blake. That was the name you used. Can't +you----" + +She shook her head, slowly, wearily. + +"Don't--don't confuse me," she said. "I can remember that my name is +Rosamond Curwood. It's all I can remember. Don't take that away from +me." + +But Donald could not give up. Again and again he tried to call back to +her remembrance something out of the past. But she only shook her head, +blankly, becoming more and more troubled and uncertain, until at last +he dared not go on. With a hopeless gesture he rose to his feet, and +before he had reached the door, she had relapsed into the old position, +her eyes staring absently before her. + +In passing, Donald made a sign to Mrs. Shultze, and together they left +the room, softly closing the door upon the sad and apparently hopeless +figure. + +Without a word, O'Malley put his kind old hand under Morris's arm, and +realizing the young man's need of physical as well as moral support, he +led him quickly down the stairs, Mrs. Shultze following close behind. + +As soon as they reached the ground floor O'Malley said: + +"There's just one thing to be done, Mr. Morris, and the quicker, +the better. What we want is a doctor--an alienist"--he felt Donald +wince--"I know it's hard, but it's got to be faced. And you know +there's always hope in a case of this kind. Most of 'em recover sooner +or later, I think. But we want a specialist, the best in town, and I +would suggest----" + +"Stevens," Donald interrupted, with eagerness. "I'd rather have John +Stevens than any one else." + +"The very man I was thinking of," agreed O'Malley. "There's nobody like +him in the country." + +"And he's a personal friend of mine, too," said Donald. "There's hardly +anything we wouldn't do for each other, and----" + +"Got a telephone here?" O'Malley turned sharply to Mrs. Shultze, who +had been silently listening. + +"Oh, yes, sir. Just at the back of the hall." She pointed, and O'Malley +started toward the instrument which could be dimly seen in the shadow +of the stair. + +Donald checked him. "It would be better for me. It's late, but he'll +come for me," he said, and went quickly to the telephone. + +While he was talking, Mrs. Shultze came up close to O'Malley, and spoke +in a soft, wheedling voice. + +"You won't let Mr. Morris forget that it was me that found Miss Blake +for him, will you?" she said. "A gentleman like him would be sure to be +grateful, I should think. And there's the matter of a week's rent, too. +Of course, there's no hurry about it, now I know who her friends are, +but you'll see he doesn't forget, like an old dear, won't you? I'd hate +to be speaking to him myself, when the poor young man's in such trouble +and all." + +"You needn't worry, Mrs. Shultze," said O'Malley, gruffly. "You'll be +paid and paid well, if you're good to the poor young thing upstairs." + +"Oh, you can be sure of that, sir," she said, beaming at him. "I'll +treat her's if she was my own dau--sister, I mean. Yes, sir. Anything +that Trudie Shultze can do for her is the same as done. I'll----" + +"Stevens is coming right down. He'll be here in a few minutes," said +Donald, advancing quickly from the other end of the hall. + +"Won't you gentlemen come into my parlour and wait there?" said Mrs. +Shultze, hospitably. "It's right here handy, on the ground floor." + +Donald shook his head and O'Malley declined politely. + +"We'll be all right here," he said, motioning to a plush-covered settle +which stood against the wall. "And we won't keep you any longer, Mrs. +Shultze." + +He said this pointedly, and the woman, realizing that she had no +further excuse for lingering, only said sweetly, "If you need me, I'll +be right on the job"; and went down the hall, disappearing through a +door at the back. + +They were forced to recall her, however, when the doctor came. + +"Better have some woman, Don. I hadn't time to get hold of a nurse," he +said. "Better have the woman of the house, especially since the patient +is used to seeing her." + +So it was that Mrs. Shultze, as well as Donald and O'Malley, +accompanied the doctor to the top floor. The woman knocked softly and +went in alone. Presently she came back to the door, and beckoned to +Doctor Stevens. Morris and O'Malley remained in the hall. The door was +partly open, and they could hear the doctor's quiet, assured voice +and an occasional low reply. In a little while they heard him speak +quickly to Mrs. Shultze, and both of them came into the hall. The +doctor was frowning, angrily. + +"When did she have something to eat?" he asked, sharply, jerking his +head in the direction of the room they had just left. "Speak up, woman. +When did she eat last?" + +"I--I don't know." Mrs. Shultze faltered under the doctor's steady +glare. "She isn't boarding here any longer. She just has the room, and +she owes me for that for more'n a week. I never thought----" + +"I guess that's the truth, anyway," said Doctor Stevens, angrily. "I +don't believe you ever did before, but for God's sake, think now and +think quick. Have you any bouillon--any milk in the house? The child's +starving. I don't believe she's had a mouthful for days. We'll have to +see about the other trouble later. She must have food now, and quickly. +Don't stand there, woman. Get down to your kitchen as fast as the +Lord'll let you, and bring me milk, some raw eggs, a little sherry or +brandy----" + +"My God!" groaned Trudie Shultze. "There ain't been a drop of sherry or +brandy in the house for two months--I got some gin----" + +"Get the other things quick," said O'Malley. + +"Gin won't do as well as----" With a funny little look he slipped his +hand into a rear pocket. "It's the best, Doctor." The hand came out, +holding a small flask. "I can vouch for it. The best French brandy in +New York." + +"Good!" said the doctor, with a little gleam in the eye he turned on +O'Malley. "Now, Don, you go to the nearest restaurant and get----" He +reeled off a list of light and delicate but nourishing edibles. "You +won't need to hurry. She'll do with the egg-nog for an hour at least. +So get 'em good, and take your time." + +"All right," said Donald, grateful for the opportunity for action. +"I'll be back as quickly as I can make it. But, John----" + +"Yes?" + +"Can't we take her out of this beastly hole? Now, at once! I can't bear +to think of her with that hyena of a woman--who left her to starve--to +starve! God! When I think of it----" + +"The woman will treat her well if she's paid," said O'Malley. "I can +vouch for that, at least." + +"Then pay her! For God's sake, pay her!" cried Donald, pulling a roll +of bills from his pocket and thrusting them into O'Malley's hands. + +"Better leave her here, in any case, for to-night, Don," advised Doctor +Stevens, quietly. "I can get her into my sanitarium to-morrow, if you'd +like that." Donald nodded, eagerly. "And I'll get a nurse for her here, +right away, but I think you'd better sweeten up this woman----" + +"This'll do it," said O'Malley, peeling off a bill of large +denomination, and handing the rest of the money back to Donald. "This +will do for a starter, with the hope of benefits to follow." + +"So go ahead, Don, and don't worry about anything here," said the +doctor, comfortingly. "I'm not going to leave till I see things are +right." + +Donald, after a grateful look at John Stevens and O'Malley, and an +anxious, longing glance at the closed door, ran rapidly down the stairs. + + * * * * * + +When O'Malley reached his comfortable, old-fashioned bachelor quarters, +late that night, there was an almost unacknowledged feeling of +half-amused satisfaction in his mind. The situation was painful enough, +to be sure, and he was full of sympathy for young Morris, but, in spite +of all, there was a certain compensation in the fact that he had put +one over on Pete. While he had not been exactly instrumental in finding +Mary Blake, he had been on the job when she was found--and that was +incontestably comforting to his sporty old heart. He was, therefore, +in a somewhat mixed frame of mind as he undressed, but above all other +considerations one thought was uppermost: + +"I'll have news for you, Pete, my lad, when you get back from your +wild-goose chase," he said to himself, as he stooped, ponderously, to +untie his shoes. + +And just then the telephone, which was installed in the corner of his +bedroom, rang out loudly in the midnight stillness. + +He muttered an impatient word as he kicked off a shoe. "If it's the +wrong number again, I'll give that operator the devil," he thought, +hastily crossing to the telephone. + +"Is this Captain James O'Malley?" asked the voice in the instrument, +and at his gruff response it continued, "Telegram for you." + +"All right," said O'Malley. "Shoot." + +"Got the goods----" + +"What!" cried O'Malley. "Repeat that, please." + +"'Got--the--goods'----" the voice reiterated, with bored distinctness. +"'Meet us, Penn. Station, Saturday, eleven-forty-five from Chicago. Say +nothing yet to D. M.' Signed 'Pete.' Got that?" + +"Penn. Station, eleven-forty-five from Chicago, Saturday," repeated +O'Malley, slowly. "Yes. I've got it. Thanks." + +He hung up the receiver. "Saturday--that's the day after to-morrow," he +considered, and sat down heavily on a chair. + +"Us, meet _us_----" + +"Now, what in hell has Pete turned up?" he went on, wonderingly, half +aloud. "What--in--hell----" + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + DONALD MORRIS UNDERSTANDS + + +It chanced that O'Malley had little difficulty in following Peter's +instructions in regard to Donald Morris, for they had but a few +minutes' private conversation together during the next day, and +O'Malley cleverly filled the time by reporting Peter's discovery of the +Italian, Angelo Russo, in Miss Blake's apartment, and the subsequent +confession, which practically explained the condition in which the +apartment was found. + +Donald listened to the recital with little of the interest he would +have felt two days before. His whole mind was occupied with the +discovery they had made on the previous night, and his heart was wrung +by the fact that, though Doctor Stevens had reported his patient to be +physically much improved, she still insisted that she knew no other +name than Rosamond Curwood, had no memory whatever of the past, and +showed not the slightest sign of recognition when Donald approached her. + +As early in the morning as possible she was removed to Doctor Stevens's +private sanitarium. She accepted, quietly and unquestioningly, all the +arrangements which were made for her comfort, and appeared grateful +for the consideration shown her, to a certain extent, but it was all +evidently like a dream to her, and her manner remained absent and +listless. + +All that day and the morning of the next Donald spent in the +sanitarium, or at his home in Gramercy Park, within reach of the +telephone, hoping, longing for news, but none came. + +At two o'clock on Saturday, as he was rising from an untasted luncheon, +he was summoned to the telephone by John Stevens, who told him, with +evident sympathy, that there had been no change whatever but that he +was preparing to try an experiment that afternoon. + +"And I don't want you, Don. Understand?" he said, firmly. "You can't +be of any assistance, and you'd much better stay where you are. I'll +'phone you the instant I want you, but it won't be until five o'clock, +anyway. I promise to let you know then, or soon after. And, Don," he +concluded, with a queer note in his voice, "there is hope, boy. More +than hope for you, I firmly believe. Be patient--and trust me." + +In a whirlwind of anxiety and emotion Donald spent that afternoon, +pacing back and forth, back and forth, the length of the great house. +Listening for the telephone's insistent ring, wondering, hoping, +doubting, and hoping again. + +At last he felt that he could bear the period of enforced inaction no +longer. He would go up to the sanitarium, he decided, and spend that +last, agonizing half hour before five o'clock on the spot. There could +be no harm, he argued, in waiting downstairs in the reception room. And +if there was news--good news---- + +He summoned a cab in haste, and drove rapidly to the sanitarium, which +was on West Seventy-sixth Street. + +An extraordinarily neat maid answered his ring. + +"Doctor Stevens is in the house somewhere," she told him, "with one of +the patients upstairs. I don't think he can be disturbed just now," +apologetically. + +"No, no," said Donald, quickly. "I wouldn't bother him on any account. +I'll just wait here, in the reception room, if I may, till he comes +down." + +Accordingly, he passed into the pleasantly furnished room, to the right +of the hall--and waited--waited with every tautened nerve stretched, +it seemed, to the breaking point. Though there were many books lying +about, he could not read, he could not even remain seated for more +than a moment at a time. Restlessly, he paced about, touching various +things on the mantelpiece and table, not knowing why he picked them +up, or noticing when he put them down. And all the while he was +listening--listening for he knew not what. + +The big, broad, sunny house was very still. Once or twice a soft +footfall on one of the floors above brought his heart into his mouth, +but the sound passed away into silence, and no one went up or down the +stairs. Again, for the twentieth time, he looked at his watch--five +minutes of five--and John had promised---- + +Suddenly he heard a slight commotion at the top of the house, and he +turned swiftly toward the door, his clenched hands pressed tightly +together. Mary was on that floor he knew, and he took a step forward. +Now he could faintly hear voices, several voices, speaking very low, +and once he imagined he heard a woman's sob--then steps upon the stairs. + +He waited, breathless, keeping himself in hand with an iron grip, +making no sound. + +Then, at the head of the lower flight of stairs, he heard Doctor +Stevens's voice. He was speaking to someone behind him, and there was a +ring in his tone which caused Donald's heart to leap up and his blood +to pound in his temples. He took one step nearer the door, and at that +instant Doctor Stevens saw him. + +"Don!" he exclaimed, with a curious note of anger--almost of alarm--in +his voice. "Don, I told you not to come here! Not to come here on any +account! I thought I made it plain----Oh!----" + +The expression on Donald's face had altered from confusion and surprise +to blinding, dazzling amazement. He was not conscious that there was +any one present save that one figure among several figures coming down +the stairs. He cried out--he threw out his arms---- + +"Mary!" he said, in a choking whisper. "You know me! You know me, at +last!" And then, with a sudden cry, he recoiled in horror. + +The woman who, at the mention of his name, had turned toward him with +a gasp of surprise, had, at the same instant, stepped full into the +light. In her great clear eyes there were love, pain, fear--hope--and +an agonizing tenderness. + +Swiftly, she put up her hand and covered the right side of her face. +But he had seen--had seen, upon the smooth curve of chin and neck, a +great red mark--like the print of a bloody hand. + +He stood aghast, amazed. All his senses reeled. "Anne!" he cried, +incredulous, staring--"Anne!" + +"Oh, Donald," she moaned, "I didn't mean it to be like this, dear. I +didn't mean it to be like this!" + +"Mary's voice," he muttered, still staring at her. "And Mary's face, +all except the mark--the mark was on Anne's face--Clancy told me. You +are _Anne_?" + +She bowed her head in silence. Tears filled her glorious eyes. + +"And Mary--is upstairs," he breathed. "And yet, when you speak, it's +impossible not to believe----" + +She shook her head. + +"It's my sister, Rosamond, up there," she faltered. "My poor, misguided +little sister that I--lost years ago--that I loved more than anything I +had left in the world--until I saw you.... I never heard of her--never +saw her again until to-day.... You never saw her, Donald. You never +saw her until--was it yesterday?... We always looked very much +alike--except----" She pressed her hand closer against her cheek. "It +was no wonder, seeing her as you did, that you mistook her for----" + +"I can't understand." Donald gripped his head with both hands, gazing +at her with strained, bewildered eyes. "You _are_ Anne?" + +"Yes," she answered, sadly. "I am Anne Curwood.... Forgive me. Oh, +forgive me, dear!" She stretched out her hands, pleadingly. "I had +planned it all so differently. You can hardly forgive me now. But try +to understand. There is no Mary Blake. There never has been. It was +I--Anne. There is no one but Anne." + +"No one but--Anne," he repeated, incredulous. + +"I tried to tell you before--before I went away--as soon as I knew +that you--that you cared, Don. As soon as I was sure.... I started to +write it in the letter I left for you--and I hadn't the courage.... +'My sister Anne, with whom I live----' I remember I wrote that far, +and crossed it out. I was going to say--I should have said--'My sister +Anne, with whom I live, is a myth. There is no such person living. I +have lived alone, through all these years, and played two parts----'" + +He gazed at her, now, with comprehension dawning in his eyes. His +very soul shuddered at the fearful disfigurement which seemed like a +desecration of her wonderful face. His intense, passionate love of all +that was beautiful and perfect wrought in him, for a moment, a feeling +of horror. A fearful, almost physical, recoil. + +And if it was thus with him, he thought, wildly, what must it have been +to her--sensitive, high-strung, with magnificent gifts--a handicap +which, in her chosen profession, could never be overcome--unless-- + +In a blinding flash he saw the reason for her deception of all the +world--a deception which, lastly, had involved himself. He understood, +with sure, keen insight, what her temptation must have been--and, +understanding, he forgave. + +The expression of his eyes altered, was changed, illuminated, with a +love transcending all things. Again he stretched out his arms: + +"Mary," he whispered. "Mary----" + +With a little cry of joy unspeakable she started toward him--and +stopped. + +"No, no," she said, softly. "Not yet. Not yet, my beloved. I have +suffered--suffered, to come to you clean. I said I would come to you +clean, or not at all." + +Then, to his amazement, she drew a handkerchief from her breast and +turned away from him to a small mirror which hung against the wall. + +A moment--and she faced him. + +Radiant, glorified love was in her eyes--and on her perfect face there +was no mark or blemish. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX + + KATE RUTHERFORD RELIEVES HER MIND + + +"It was your own fault, Don. Your own fault, boy," Doctor Stevens +remarked, with partly assumed annoyance. "If you'd waited at home until +I 'phoned, you never would have seen Miss Blake with that dreadful +thing on her face. It was part of the experiment I was trying upstairs." + +He looked across his private office at a stately figure ensconced in +the largest chair in the room. "It was Mrs. Rutherford who suggested +how it could be managed, and she made Miss Blake up with her own fair +hands. And Mr. Clancy backed me up in style." He glanced aside at Peter +who was sitting near him. + +"But," said Donald, looking down into the glowing face so near to +his, as he and Mary (as he insisted on calling her) sat together upon +a couch. "But I can't realize it all, somehow. The--mark, dear," he +clasped her hand tenderly, "was a birthmark, wasn't it? I thought that +it was practically impossible----" + +"And I thought so, too, Donald," she interrupted. "For the last few +years I've hunted up every report--all the experiments of this kind +that have been tried, for I wanted--oh, I wanted so to be rid of +the hideous, dreadful thing. I saw one of the best specialists here +last fall. He said something might be done by skin-grafting, but that +it would be a long and painful experiment. I was playing then, of +course, and couldn't give up the time.... And then, just after that, +there was an article in a silly magazine called _Beauty_, which told +of the wonderful discovery, made by a doctor, in a little place near +Chicago named Cordenham. It was a new kind of ray--which destroyed the +colouring matter in the skin. I subscribed for the magazine at once, +but there were only two more notices and they weren't very convincing. +In the meantime I went to the library and looked for more authentic +reports in all the current medical journals. I found the experiments of +Doctor Witherspoon mentioned, but the articles seemed to indicate that +nothing conclusive had been done at that time.... Oh, Donald, can you +imagine with what anxious longing I watched for the new numbers of that +magazine to appear?" + +"And when they did come out, Mr. Morris," Peter interjected, "Miss +Blake cut out some of the articles and saved them. That was how I +traced her." + +"You found them in her apartment?" asked Donald, quickly. "You didn't +tell me that." + +"No," answered Peter, promptly, "for the simple reason that I didn't +find the articles. It was like the old story of the fisherman who was +about to take a party out among some dangerous rocks. When asked if he +knew where the submerged rocks were, he said, 'I don't know where they +be, but I know where they ain't.' Well, that was my case. I found the +magazines that the articles had been cut from pretty early in the game, +but I didn't see any significance in that till I knew--well, most of +the facts. Then I went back to the apartment and made a note of every +magazine from which anything had been clipped, the date and page. After +that, I went to the library--and found that the articles all pointed +one way. Directly or indirectly, they pointed to Doctor Witherspoon and +Cordenham." + +"You're all right, Clancy," said Donald with sincerity. "You certainly +are a wonder." + +Peter looked a little sheepish. "It would have been more to the point +if I'd made my discovery a little earlier," he said. "Miss Blake was +almost ready to come back to town when I found her." + +"Yes, Donald," said Mary, looking at him with concern in her beautiful +eyes. "Doctor Witherspoon was almost ready to let me go, at last. +Oh, my dear, if I had known it would be so long I never would have +done what I did--have left you in suspense all these weeks. I would +have told you everything, and taken the risk.... But the very last +thing I found--it was in the _Planet_, just a few days before I went +away--an article which gave a full description of a wonderful cure made +by Doctor Witherspoon. It took only three days, and was absolutely +successful.... From previous accounts in the medical journals, I knew +that the operation was considered dangerous--but I pinned my faith to +the last thing I'd learned--and hoped. + +"I'd made up my mind to take the risk, anyway. I had my plans all laid, +and that Saturday morning I drew enough money to see me through.... My +only question was whether or not to tell you.... And then, that last +night--that last night, dear, my courage failed utterly. When you spoke +of 'my sister Anne' with such confidence in me in your dear voice--oh, +Donald, every time you mentioned her, I felt--I can't tell you how +beneath contempt I felt.... To deceive you! Oh, Donald----" + +"Don't--don't think of it, dearest," he said, gently. "I understand, I +understand." + +"Oh, you're wonderful, wonderful," she said, with tears in her eyes. +"But it would all have been different if I had realized. Mine was a +bad case, Donald; the position and size of the mark, and my nervous +exhaustion, they all told against me, and after the very first +treatment I collapsed utterly. I knew nothing for days and days.... +They kept me under anæsthetics and the treatment went on.... When +I came fully to myself, it was so near the end, I was so close to +achieving my heart's desire, that I made up my mind to wait--just a +little while, dear--to regain my strength, and then come back and tell +you--everything.... Oh, Donald," she paused, and looked deep into +his eyes, "I wonder if you can realize, quite, what the whole thing +meant to me. I knew you loved me, but I also knew how you shrank from +anything ugly, abnormal. I had good reason to know.... And the thing +had been a nightmare to me all my life long; I could not bear it any +longer.... And, if the operation was not to be successful, I had made +up my mind, Donald, that I would never, never see you again.... That +Mary Blake should vanish. That there should be no one left but Anne, +and that she would never be found, for--there would be nothing left in +life for her, and she would have been glad to lay it down----" + +"Oh, Mary, Mary!" he cried, and unheeding the others in the room, he +threw his arms about her and held her fast. "It wouldn't have mattered +if the experiment had failed, dear. I love you, _you_--you must have +seen, just now, out there on the stairs--you must have realized that it +would have made no difference----" + +"Oh, yes, Donald, yes," she sobbed. "I saw--I saw it all, and I +can't help being a little glad to know that not even that hideous +disfigurement could make a difference. But I never would have caused +you that pain, not even for my poor sister's sake, if I'd had any +idea----" + +"And that's what made me so angry with you, Don," said Doctor Stevens, +striving to break the emotional tension of the scene. "As I said +before, if you'd only waited as I told you, you'd have been saved a +lot. You see, Don," he explained, "I have a very strong professional +interest in the case upstairs, and there was just one chance in a +million of helping Miss Rosamond Curwood to regain her memory, and the +Lord put it into my hand. I do think, now, it was that good old chap, +O'Malley, who first made the suggestion. It seems he had an experience +once with a similar case, where the patient was confronted with someone +well--intimately--known in the past." + +"And this is how it happened just as it did, Mr. Morris," Peter broke +in, eagerly. "I'd wired O'Malley and Mrs. Rutherford, from Cordenham, +to meet us at the Penn. Station. Miss Blake didn't want me to telegraph +you. She was afraid of the shock, and it would have been impossible to +explain--well, everything--you see, in a telegram.... We got in about +noon, and O'Malley told us of the discovery you'd made. We compared +notes, and Miss Blake was certain that the person you'd found must be +her twin sister, Rosamond, who'd disappeared years ago. Miss Blake was +naturally all broken up over the whole thing, and O'Malley had a hunch +that if the two sisters were suddenly brought together, it might bring +Rosamond to herself. He called up Doctor Stevens on his own, while we +were going over to Mrs. Rutherford's hotel, where we were going to ask +you to come; and, by the time we'd seen to Miss Blake's luggage and +arrived at the hotel, Doctor Stevens was there, waiting for us. He was +keen on making the experiment, and was neither to hold nor to bind," +he glanced, quizzically, at the doctor, "until he'd tried it out. Both +Miss Blake and I wanted to get you first, but he said he wasn't at all +satisfied with Miss Curwood's condition, and that the thing should be +tried at once if it was to be any good. Miss Blake became alarmed at +that, and agreed. But then we struck a snag; Miss Rosamond would never +know her sister without the--the mark, which had been successfully +removed. Then Mrs. Rutherford came to the front. She said, 'Why not +paint it on again?' And that she did to perfection, I will say----" + +"So I telephoned to keep you out of the way, Don," added Doctor +Stevens, "and you upset all our plans." + +"But you haven't told me yet whether you were successful," said Donald, +who, with Mary's hand held close in his, had followed the conversation +intently. "Were they right, Mary? And is your sister----" + +She shook her head, sadly, + +"She knew me, Donald. She recognized me--but she remembers nothing, +nothing at all, that has happened since we were little children +together. Perhaps--oh, perhaps, Donald, it is just as well. She has no +painful memories, and her life must have been--hard, I'm afraid. Doctor +Stevens says----" + +"We can hope. We can always hope," said the doctor, comfortingly; but +by the look in his eyes, Donald Morris knew that there was little +hope, in this world, for Rosamond Curwood. + +"We'll take care of her, Mary," Donald said, gently. "We'll take care +of her together, dear." + +There was a moment's pause, and then Mrs. Rutherford spoke, for almost +the first time. + +"Look here, Don," she said, in her deep, commanding voice. "I don't +want you to blame Anne for having played a part to the world." + +"I don't, Aunt Kate," he said, looking not at her, but at Mary. "I +understand----" + +"But that's just it," interrupted the old lady, quickly. "You +understand a part. That's all. I know you've a lively imagination, +and I will say, Don, that you're--that you're a pretty satisfactory +person--take it all in all.... But I want you to understand that it +was I who put Anne up to the whole thing, and I guess I'll need a few +prayers if my poor old soul is ever to get out of Purgatory." + +"Don't talk that way, Aunt Kate," said Donald, smiling at her perturbed +face. + +"All right, Don," she agreed, "but I want you to know, just the same, +how the whole thing came about. This clever young countryman of mine," +with an appreciative glance at Peter, "figured out the whole affair. +His knowledge of it came to me like a bolt from the blue. I'd never +seen him, you know, till you introduced him to me in Fennimore Park, +and you can, perhaps, imagine my surprise when he told me who he was, +and what he was doing. I was startled nearly out of my wits, and when, +without more ado, he plunged into the very middle of the situation, and +announced, in a whisper that would have done credit to Henry Irving: +'Mrs. Rutherford, there has never been, in that apartment in New York, +but one person--and her name is Anne Curwood,' I was simply taken +completely off my feet." + +She glanced about to note the effect of these lines, dramatically +uttered, then she went on: + +"I told him, after that, what I'm going to tell you all now--you who +know some of the facts.... It was all my fault.... I found Anne slaving +her youth away in menial tasks--and I found out that she was the +daughter of my old friend, Winthrop Curwood." + +"Winthrop Curwood of the old Athenæum Company?" asked Donald, with keen +interest. "Why, I've heard my mother speak of him often. She knew his +people in England." + +"Yes, Don. That's the man. But please don't interrupt. I want to +get the whole thing off my mind. My conscience has been worrying me +so, in the last few days, that I must clear it, and take all the +blame.... This is how it was--I discovered, almost at once, that Anne +had inherited her father's wonderful gifts, and that he had given +her a perfectly marvellous training.... He had become blind, stone +blind, poor, poor Win--and teaching her had been his one pleasure and +recreation. He'd done wonders for her, and probably had great hopes +for her future. He never knew--Anne told me all this. With tears in +her eyes, she said that she could never bring herself to tell him that +there would be no possible chance for her on the stage.... When she +told me that--I had a great idea. I took her up to my room, and I made +her up with my own hands. Nobody was ever more skilful at that than +Kate Rohan." There was pride in the deep old voice. "I made her look +at herself in the glass. You could see the birthmark in the bright +daylight a little, not very much. But when I drew the blinds and turned +on the electric lights, there wasn't a trace--not a trace. + +"Then I thought it all out.... She couldn't be seen in the daytime, in +a bright light, without the defect being discovered. And if it was once +known, it would be talked about, and I could see that Anne would never +be able to stand the kind of notoriety it would bring her. She was +too terribly sensitive about it.... I was at my wits' end for quite a +while, and then--suddenly--I saw a way out.... + +"I was determined that her wonderful gifts should not be lost to the +world, and I got Arthur Quinn to come up to Fennimore Park. I made Anne +act for him, after I'd made her up as she ought to look on the stage. +He was crazy--mad about her, and when I saw how he felt, I told him +everything, including my plan--which was that she should be two persons +instead of one.... I even picked out a name for her--Mary, for my own +mother, and Blake, which was part of her mother's name--Blakeslie.... +So--as Mary Blake she was to astonish and delight the world; and as +Anne Blake she was to pursue her daily round, without any subterfuge +other than the change of name, to agree with that of her 'sister.' +And, too, I suggested that she play the part, while she was about +it--play Mary with spirit and pride, standing tall and straight, as +she always did when she was taken out of herself--and let Anne be as +she was: plainly dressed, timid, quiet, retiring; stooping a little as +she walked or stood.... To me, it was an added touch to the dramatic +possibilities of the situation, but Anne looked at the whole thing +with distaste and it took some time to persuade her--but, at last, she +yielded. + +"I arranged everything for her with Arthur Quinn, contracts and all. We +even managed to have her photographed so that the photographer didn't +suspect. That was rather ticklish business, for the camera sometimes +sees what the eye doesn't. But we took care of the lighting, and the +results were perfectly satisfactory. + +"In the meantime, I found the apartment in Waverly Place, and we +furnished it together." + +"And had special lighting installed," put in Peter, eagerly. + +"Ah, you noticed that, did you, Mr. Clancy?" The old, young eyes +flashed him a quick look. "Yes. You see, she had to make up for 'Mary +Blake' at home, and we were taking no chances with the gas, which was +already there. Anne was staying at my hotel, as my companion, so all +that was easily accomplished.... Then, when she began making money, +we had to get banking accommodations for her. Arthur Quinn managed +that. He took her to the Scoville Bank, where he had an account, and +introduced her." + +"Twice?" asked Peter, quickly. + +"Yes," replied Mrs. Rutherford, giving him a keen glance. "He waited +for a cloudy day, when there would be artificial light in the bank, and +then he took 'Mary Blake,' and helped her open an account. That was +just in case of emergency. We'd planned that Anne should be the one who +would make deposits, as a general thing, and draw out money." + +"So you made the account subject, under all conditions, to the order of +either of the sisters," said Peter, eagerly. "I found that out almost +the first thing; and it did give me a fearful jolt, let me tell you." +He did not think it necessary to explain why, and went on at once--"I +saw the signature card at that time, and there was something about the +appearance of the two names which struck me as being peculiar. Miss +Mary's writing was large and--fluent--sort of--while Miss Anne's was +small, and slanted the wrong way. At the first glance they didn't look +a bit alike, but----Well, I didn't think so much about it at the time, +but later I happened to see a letter written by Anne Curwood to an +old friend of hers named Walter Lord, up in Hobart Falls. I--I made an +opportunity to examine it carefully, and I found that, while it was +signed 'Anne,' the writing was, unmistakably, Mary's.... Then I began +to sit up and take notice.... + +"Here were twin sisters, who, in childhood--I had seen photographs of +both--looked almost exactly alike--save for one thing.... I learned, +from this Walter Lord, that both children had exceptional dramatic +talent; but also, to my surprise, that Anne was much the cleverer of +the two.... I knew that Rosamond had disappeared when the girls were +about eighteen years old, and had never been heard of since, but that +Anne had gone away, later, with a Mrs. Rutherford. That's how I first +got hold of your name, Mrs. Rutherford." + +All were following Peter's recital with breathless interest. Kate +Rutherford nodded at the mention of her name, and Peter continued: + +"And, on top of all this, I found that letter to Walter Lord, and +knew--yes, I was absolutely certain, that the two signatures at the +bank had been made by the same hand.... Well, I thought to myself, what +in the world does that mean? + +"Then I went carefully over the facts we'd turned up in New York.... +Mary Blake was a brilliant, successful actress, but she knew no one, +personally, so far as we could find out, except Mr. Morris and, to +quote the Italian janitor, 'a fine, grand lady' who sometimes came to +the apartment. There was, too, her present manager, Frederick Jones. +But he didn't appear to know her, except professionally.... From +him I found out that she associated with none of the members of the +company--and something else, which came back to me later--the curious +fact that she always rehearsed in costume--with a full make-up.... She +went out only in the daytime when it was absolutely necessary, was +always heavily veiled, and always took a cab.... + +"But, on the other hand, Anne was well known to the janitor, to various +tradesmen in the neighbourhood, and to the people at the bank. They all +described her to me, and the descriptions were practically identical. + +"I remember that no one had ever spoken of the two sisters as if they +had been seen at the same time.... That only one of them, Anne, had +left the least trace when (as we all thought at the time) both of them +disappeared.... That there were many of Mary's clothes left in the +apartment and practically none of Anne's.... + +"And always, and everywhere, I heard of Anne's fearful handicap.... I +thought of it this way and that.... And there was only one theory that +would exactly fit all the facts. It seemed absurd to me when it first +flashed into my mind--and that was at the time when I realized that +only one person had signed at the bank. You will remember, Mr. Morris, +that I had seen part of a letter to you signed 'Mary', but the writing +was identical with that of Walter Lord's letter from 'Anne'--and then +it came back to me that I had noticed a remarkable similarity in the +two signatures at the bank, and I was sure--sure!" + +"It seemed impossible, but I figured it all out that day, on my +way from Hobart Falls to Fennimore Park.... And when I heard Mrs. +Rutherford's voice, downstairs, there at your sister's house, Mr. +Morris, you remember--and realized that it was the same voice that had +called Anne Blake on the morning of our discovery in Waverly Place--and +that the name was the same as that of the lady who had taken Anne +Curwood away from Fennimore Park--well, you can imagine my feelings!" + +"And it was only on guess-work, young man, that you made me disclose +a secret I'd kept for years!" said Kate Rutherford, severely. "If I'd +known that----" + +"No you wouldn't, Mrs. Rutherford," Peter interposed, eagerly. "You +wouldn't have kept it to yourself. You know you were too much alarmed +by Mr. Morris's appearance to keep the matter secret any longer." + +"And, after all, Anne," said Kate Rutherford, holding out her hands +in a gesture almost of supplication, "it was my secret, in a way. At +least I was responsible. It was my fault altogether. You would never +have gone into it at all but for me. I had such a hard time persuading +you----" + +"And I never would have been persuaded, Donald," a soft voice +interrupted. "I think I would never have been persuaded but for one +thing, which Mrs. Rutherford never knew." For a moment Mary Blake +looked into the eyes of her lover. Then she went on: "You don't +remember, dear, I know. It was long, long ago, that first time I saw +you----" + +"At my sister's house in Gramercy Park," said Donald. + +"No, dear. Long before that. You were riding through Hobart Falls with +someone--a lady--on horseback.... You stopped at old Walter Lord's, +you and she, to have him take your pictures.... I remember it well." +Her voice was very quiet, full of restrained emotion. "The sunlight on +the trees, and on your face.... I was there, on the steps, and you saw +me--I saw the quick shiver of disgust when you caught sight of my poor +face. You closed your eyes for a second--and I went quickly away.... +You would not remember, but it seared deep into my soul----" + +Peter Clancy rose abruptly, and quietly passing over to the window, +stood with his back turned to the room. Doctor Stevens unobtrusively +joined him, and the two men stood looking out with unseeing eyes. Mrs. +Rutherford sat very still. Her great, dark, youthful eyes were full of +tears. The two fine young creatures at the other end of the room were +oblivious of all save each other. Anne Curwood was still speaking: + +"Afterward, Donald, when I was employed by your sister, in Fennimore +Park, I saw you often, but I kept out of sight. I watched you, from +behind the curtain at the door, working in your studio there. You were +rapt, absorbed. I had little fear that you would ever think of the +poor girl who came in to do cleaning.... But every line of your face +grew familiar to me in those days; in those brief moments that I could +snatch from my work--I learned to read your face--I knew when your +work was going well, and rejoiced with you--I saw the light in your +eyes--your smile----It was the thought of making something of myself, +of being someone--someone you would not shudder to look at, that +induced me----" + +He turned, and caught her in his arms. + +"Mary," he whispered upon her lips. "Mary!" + + + THE END + + * * * * * + + BOOKS BY LEE THAYER + + Q. E. D. + THAT AFFAIR AT "THE CEDARS" + THE MYSTERY OF THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR + THE SINISTER MARK + THE UNLATCHED DOOR + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77033 *** diff --git a/77033-h/77033-h.htm b/77033-h/77033-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f37b4ed --- /dev/null +++ b/77033-h/77033-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8506 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The Sinister Mark | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } +hr.full {width: 95%; margin-left: 2.5%; margin-right: 2.5%;} +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +x-ebookmaker-drop {display: none;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap { font-variant:small-caps; } + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } +table.autotable td, +table.autotable th { padding: 4px; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} +.tdc {text-align: center;} + +div.titlepage { + text-align: center; + page-break-before: always; + page-break-after: always; +} + +div.titlepage p { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + font-weight: bold; + line-height: 1.5; + margin-top: 3em; +} + +.ph1 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } +.ph1 { font-size: x-large; margin: .83em auto; } + +.ph2 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } +.ph2 { font-size: medium; margin: .83em auto; } + +.ph3 { text-align: right; text-indent: 0em; } +.ph3 { font-size: medium; margin: .83em auto; } + +/* Poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} + + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77033 ***</div> + +<div class="titlepage"> + + +<h1>THE SINISTER MARK</h1> + +<p class="ph1">BY LEE THAYER</p> + +<p>GARDEN CITY NEW YORK<br> +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br> +1923</p> + +<p>COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY<br> +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY</p> + +<p>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION<br> +INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN</p> + +<p>COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY</p> + +<p>PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES<br> +AT<br> +THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.</p> + +<p><i>First Edition</i></p> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<p>TO<br> +H. W. T.</p> + +<p>IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT<br> +OF HIS FINAL APPROVAL</p> + + +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table> +<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">"<span class="smcap">Mary Blake</span>"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><span class="smcap">An Unstamped Letter</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><span class="smcap">Peter Clancy</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><span class="smcap">A Viewless Room</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><span class="smcap">Camouflage?</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">"<span class="smcap">My Sister, Anne</span>——"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><span class="smcap">A Splash of Blood</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><span class="smcap">The Voice Over the Wire</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><span class="smcap">What the Cabman Knew</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><span class="smcap">A Big Trunk</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><span class="smcap">Four Photographs</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><span class="smcap">A Signature Card</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><span class="smcap">The Woman at the Pennsylvania Hotel</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><span class="smcap">One Clue</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><span class="smcap">The Duplicate Key</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><span class="smcap">Rosamond Curwood</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><span class="smcap">Another Photograph</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><span class="smcap">Rosamond's Secret</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><span class="smcap">In the Old Photograph Gallery</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><span class="smcap">Peter Clancy Changes His Plans</span>—</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">—<span class="smcap">And Asks a Question</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">"<span class="smcap">On Monday—the Twenty-ninth of May</span>——"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><span class="smcap">A Midnight Errand</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XXIV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">"<span class="smcap">Hands Up!</span>"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XXV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"><span class="smcap">A High Wall</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XXVI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI"><span class="smcap">The Woman Shultze</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XXVII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII"><span class="smcap">111 West Forty —— Street</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII"><span class="smcap">Donald Morris Understands</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XXIX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX"><span class="smcap">Kate Rutherford Relieves Her Mind</span></a></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class="chap"> + + +<h2>THE SINISTER MARK</h2> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</h2> +</div> + +<h3>"<span class="smcap">Mary Blake</span>"</h3> + + +<p>"Tell me, Mary!"</p> + +<p>The woman stirred slightly, and with her strong, fine hand pushed her +coffee cup away. She hesitated and looked down at the heavily shaded +light which threw a rosy gleam upon the white tablecloth. Then her +troubled glance travelled swiftly about the room, scarcely noting, +at the other tables, the eager or bored faces, dimly lit; here and +there a splash of colour on a salient jaw and chin, a flush on a bare, +powdered shoulder, the rest melting into carefully designed obscurity, +in which soft-footed waiters passed back and forth, ubiquitous, silent, +and attentive. Her eyes came to rest, at last, on the face of her +companion, but her firm red lips remained closed.</p> + +<p>"Something is troubling you, Mary. I can see it plainly," the man +insisted. His voice was low and deep, thrilling with an emotion which +was reflected in his strong bronzed face. "Tell me about it. Let me +help you. I——"</p> + +<p>She interrupted him with a motion of her hand.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing that you can help, Donald," she said, slowly, bitterly. +"'Fate stacks the cards,' my father used to say, 'and few of us have +the courage to overturn the table.' I wonder——"</p> + +<p>She paused. There was a strange light in her fathomless eyes. The man +opposite her leaned intently forward and strove in vain to plumb their +depths. They had fascinated him from the first—those strange gold-gray +eyes—more than her beautiful, mobile face, more, even, than her +wonderful voice. There had always been in them a veiled expression of +mystery, a something unexplained and unexplainable, a hint of tragedy +which consorted oddly with her amazing success on the stage, before the +most critical audience, perhaps, in the world.</p> + +<p>The fact that, in spite of her great achievements, in spite of her +immense popularity, he alone, so far as he knew, had gained any degree +of intimacy, thrilled Donald Van Loo Morris, cosmopolitan man of the +world as he certainly was, more than, up to this time, he would have +cared to admit even to himself. The long line of his stiff Dutch +ancestry fought with the artistic temperament which he had inherited +from a sporadic <i>mésalliance</i>, late in the last century, and so far had +had the upper hand. Though he had realized for some time that all his +senses were intrigued and all his mind filled with the fascination of +her charm and the loveliness of her spirit, the thought of an alliance +with a woman, world-famed, and yet in a sense unknown, had held his +ardour in check. She was called Mary Blake by the world at large. He +had surprised her into admitting that this was only her stage name, +but when he eagerly sought to push this slight advantage, she had +withdrawn, almost visibly, into that realm of silence which habitually +enshrouded her.</p> + +<p>That was months ago, and since then, though he had seen her as often +as she would permit, he had learned nothing of her antecedents nor +of her life preceding her first appearance on the stage. He was too +conventional, too considerate, perhaps, to question openly, and though +her manner was spontaneous and direct, so far as the present was +concerned, there was no scaling the wall of her reserve, in which he +had been able to find not the smallest loop-hole or crevice.</p> + +<p>Always there had been a shadow in her eyes, and of late Donald Morris +was sure that the shadow had strengthened and deepened. Always he had +felt hers to be a sensitive, high-strung nature, overwrought. The +demands of her profession and the emotional rôles which she played +would account for much, but there was a tenseness about her always, +and especially to-night, a note almost of hysteria, which in a person +of her vitality was scarcely explainable even by the strain of a long +season, culminating in the closing triumphs of the evening.</p> + +<p>She had resolutely, and with fixed determination, refused the ovation +which her manager had planned, and after the final fall of the curtain, +before the last of the enthusiastic audience had left the theatre, she +had slipped quietly away with him—a triumph for him which he felt more +keenly than anything in his previous experience.</p> + +<p>The blood ran hotly in his veins as he gazed across the narrow table +into her eyes. The tragedy and appeal, suddenly and completely +unmasked, which cried out to him from their depths swept every worldly +consideration from his heart.</p> + +<p>He leaned farther forward and laid his brown hand upon the white one +which was clenched upon the table.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Mary?" he questioned, almost fiercely. "There's something +new—some anxiety. What is it, dear? You must tell me. You must let me +protect——" He broke off suddenly and his voice dropped low. "I love +you, Mary. I love you. I'd do anything in the world to serve you. You +must——"</p> + +<p>Abruptly Mary Blake drew back her hand and rose. With the same +trembling hand she drew closer the filmy white scarf which floated +about her throat, and before he could reach her side, she caught up the +light cloak which lay upon the back of her chair and wrapped herself +from head to foot in its soft folds.</p> + +<p>"I must go," she whispered, trembling as with sudden cold. "It's late, +Donald, and I'm very tired. Don't—oh, don't say any more to-night. I +can't bear——"</p> + +<p>They passed out through the crowded restaurant and automatically both +faces slipped on the mask which must be worn before the indifferent +herd. Many eyes followed them in their passage down the room. Though +their faces were somewhat obscured by the bizarre lighting of the +place, at least one of them had been recognized by more than a few.</p> + +<p>"Mary Blake," whispered a heavy-featured man with a freshly scraped +jowl like that of a very clean pig, as he leaned across to his +vis-à-vis, whose bobbed hair shone like the evening primrose in the +dusk. "Been to see her three times in 'Dark Roads.' Closed to-night, +or I'd take you, girlie, though maybe you wouldn't like it anyway. +Pretty high-brow, even for me," and he smoothed his slippery dark hair +complacently. He felt, strenuously, that he knew what he knew. "Great +artist, that," he ruminated, gazing after the retreating figures. "Poor +old Quinn knew how to pick 'em out of the atmosphere, somehow. Pity he +had to kick-in after her first season, but Mary Blake was a lucky girl +to have him for a manager in the start-off. They say Fred Jones has +made a pot of money out of 'Dark Roads' and, of course, she's the whole +show. Quinn's training was worth everything to her, naturally, but the +girl has talent, genius even——"</p> + +<p>The primrose one was scarcely listening.</p> + +<p>"Who's the man?" she interrupted, a trifle impatiently. Even in her +not-too-discriminating eyes there was a sharp contrast between the man +who had just passed and the perfumed self-complacency who had done her +the honour of taking her to an after-theatre supper.</p> + +<p>"That?" queried her companion. "Oh, that's Don Morris—Donald Van Loo +Morris." He rolled the name on his tongue. "Real class he is, girlie, +so don't get any little heart flutters about him. Belongs to all the +old families in New York. His sister is Mrs. Francis Atterbury—see +her pictures in all the society papers. Holds the record for being +the only person who has ever had the honour of showing off the Blake +in captivity. Yep! Mary gave a reading in Mrs. Atterbury's house in +Gramercy Park early last fall, and nobody else has been able to get +near the girl with a ten-foot pole before or since. Some exclusive, +she is! Clever little devil," he chuckled. "Knows how to enhance +her popularity. Bet Quinn shot it into her good and strong that a +successful beginner ought to be seen off-stage as little as possible. +Never have seen her myself except across the foot-lights, and once in +a while at some quiet restaurant, or a place like this which maybe +isn't any too quiet, but it's sort of dim and one doesn't attract too +much attention, eh, girlie? Else would I be here, what?" and he laughed +fatly.</p> + +<p>The girl wrinkled up her baby nose.</p> + +<p>"Oh, quit your kiddin'," she said, petulantly, "and tell me some +more about the tall, good-lookin' guy. He's my idea of what a real +gentleman ought to look like, he sure is. What does he do for a living, +or don't he do anything or anybody?"</p> + +<p>"Not any," grinned the other. "At least, I believe he's a sculptor or +something on the side, but he has oodles of money—so he should worry! +Mary Blake's a wise little gold-digger, all right, if she does pretend +that Violet is her middle name. Now there's nothing of the shrinking +flowerette about you, girlie, and that's what I could care for, believe +me! You're the only——"</p> + +<p>Unmindful of the attention they had attracted, Mary Blake and her +escort passed out into the cool night air. The light rain which blew in +through the open end of the gay awning was refreshing after the close +atmosphere of the restaurant, and Donald Morris raised his head and let +the rain drift in upon his upturned face. Mary Blake's head was bent +and shadowed by her broad, drooping black hat, so that he could not see +the expression of her face when she said:</p> + +<p>"Let me go home alone, Donald, please. Just put me in a taxi and——"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely impossible, my dear girl, at this time of night," he said, +firmly, though his face was uncertain and anxious.</p> + +<p>He motioned to one in gaudy uniform who stood close by, and instantly, +out of the darkness, a cab rolled up and stopped, and the gaudy one +threw open the door.</p> + +<p>"I won't trouble you, Mary," Morris whispered, hastily. "But I must +come with you and see you safe. Mary, oh, Mary——" His lips closed, +but his eyes spoke on.</p> + +<p>With a slight shrug and a deep intake of the breath, the woman bent her +tall head and preceded him into the waiting cab.</p> + +<p>"Ninety-nine Waverly Place."</p> + +<p>Morris gave the direction with almost the assured familiarity with +which one gives one's own, and yet the thought crossed his mind +briefly, as it had many times before, that he had never been beyond +the broad old door of Ninety-nine Waverly Place.... Why?... He +had suggested it more than once, as plainly as he dared, but the +suggestion had always been evaded or ignored. It was not on the score +of propriety, of that he was certain. She lived with her sister. They +would not have been alone. He had always felt that her apartment +would tell him something of her inner life, that inner life which he +knew now, at last, concerned him so deeply; for the phrase which had +come unbidden to his lips was true. He loved her—loved her more than +anything in the world. Nothing else mattered.</p> + +<p>His gaze was fixed on the beautiful profile which could be seen now and +then as the misty street lights flashed past. There had been no sound +within the cab after the slamming of the door.</p> + +<p>Mary Blake sat slightly forward on the cushions, gazing, with unseeing +eyes, straight ahead. Her small head was held erect now, but there was +something tense in its pose, something taut in her whole attitude which +suggested the drawn bow. Her hands were tightly clasped upon her knees. +After a long time, Donald Morris spoke.</p> + +<p>"I won't trouble you, Mary. I won't ask any more questions, but—I +meant what I said. You must have seen it coming. You must have +known—oh, you beautiful, dear, wonderful girl, I love you. I want you +to be my wife, Mary. My——"</p> + +<p>"No, no, Donald! Stop, oh, stop," she gasped. "Don't—don't—not +to-night——" Her breath came short and quick. "I'm to blame—to blame. +I—I don't know what to say to you. I don't know whether to——But no. +You could never ... oh, I can't talk! Not to-night! It's been a long +season, and I'm tired—so tired."</p> + +<p>There was no hint of fatigue in her poised figure, but in her voice was +all the way-worn wistful weariness of the ages.</p> + +<p>The cab reached Washington Square, turned to the left, and stopped, and +a grimy hand stretched leisurely back and opened the door.</p> + +<p>"Wait," said Donald Morris, briefly, as he alighted and gave his hand +to the woman who quickly followed him.</p> + +<p>Silently he received her keys, unlocked and opened the door of the dark +vestibule and the door of the hall. A faint light burned inside, and +by it he could just distinguish the white oval of her face, the wild, +bitter tragedy in the curving lips and great shadowed eyes.</p> + +<p>He closed the door and caught both her hands in his.</p> + +<p>"Let me come up with you, Mary," he cried, "if only for a moment. I +can't leave you like this. Your sister will be waiting up for you?"</p> + +<p>"She—she hasn't gone to bed yet. It isn't that," Mary replied in a +shaken voice. There was always a strange note in her voice when she was +forced to speak of her sister. It was there now, stronger than ever. +Subconsciously, it registered itself on Morris's mind, though at the +moment he paid no heed. He was to remember it later.</p> + +<p>"You're trembling, Mary! You're shivering as if you were frightened," +he cried, anxiously. "What is it, dear?"</p> + +<p>Again she shuddered, and drawing one hand away, covered her face.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing, nothing, Donald." She tried to laugh. "Someone walking +over my grave, perhaps," she added, lightly. Then, under her breath, +"Over my grave ... I wonder...." She caught her lip between her teeth +and swiftly pulled herself together.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Donald. Thank you for all your kindness—your—everything. +And leave me now. If you—care—go now, at once, while I have——"</p> + +<p>For a flash her eyes were upon him. What he saw in them took his +breath. With a cry he caught her close in his arms and held her fast. +Wildly heart beat against heart, conquering lips pressed lips which +yielded in passionate surrender.</p> + +<p>But only for a moment, though that moment seemed a lifetime to both.</p> + +<p>With shaking hand she pushed him from her, and without another word +sped up the shadowy stair.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">An Unstamped Letter</span></h3> + + +<p>Followed, for Donald Morris, two sleepless nights.</p> + +<p>The first was spent in living over again, moment by thrilling moment, +the events and emotions of the previous evening.</p> + +<p>The days of indecision, when worldly considerations were weighed in +the balance with his growing love for Mary Blake, seemed far away, and +almost inconceivable, so overwhelming had his passion become. Whatever +her antecedents had been, whatever her past, he was ready now to face +any future so long as it should be spent at her side. The trouble that +threatened her, if trouble there was, would be as nothing to him, no +matter what its nature, if he were allowed to share it. Every selfish +thought was swept away in the great tide of emotion which buoyed him up +and made him feel the master and ruler of circumstance.</p> + +<p>On the Sunday morning, as soon as convention would allow it, he had +called Mary Blake on the telephone to beg for an immediate interview.</p> + +<p>She had answered him quietly but finally. She would not see him for the +present. She made no explanation, gave no reasons, and in the midst of +his protestations she had quietly cut off the connection, leaving him +hurt, anxious, and apprehensive.</p> + +<p>These feelings had grown upon him during the morning to such an extent +that before noon he had decided to brave her displeasure and attempt an +interview.</p> + +<p>The pace of the swiftly moving cab that bore him southward seemed +all too slow, so anxious had he become. Gone now was the feeling of +invincibility of the early morning. A vague but almost unbearable sense +of uneasiness and alarm pursued him, try as he would to reason it away.</p> + +<p>When he had climbed the three flights of stairs of the old apartment +at Waverly Place, his fears were not allayed by the silence that +followed his repeated knocking. Once he had called through the door: +"Mary, Mary!" and in the stillness that ensued he had an uneasy sense +of a presence near him, a feeling that there was someone inside the +apartment, listening. He could never tell on what this assumption was +based, for there had been no recognizable sound, and though he renewed +his efforts, there had been no answer.</p> + +<p>Forced, at last, to abandon his attempt to see her, he left the +apartment and wandered about the streets, in a frame of mind to which, +in all his fortunate and successful life, he had been a stranger.</p> + +<p>Many times during the ensuing afternoon and evening he had attempted +to get her apartment on the wire. The first report was that the line +was busy and after that, each time he called, the operator made the +same reply—"Party doesn't answer."—And Donald Morris spent the second +sleepless night of all his healthy years.</p> + +<p>It was with a haggard face that he presented himself at his sister's +breakfast table on the Monday morning. He tried to greet her with his +usual affectionate gaiety, but Helena Atterbury was quick to notice +the change in his appearance, though she made no sign. He had lived +with her for years, this talented younger brother, and was the chief +consideration and passion of her ambitious and worldly heart. Even her +husband, Francis Atterbury, while tolerated with friendly courtesy +for his wealth and position, had a far less important place in her +affections.</p> + +<p>She watched Donald now with concern as he absently crumbled his roll, +though she spoke only of ordinary things.</p> + +<p>"Madame Justice coming along all right, Don?" she asked, referring to a +piece of allegorical statuary on which he was at work. "I'd like to run +in to the studio this morning and pay my respects, if she's ready to +receive callers."</p> + +<p>Morris glanced up from the morning paper and was about to reply when +an overwhelmingly correct maid entered and silently presented to his +notice an unstamped letter lying on a silver tray.</p> + +<p>"For me?" he questioned, unnecessarily, as he picked up the letter.</p> + +<p>"Just came by messenger, sir," replied the maid, in a still, small +voice. "Is there an answer, sir?"</p> + +<p>Donald Morris tore open the envelope while the maid waited. He pulled +out the letter and glanced at the signature. Then, abruptly, he rose +from his seat and strode quickly over to the window where, with back +turned, he swiftly perused the letter, not once but twice, crushing it +in his hand when he had finished.</p> + +<p>With a quick gesture he turned to the maid.</p> + +<p>"Where's the boy who brought this?" he asked, almost fiercely. "In the +hall? All right. You needn't wait." And turned sharply to leave the +room.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Don?" cried Helena Atterbury, rising quickly from the +table. "Is anything the matter? Tell me——"</p> + +<p>But her brother, entirely oblivious of the fact that she had spoken, +was already in the hall.</p> + +<p>She heard him questioning the messenger, heard the boy say, "Left at +the office in the Pennsylvania Station yesterday, to be delivered this +morning," and saw the boy dismissed.</p> + +<p>The trouble and concern in her brother's face was more than she could +bear.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Don? What has happened?" she cried, coming up to him near +the door.</p> + +<p>He turned from the hall table, his hat already in his hand.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, Helena," he said, confusedly. "I can't make out——And +it was yesterday! Oh, God!" He clenched his hand. "Already too late! +But I must see—I must make sure. Forgive me, Helena, but I can't wait. +I must——"</p> + +<p>He tore open the front door and rushed down the broad steps, looking in +every direction for a cab.</p> + +<p>Gramercy Park was peaceful and quiet on this spring morning. The sun +shone on the budding trees and bushes of the little park, and already +little children were playing and laughing with their nurses behind +the iron railings. A few private cars stood waiting along the curb at +different points, but not a cab was in sight.</p> + +<p>Without wasting an instant, Morris passed swiftly westward. As he +neared Fourth Avenue, he saw an empty cab rolling uptown. He hailed it +with a shout and broke into a run.</p> + +<p>"Ninety-nine Waverly Place," he called, as he pulled open the door and +leapt inside.</p> + +<p>"Make the best time you can," he called through the glass as the +cab turned. "It'll be worth your while to forget the speed laws. +Understand?"</p> + +<p>The smart Bowery boy at the wheel grinned his comprehension of the +order. His wary eye noted the appearance and probable generosity of +his fare, and the pressure of his foot on the accelerator marked, with +sincerity, the result of his observations.</p> + +<p>"Fool, to hurry now," thought Donald, leaning forward, however, and +chafing at every delay caused by the traffic of the busier streets. +"Too late! I know it will be too late.... But there's the merest +chance. Thank God——" he broke off as they swung into University +Place, and the way before them being comparatively clear, they sped +swiftly southward.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the cab turned the corner of Waverly Place and stopped +before the quiet brownstone front of Number Ninety-nine. It had once +been a private residence of distinction, and even in its altered +condition it had retained a look of reserved dignity which would have +impressed any one less preoccupied than the man who now, dismissing the +cabman with a handsome tip, sprang up its broad, worn steps.</p> + +<p>In his haste, Donald Morris almost fell over a kneeling figure just +inside the half-open door.</p> + +<p>"Watcha da pail!" a voice protested, as its owner jumped to his feet +and jerked a bucket of water out of the way. He grinned at Morris's +rapid apology, disclosing two rows of strong teeth, shining white in +a ruddy and rather stupid Italian face. "Me scrubba da floor," he +explained the obvious. "White marb' maka lotta troub'."</p> + +<p>Morris nodded, absently. "Miss Blake in? May I go up?" he asked, +hurriedly. Already his foot was on the stair.</p> + +<p>"Sure," answered the Italian, indifferently, bending again to his work. +"Me tinka both in, awright."</p> + +<p>The reply surprised and heartened Morris, to some slight extent +allaying his fears. The man was evidently the caretaker and might +know. At any rate, he could see Mary's sister, Anne, and find out——He +swore to himself that he would find out—that he would spare no means +and no person to get to the bottom of this—and with set jaw and racing +feet he dashed up the stairs.</p> + +<p>He passed two landings, where gas burned dimly beside discreetly closed +doors, and in a moment reached the top of the last flight.</p> + +<p>There was no light here save that which filtered through the +old-fashioned coloured glass of the skylight above the stair well, but +Morris did not hesitate, for there was only one door to Mary Blake's +apartment, the same plain white door at which, yesterday, he had +knocked so long and so fruitlessly.</p> + +<p>His foot had scarcely touched the landing when his hand shot out and +grasped the small brass knocker. The sharp "clap, clap," as it fell, +resounded in the silence, and Donald waited.</p> + +<p>No answer. Only grave silence within and the far-away roar of the busy +city without.</p> + +<p>He tried again, and yet again. Within, the silence lay unbroken.</p> + +<p>"No living thing beyond this door could fail to hear," Morris muttered +to himself. "No living—oh, God! What does her letter mean?"</p> + +<p>He drew it from his pocket and looked at it, but the light was too dim. +He could not decipher again its hurriedly written pages.</p> + +<p>He leaned against the edge of the door and thought as he had never +thought before. The words of the letter came back to him like fire, and +he clenched his teeth and groaned aloud.</p> + +<p>"What shall I do? What can I do?" he whispered to himself in an agony +of apprehension—and as he leaned forward to knock once more, his eyes, +grown accustomed to the dimness, caught a glimmer of something white +which lay upon the threshold of the door.</p> + +<p>He dropped to his knees and touched it. He felt it to be a small +portion—a corner of a scarf of soft, filmy silk, edged with fringe, +fine as thistle-down. It lay across the sill, caught by the closed +door. He pulled at it gently, but the door held it fast.</p> + +<p>Swiftly his hand sought and found a paper of matches in his pocket. He +lit one, and as the tiny flame leapt into being he held it down toward +the bit of frail silk tissue.</p> + +<p>Yes, he did recognize it. It was the scarf Mary had worn when last he +had seen her. These soft folds of silk had floated against his cheek +when—oh, God!—when he had kissed her.</p> + +<p>Reverently he stooped to put it to his lips—and suddenly, with a cry, +he sprang to his feet.</p> + +<p>With the last flicker of the match he had seen something which brought +his heart up, pounding in his ears.</p> + +<p>Wildly he struck another match, and holding the end of the scarf in his +left hand, he bent and brought the wavering flame close to the place +where the scarf was held by the door.</p> + +<p>Upon its pure silken folds, spreading toward him from under the door, +was an ugly dried blot of an ominous, dark red.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Peter Clancy</span></h3> + + +<p>Mr. Peter Clancy, early of the Metropolitan Police, late of the United +States Secret Service, and currently the active head of a small but +brilliant private detective agency, sat at his desk, yawning.</p> + +<p>Except for a few bootlegging cases, the last few weeks had been +singularly uneventful, and on this bright spring morning the equally +bright red head of the young detective was full of visions of leafy +woods and murmuring brooks, where trout rose audaciously and leaped, a +flash of rainbow and silver, in the glancing sunlight.</p> + +<p>"If nothing comes across to-day," he ruminated, dreamily, "I'll turn +over this righteous old burg to O'Malley's tender care, beat it out to +Jersey, and have a hack at the trout with Harry Carlisle, darned if I +won't."</p> + +<p>The pleasant thoughts engendered by this determination were rudely +interrupted by the sharp ringing of the telephone at his elbow.</p> + +<p>"Another lot of hooch unearthed," he muttered to himself disgustedly, +as he took the receiver off the hook and held it to his ear.</p> + +<p>"Hello," he cried, with an unnecessary accent on the first syllable. +"Who wants me, Maggie? Oh, all right. I don't know him, but put him +on." An instant's pause, then—"Hello, yes. Peter Clancy speaking. +Yes?" a rising inflection on the last word.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the expression of annoyance left his face. He listened +intently. His eyes narrowed to slits of flashing blue, his relaxed body +tautened in every fibre. Once or twice he shot a question into the +transmitter, but the entire conversation over the wire could have been +measured by seconds.</p> + +<p>At the end—"Ninety-nine Waverly Place? I'm there!" he said, and +flinging the receiver upon its hook, he dashed into the street, picked +up a passing taxi, and made good his word.</p> + +<p>The street door of Ninety-nine Waverly Place was ajar. Clancy, +flinging it wide as he reached the threshold, was greeted by a fluent +ejaculation in profane and picturesque brogue, winding up with—</p> + +<p>"It's the divil and all that's in it at all, at all! Bangin' me in the +stomach with the whole side of a house!"</p> + +<p>"Hello, Sullivan! What're you doing here?" cried Clancy, catching the +arm of the uniformed policeman with a gesture which was, in itself, a +hasty apology. "Anything to do with——" A motion of his head indicated +the upper part of the house.</p> + +<p>The officer nodded, and through his suddenly assumed air of +preternatural sagacity there appeared a deep perplexity.</p> + +<p>"Are you on it, yourself?" he asked, though he anticipated the +affirmative answer. "Mr. Morris called you up, I suppose," he +continued. "Said he was going to get the best man in New York, and I +guess he has, at that," with a complimentary grin. "Ye can't down the +Irish, eh, Mr. Clancy? Well, and what d'ye make of it?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know many of the facts yet," Clancy replied, hastily. "Am just +going after 'em. But what are you doing down here? Why aren't——"</p> + +<p>"He requested me very polite to lave him alone wid it," answered the +policeman, with so conscious an air of virtue that Clancy could almost +see the denomination of the large bill which he felt sure was in +Sullivan's pocket. "It was nothin' agin my duty to lave him," Sullivan +explained, elaborately, "since I know Mr. Morris be sight, him not +knowin' me and offerin' his card, which I had no need of at all, me +havin' been usher at the Opera, before I got too big for them little +uniforms they do be havin', and knowin' the Morris box like it was me +own ward. And I had to see the Captain when he come, didn't I, and give +him a hint of it before he wint upstairs?"</p> + +<p>"Sure. You're all right, Sullivan," said Clancy, slapping the broad +blue shoulder. "Be a good scout, and give me a hint before I go up. But +be quick about it, will you? I don't want to keep Mr. Morris waiting. +Where did he find you?"</p> + +<p>"Just down the block a piece. I was goin' on me way, when I heard +someone runnin' like hell behind me. 'Officer,' says he, 'come wid me, +quick!' and he grabs me by the arm and no more he says, wid me racin' +beside him puffin' to kape up, till we come to this door. Open it was, +and up the stairs we go together like the divil was chasin' us. When we +got to the top, 'Look,' says he, pointin' down, and no more words at +all, at all, which might have been he was lackin' his breath, same as +me. And I looked, and I couldn't see nothin' but somethin' white and +thin, like smoke, a'most, that was stickin' out from under the door. +You've heard about that?"</p> + +<p>Clancy assented with a quick nod.</p> + +<p>"Yes. He told me. So that's how he got you? That's what I wanted to +know. Find out the rest upstairs. Thanks. See you later," and Clancy +went up the stairs, two steps at a time.</p> + +<p>Though his ascent was rapid, his foot fell quietly on the thick carpet. +Quiet, too, was his hand on the knob of the door. He had often found +that a sudden, unexpected entrance was effective in more ways than one. +This time, however, the effect failed utterly, for the door was locked.</p> + +<p>Clancy, frowning slightly, raised and let fall the small brass knocker.</p> + +<p>He heard someone moving inside the apartment, and almost immediately a +voice near the door asked:</p> + +<p>"Who's there?"</p> + +<p>At Clancy's reply, the door opened wide.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Clancy!" ejaculated Donald Morris, accepting Peter's card with a +glance of verification. "I didn't think you could possibly get here +so soon. It was good of you——" He did not finish the sentence, but +quickly motioned the detective inside and closed the door.</p> + +<p>The narrow hall into which Clancy stepped was rather dark, the only +light coming in from an open door at his right. Through this door +Morris immediately led the way, into a large living room, Clancy +following close at his heels.</p> + +<p>As Morris stepped into the light, Clancy's quick eyes took in at a +glance his strong features and haggard aspect. This was a man not +easily alarmed, Clancy thought. It would take a good deal to upset his +balance, and, in search of enlightenment, his glance travelled swiftly +all about the room.</p> + +<p>"Everything here just as you found it?" he asked, quickly.</p> + +<p>Morris nodded. "All but this," he said, in a heavy voice, motioning +toward a table which stood near one of the windows.</p> + +<p>Clancy swiftly advanced and looked down intently at that which lay upon +it. He touched it with his finger.</p> + +<p>"You found this scarf across the door-sill," he said, meditatively. And +leaning closer he went on, "Stained.... Yes.... Blood?... Looks like +it. Could hardly be anything else.... Not much of it.... And you found +no——"</p> + +<p>"There's no one, dead or alive, in the apartment," Morris interrupted, +hastily. He felt that he could not bear to hear the word which he saw +forming itself on the detective's lips. "The officer went all through +the place with me. It's empty, quite empty, though the janitor thought +both Miss Blake and her sister were here. And," with a motion of his +hand, "the place was as you see it."</p> + +<p>Again Clancy looked carefully around the room. It was unusually large +and spacious, occupying the entire front of the old house. Simple, good +old furniture, well placed, gave it an air of comfort and elegance, +though there was not an unnecessary thing in the room. The three large +windows facing the south were covered by thin ecru curtains held in +place by a small rod at top and bottom, letting in the light but +obscuring the view of the ugly, tall buildings across the way.</p> + +<p>Standing there, in that viewless room, Clancy had a swift sense of the +isolation of so many thousands of lives in this dynamic and vital city. +What could not happen in a secluded, quiet back-water like this? What +lives and deaths, with the teeming city surrounding them on every side?</p> + +<p>The thought crossed his mind in a flash and was gone. He was not +concerned now with profitless generalities. He had been summoned here +to find out what had happened, and exactly what had happened, in this +present case.</p> + +<p>There was not a great deal to go upon in this room; nothing especially +out of the ordinary save the stained scarf upon the table, and the +fact that the several drawers of a desk on the far side of the room +had apparently been ransacked, some of them being still open, their +contents partly scattered on the floor. A small table at the end of +a long couch which stood at right angles to the fireplace had been +overturned, and on the floor beside it lay a shattered vase of blue +hawthorne.</p> + +<p>Apparently nothing else was out of place, and it was, perhaps, not +unusual in this spring weather that there should be a quantity of ashes +in the old-fashioned open grate. But ashes of any kind, perhaps from +early association with the stories of the great Sherlock Holmes, always +interested Peter Clancy.</p> + +<p>He knelt to investigate and found that the ashes appeared to be those +of burnt paper only. He stirred them carefully, but could not find a +vestige of charred wood nor a single bit of paper which had escaped the +action of the fire.</p> + +<p>Morris followed him silently about the room, asking no questions. He +had the air of one dazed by a crushing blow.</p> + +<p>Satisfied, for the moment, by a more or less casual inspection, Clancy +returned to what was to him the most significant object in the room.</p> + +<p>"This scarf," said he, looking at it closely. "I think you told me you +found it outside in the hall?"</p> + +<p>"Partly outside and partly in," Morris made answer at once. "It was +caught fast by the door, but some of the—of the blood on it was +outside."</p> + +<p>"H—m—m, yes," said Clancy, slowly. "And it belongs to someone who +lives here, you think?"</p> + +<p>"It was Miss Mary Blake's," answered Morris, decidedly.</p> + +<p>"You're sure?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"I recognized it at once," answered Morris with conviction. "She wore +it when—when I brought her home after the closing of the play."</p> + +<p>"Saturday—that was Saturday night, and this is Monday," Peter Clancy +ruminated. "And that was the last you saw of her?"</p> + +<p>"The last I saw of her, yes. I spoke to her on the wire Sunday morning, +rather early, about ten o'clock. And I—I received a letter from her +this morning. That was why I came. I was alarmed, and——"</p> + +<p>"You were alarmed, then, before you came here. It was not only finding +the scarf——"</p> + +<p>"No. Her letter was so—so strange and unaccountable." Morris hesitated +and, to help him out, Peter said:</p> + +<p>"But you did expect to find Miss Blake here when you came this morning?"</p> + +<p>"I," Morris spoke slowly—"I can't say that I expected to find her. I +only thought there might be a chance. But I certainly did expect to +find her sister, Anne."</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's a sister," said Clancy. "Well, perhaps she'll turn up. +Maybe she's just gone away for the week-end, or you know it's quite on +the cards that she may have gone out this morning, even, and not come +back yet. She might have been looking for something in that desk in +a hurry and left it upset. And as to the scarf, and the blood stain +on it (I admit, you see, that it probably is blood) it might well be +accounted for by some simple accident——"</p> + +<p>Morris shook his head, the troubled frown remaining fixed upon his +forehead.</p> + +<p>"No, no," he exclaimed. "It's impossible to dispose of the conditions +here so easily. I'm sure you'll agree with me when you see the rest of +the apartment. Something has happened here—something sinister. I'm +sure of it. I'm at a loss to understand it all," he pressed his hand +against his forehead as if the throbbing of his brain made his head +ache, "but perhaps you can make a guess. Come and see."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">A Viewless Room</span></h3> + + +<p>Donald Morris turned quickly and opened a door immediately on the right +of the one which led into the hall.</p> + +<p>"You found this closed?" asked Clancy.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then we'll keep it that way," said Peter, suiting the action to the +word. "I can always think better with everything as it was when found. +Now, let's see——" He glanced about him.</p> + +<p>They stood in what was evidently a bedroom, but here disorder reigned +supreme. All the drawers of a tall old mahogany bureau stood open, the +contents flung about on the floor. A dressing table, by the one large +window, had been rifled. The drawers had been pulled completely out and +emptied on its top. A mound of hairpins, fine lace collars, and other +small accessories of the toilet showed what they had contained. The +doors of two closets stood open, but the interior appeared undisturbed. +A number of very handsome and elaborate gowns and evening wraps hung +in one of them, carefully arranged on hangers and covered with muslin +slips. A rack containing delicate evening slippers stood in order on +the floor. In the other closet were street clothes and shoes, all of +fine quality and elegant pattern.</p> + +<p>Morris watched Clancy's face.</p> + +<p>"What do you think now?" he asked, after a moment.</p> + +<p>Peter shook his head.</p> + +<p>"On its face, it's a clear case of looting," he replied, slowly. "By +the way, was the window shade up, as it is now, when you discovered all +this?"</p> + +<p>Morris's tone was a trifle apologetic. "No, I remember I pulled up the +blind to let in the light as soon as I came in."</p> + +<p>Clancy crossed to the window and pulled aside the thin curtains which, +as in the living room, covered it from top to bottom. He looked out on +a deep, narrow well, or shaft, at the far end of which could be seen an +open space, and beyond the backs of the houses at the opposite end of +the block. On his right was the blank wall of the tall building next +door.</p> + +<p>"No fire-escape here," he murmured, half to himself. "The thief, if it +was a thief, didn't get in this way, anyhow." He looked once more about +the room, photographing its every detail upon the sensitized plate +of his analytical mind. "I guess that'll be about all here for the +present, Mr. Morris. Is there anything more?"</p> + +<p>"Only more of the same kind," Morris replied, as he led the way through +an open door into the narrow hall, which ran through the apartment +from the living room in the front to the kitchen in the rear. "This +is the dining room," he crossed the threshold of the next room on the +right, "and you can see the condition here. Practically nothing left +in the side-board drawers. The kitchen," he led the way again, "seems +to be all right, except that the window is broken just over the catch. +The janitor called my attention to it. He came up with the officer to +let us in and was much excited by the discovery. He said he knew that +the window was not broken on the previous day. The officer thought it +proved how the thief got in——"</p> + +<p>"H—m—m. Yes," said Clancy, closely inspecting the window. +"Fire-escape here. Yes. So Sullivan got it all doped out, right off the +bat, did he? Clever boy, Sullivan, he sure is."</p> + +<p>Clancy lingered a few minutes more in the kitchen, though Donald Morris +could not, at the time, understand the reason for the delay. The +detective stood gazing for quite a while at an innocent little sliver +of ice which lay in the kitchen sink, apparently oblivious of his +surroundings. When he opened the pantry door, and also looked into the +refrigerator, it flashed across Donald's mind that he might be hungry +and looking for something to eat, for this, in ordinary circumstances, +would be the natural inference from his actions, but if that were the +case, Clancy made no mention of it, and at last signified that he had +finished with the kitchen.</p> + +<p>There was only one other room in the apartment, a small one near the +kitchen door, evidently intended for a maid's room but not used for +that purpose, for a long rod, with a number of coat hangers upon +it, crossed one side and a large trunk stood against the wall. The +trunk was locked and the coat hangers were empty. A small, plain +white chiffonier stood in one corner. The drawers were partly open, +disclosing a few gloves and other articles of woman's apparel, all +plain, old, and worn.</p> + +<p>Neither here nor in the bathroom, which came next, were there any signs +of disturbance.</p> + +<p>As they stepped again into the hall, they were aware of a loud knocking +on the door at the far end.</p> + +<p>"That's Sullivan and the captain of the precinct, probably," said +Clancy. "I'll go," and passing Morris he went quickly down the hall and +opened the door.</p> + +<p>His surmise proved to be correct. Sullivan ushered in Captain +Fitzgerald and introduced his friend, Clancy, with evident pride.</p> + +<p>Clancy took charge of the situation and conducted the captain through +the apartment. The inspection finished, they all returned to the living +room, where Morris awaited them.</p> + +<p>"This is just a simple case of robbery, Mr. Morris," said the bluff +police captain, deferentially (for who had not heard of the son and +heir of the great Morris estate?). "We'll do our best to get hold of +the lad as pulled it, but we're kind of up against it, as you can easy +see for yourself. Sullivan tells me that the apartment is rented by the +two Miss Blakes and that they're both away. So how can we tell what's +been taken, if any? Maybe you, being a friend——"</p> + +<p>"It happens that I have never been in the apartment before," Morris +interrupted, hastily, "though I know Miss Mary Blake very well."</p> + +<p>"And do you know where the two of them has gone then?" inquired the +captain.</p> + +<p>"No," answered Morris, slowly. "No. I'm afraid I can't help you there, +either."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, you see," Captain Fitzgerald shrugged his broad shoulders, +"we don't know what's missing and so we can't know where to look for +it, and equally if we don't know what's taken we don't know what kind +of a guy would have been taking it. I'd like to promise results, seeing +it's yourself has called us in, but it'd be just foolishness to do it +till the ladies get back. As soon as they do, you let us know, and +we'll take up the case again, see? It's all we can do——"</p> + +<p>"Sure it is, Captain," agreed Peter, heartily. "Mr. Morris must see +that in a plain case of burglary like this you can't do anything till +the owners appear and make a complaint. He's perfectly satisfied and +so am I. But you don't mind if we stick around here for a bit, do +you? We've got some business to talk over and it's quiet here." He +paused, and the utter silence of the place smote his nerves. "Yes, +it sure is quiet," he thought within himself, "as quiet as death." +Then aloud—"We'll lock up when we go and leave everything as is. So +long, Sullivan. Much obliged to you, Captain. Hope I see you again," +and with pleasant words of farewell he determinedly ushered Captain +Fitzgerald and his satellite out into the hall.</p> + +<p>He closed the door carefully behind them, making sure that the lock was +sprung, and returned to Morris who waited in the living room.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's that," said Peter with satisfaction, as he seated himself +beside the window.</p> + +<p>Donald Morris was pacing about the room, a heavy, puzzled frown upon +his face. He stopped in front of the detective.</p> + +<p>"Why did you get rid of the police in that abrupt fashion, Mr. Clancy?" +he asked. "It seems to me that something ought to be done at once to +track down this burglar, and we need all the help they can give us. I +would do anything—pay anything—rather than to have Miss Blake suffer +loss. With their help we might have found some clue—something to go +upon. If it's a simple case of robbery, as they think——"</p> + +<p>Clancy looked up gravely and slowly closed one eye.</p> + +<p>"If it is a simple case of robbery," he repeated, "Captain Fitzgerald +has done the only thing in his power. He's got nothing to go ahead on, +if—it—is—simply—robbery." He said the last words so slowly and with +so much meaning that Morris started eagerly forward, crying—</p> + +<p>"Then you don't think——"</p> + +<p>"It may have been robbery," Clancy interrupted, with grave intent. +"But—it wasn't a simple kind of robbery, that I'll swear to."</p> + +<p>"You mean?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Morris, did you notice that kitchen window which was the obvious +place for the thief to make his entrance, since the fire-escape led +up to it?" asked Clancy, slowly. "Well," he paused, "the window was +broken just at the catch, where it ought to have been, but," he shook +an impressive forefinger, "the glass had fallen entirely on the outside +of the window. There wasn't a trace of it inside the room."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Camouflage?</span></h3> + + +<p>"Good God," cried Donald Morris, sitting down suddenly and striking +his hand on the arm of Clancy's chair. "Then I was right at first! +Something terrible has happened, something complicated and sinister! I +had a feeling that it was so when I called you. I——"</p> + +<p>Peter leaned slightly forward and caught Morris's arm in a steadying +grip.</p> + +<p>"Hold hard, Mr. Morris," he said. "The whole thing may be a mare's +nest, only I'll say right now that it does look a bit queer to me. +But we won't get anywhere near the solution if we don't start at the +beginning. Now let's get down to brass tacks."</p> + +<p>Clancy felt the muscles under his hand relax somewhat, so he released +his hold of Morris's arm and leaned back in his chair.</p> + +<p>"When you called me on the 'phone, you told me nothing except that you +had found a scarf of Miss Blake's stained with blood and that Miss +Blake had disappeared, and asked me to come here as fast as possible. +I beat it down here and found that the apartment had, apparently, been +looted and that neither of the two women who live here were to be +found. Though, for the matter of that, have you any definite reason to +think that either or both of them may not be back at any moment?"</p> + +<p>"I think—I believe I have reason to think that Miss Mary Blake +intended to go away—or—oh, I don't know just what to think."</p> + +<p>"But you did expect the sister to be here," insisted Peter.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Morris nodded. "I think I did expect to find her sister, Anne. +And, as you say, for all I know she may come in at any moment——"</p> + +<p>Peter folded his arms and, gripping his chin in his hand, slowly shook +his head.</p> + +<p>"She won't be back. Not for some time, anyway," he said, deliberately. +"I'm pretty sure of that. In fact, I feel positive that neither of the +sisters will show up for some little time to come unless their plans +change."</p> + +<p>"Why do you think that?" asked Morris, with a quick, eager frown.</p> + +<p>"The occupants of this apartment planned to leave it," said Peter, +gravely. "They made their plans well in advance, and one of them, at +least, was a good housekeeper."</p> + +<p>"How in the world do you know that?" asked Morris, frankly puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Perfectly obvious," answered Peter, with a slight shrug. "Didn't you +notice the bedroom in there?" He jerked his thumb in the direction of +the room adjoining.</p> + +<p>"I—I don't think I did, particularly," Morris hesitated. "There was so +much else——"</p> + +<p>"I know. But if you'd happened to notice the bed, you'd have seen that +it had nothing on it at all but one sheet, and that wasn't put on in +the usual way, but was all over it, even covering the pillows. No +housekeeper would fix a bed that way if she were coming back to-night, +or to-morrow, or any time soon, would she?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't much experience with that sort of thing," said Morris, "but +it doesn't seem as if she would."</p> + +<p>"Then there was the kitchen," Clancy went on. "There wasn't a bit of +perishable food anywhere around. The refrigerator was entirely empty +and the doors left open, just as my mother used to do when we all +went away anywhere for a visit. The ice had been taken out and put in +the sink. There's a very little piece of it there now, or was when we +looked the place over. Do you draw any conclusion from that?"</p> + +<p>"Only, as you say, that both the sisters must have intended to leave."</p> + +<p>"And you get nothing more from the little piece of ice that hasn't +melted yet?"</p> + +<p>Morris shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Why, don't you see," Peter explained, with a little gleam in his +eye, "that just about fixes the time they left. Given the size of the +ice chamber, which is small, and the fact that the ice couldn't have +been left on Sunday, don't you see that, with a hot night like last +night, it would have melted entirely away if it had been put into the +sink earlier than yesterday afternoon? The box wouldn't have held a +piece big enough to last over if it had been put there in the morning. +Somebody was in this apartment as late, I should say, as five o'clock +yesterday afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Then there <i>was</i> someone here when I came, just before lunch," +exclaimed Morris, quite convinced by the other's rapid reasoning.</p> + +<p>"It's more than probable," said Peter. "At least there was someone here +at a much later hour. I'm sure of that. Now, who was it? They evidently +had no maid in the house. There's no bed in the maid's room and only +a single bed and a big couch in the bedroom. Both of the sisters must +have slept in there. Now, were they both here yesterday afternoon? and +did they leave together? And then did someone break in?" he mused. +"That's, of course, what it looks like ... and yet.... Why the glass on +the outside of the kitchen window, if it was an outside job? And how +do we know for certain that anything has been stolen? Is this robbery +business camouflage?" He sat up suddenly and looked Donald Morris +straight in the eye. "What do you think, yourself?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what to think, Mr. Clancy," answered Donald, pressing his +hand to his forehead. "I really don't. You see so much more clearly +than I. You are able to reason everything out. You know everything that +I do——"</p> + +<p>"Except—" said Peter, slowly and seriously—"you'll forgive my +mentioning it if it has no possible bearing on the case, but it goes +without saying that you're more anxious about Miss Blake than you could +possibly be if she and her sister had just gone off on a trip and their +apartment had been entered when they weren't here. You told me that you +were alarmed about her—that was why you came here this morning. You +mentioned a letter——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Donald, rising and moving restlessly about the room. +"There was the letter—and this." He paused beside the table on which +still lay the filmy scarf. He shuddered as he looked at it. "I was +almost beside myself when I found it. I thought that the blood on it +had flowed out from—something inside the door.... And the janitor, +not knowing me, refused to open the apartment. It wasn't till I got +the policeman.... Oh, God, it was awful! The suspense——" He strode +abruptly to the window and did not turn until he had partially regained +his composure.</p> + +<p>"And then—there was the letter——" Clancy persisted. "You said, some +time ago, that it was strange, unaccountable...."</p> + +<p>He waited a moment, watching Morris's face. He could almost see the +struggle which was going on in the mind of this clever, sophisticated +man of the world, into whose world had been thrust an occurrence with +which no previous experience had given him the ability to cope. Would +he show the letter? Could he take a man, as Clancy felt himself to be, +from another sphere, into his entire confidence?</p> + +<p>Donald's eyes searched the face before him and Clancy returned his +gaze with a glance so frank and open, so intelligent and resourceful, +that Morris was favourably impressed, even more so than he had been +when his cousin, Dick Schuyler, hastily summoned on the wire, had +enthusiastically recommended Peter Clancy as the only absolutely +dependable detective in New York.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Morris, why are you so sure that something has happened to Miss +Blake?" asked Peter, putting an end to an almost imperceptible pause. +"You do think something unpleasant has happened, don't you? Something +pretty awful—else why have you called me in? And now that I am in, how +can I help you if you won't give me a look at the hand you're holding?"</p> + +<p>He smiled his winning, cheerful smile and spread out his hands. Morris +straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. The uncertainty was +gone from his eyes.</p> + +<p>"You're right, Mr. Clancy. Perfectly right," he said. "I'm sure there's +something wrong, dreadfully wrong here, and I want your help. I will +give you every assistance in my power and will be perfectly frank and +open with you. What I am about to tell you is known to no one and I +will ask you to treat it in confidence."</p> + +<p>"You may be quite at ease in your mind about that," said Peter, +promptly. "My job wouldn't amount to a hill of beans if I couldn't +keep my mouth shut and my eyes open. So let me have what you've got +and, believe me," he added, seriously, "it goes to the bottom of the +well, and I'll help you for all I'm worth and then some."</p> + +<p>Clancy's manner was so straightforward and engaging that Donald +impulsively held out his hand. Peter returned the strong clasp, and the +two young men, so near in age, so far apart in experience of the world, +became firm allies.</p> + +<p>As their hands fell apart, Morris spoke—</p> + +<p>"First of all, I must tell you," he said, with dignity, "that I have +asked Miss Mary Blake to become my wife."</p> + +<p>Peter drew in a sharp breath. He knew, as all the world knew, of Mary +Blake's sudden leap from obscurity into world-wide fame; he had some +knowledge, through friends in the theatrical profession, of how dark +that obscurity had remained. And Donald Morris—the heir to the Morris +millions! That he should——</p> + +<p>"And Miss Blake has accepted." Clancy's words were in no sense a +question, so sure was he that there could be no other conclusion.</p> + +<p>Morris flushed slightly.</p> + +<p>"She refused," he said, quietly, "but in such a way that I had hopes—I +believed——" He paused, then went on, "That was late Saturday night. I +have not seen her since. There is only her letter, and——"</p> + +<p>"May I see the letter?" asked Peter, gravely. "I think, perhaps, that +it's a lot to ask, but, you see," he broke off, "there isn't so much to +show here that there's anything to be alarmed at. It looks as if there +had been a burglary—and there's that scarf. But there isn't an awful +lot to get excited about, seems to me. If Miss Blake went off at the +end of the season and took her sister with her——"</p> + +<p>"That's another thing," interrupted Donald, hastily. "Did her sister +go with her? Somehow—I can't just tell you why—I have a feeling that +perhaps she didn't. Though I've never met Miss Anne, somewhere I've +gotten the impression that—that they weren't exactly friendly.... +Whether it was the way Mary spoke when I asked about her sister ... or +whether it was what she said in the letter."</p> + +<p>"Let me see the letter, Mr. Morris," said Clancy, gravely. "Let me +judge for myself."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> + +<h3>"<span class="smcap">My Sister, Anne</span>——"</h3> + + +<p>Slowly, Donald Morris put his hand inside the breast of his coat and +drew out several slightly crumpled sheets of paper. He spread them out +and his eyes rested tenderly on these words—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><span class="smcap">My Beloved</span>——</p> + +<p>I write it for the first—and perhaps, who knows—the last time. But I +have said it in my heart for so long—My beloved! I can say it to you +now without shame—after last night.</p> +</div> + +<p>His eyes travelled on down the succeeding pages to the end. When he had +finished, he turned down the top of the first page.</p> + +<p>"I will ask you not to read that." He addressed Clancy with a quiet +reserve which became him well. "It is significant only to me and, I +think, can have no bearing on what has happened. I will be glad if you +will read the rest."</p> + +<p>He handed the letter to Clancy who scrutinized it closely. It was +evidently written in haste and under the stress of great excitement. He +read—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>I did not sleep. I have been thinking and thinking—how much to tell +you—how to explain——</p> + +<p>My sister Anne, with whom I live is——</p> +</div> + +<p>(This last sentence was heavily crossed out, almost obliterated, but +Peter was sure that these were the words.) The letter went on—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>No, I will not tell you about Anne, about the bitterness and tragedy +of my life. If it can be removed, if I escape, whole and clean, I will +come to you. There is danger, I know, on account of——No, I cannot +tell you the danger without explaining all. But danger is nothing to +me now. I will put fate to the test and have done.</p> + +<p>What I do I must do quickly, before my courage fails. If I were to see +you again——That can not be. I could not see you face to face again +and not tell you—and then——</p> + +<p>No, I'm determined. I've let things go on too long. I saw it in your +dear face when I left you. I am determined that you shall make no +sacrifice for me.</p> + +<p>If I fail, there will be no one left but Anne, and you will never find +her. She will see to that. If I succeed, I will come back to you. I +promise, my beloved, as solemnly as if I were on my death-bed. I will +come back and tell you all that I have hidden so carefully, my ugly, +pitiful secret, which is known to but one person, now, in all the +world—and after that, you may do as you will with me.</p> + +<p>If I never see you again, believe, oh, you must believe, that I love +you. That, knowing you as I have come to know you, I will stake +everything to come clean in your eyes, or I will never look into your +dear eyes again. I am thinking of you, my dearest in all the world, +only of you, and I beg, with my heart full of tears, that if I fail, +you will remember gently her whom you have known as</p> + +<p class="ph3"><span class="smcap">Mary Blake</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p>Peter sat for a long time after he had finished reading, lost in +thought. At last he stirred and, pointing to the signature, he said:</p> + +<p>"Then Mary Blake is not her own name."</p> + +<p>Morris shook his head. "No, I know that to be her stage name only," he +said, quietly.</p> + +<p>"And her real name is?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>Peter thought, "And yet he has asked her to be his wife. She must be a +wonder!" Aloud he said, referring to the letter:</p> + +<p>"I think there is something here to account for your impression that +Miss Blake wasn't too keen on her sister Anne. At any rate, the sister +seems to be connected in some way with the thing that was troubling +her. Did you make out this blotted place? These words crossed out?"</p> + +<p>He indicated with his finger. Donald bent above the crumpled sheet.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I made it out to be, 'My sister Anne, with whom I +live, is'——"</p> + +<p>"That's what I make it," said Clancy. "And then she speaks again, right +after it, of the bitterness and tragedy of her life, and it seems to +be in connection with Anne.... And here again," he turned the page, +"she says there will be no one left but Anne, and that you will never +find her. What does that mean? And who is the one person who knows her +secret? Surely her sister, who lives with her, would be the most likely +to——"</p> + +<p>"And the danger," Morris broke in. "She speaks of danger. Oh, God! And +she isn't here and I don't know where she's gone!" He clenched his +hands upon the chair arms and looked at Peter in agonized entreaty.</p> + +<p>"We'll take steps to find her," Peter said, firmly, encouragingly. +"And we'll start this instant. Come! We'll get the janitor up here and +see what he knows, since we're on the spot. He must know something, at +least, about their ordinary habits, whether a maid came in by the day, +who some of their friends are, possibly. We might get a clue, a hint, +from anywhere or anybody. You never can tell. We've got to trust a +good deal to luck. But you know 'the luck of the Irish'!" This with a +cheerful grin as he went toward the door. "I'll get the Dago first," he +said, and vanished.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">A Splash of Blood</span></h3> + + +<p>The door closed after Peter with a snap of the spring lock, and Donald +Morris waited, striding nervously about. At every turn in the length +of the room he paused beside the frail scarf which still lay upon the +table. It drew him with an irresistible, horrible fascination.</p> + +<p>Whose blood was that upon it? What fearful scene had taken place in +this quiet room? The overturned table suggested that there might +have been a struggle. But what sort of a struggle, and between whom? +Was there some secret animosity between these two sisters, living so +closely together and in such seclusion? That had been his impression +for a long time. Was it correct? And if so, what then? Had the feeling +between them been serious enough to cause——</p> + +<p>His troubled reflections were interrupted by a quick, quiet knock on +the outer door. He went swiftly into the shadowy hall, and hearing the +detective's voice just outside, he threw open the door, disclosing +Clancy and the janitor.</p> + +<p>The latter seemed very much abashed by the summons. He snatched off +his old hat, and with his two hands clasped behind his back he bowed +several times in a quick, foreign way, and smiled deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>He was dressed in an old loose pair of dark trousers and a +blue-and-white striped, long-sleeved blouse, open at the throat. +Altogether he appeared what he was—a kindly, childlike, dirty little +Italian, such as one may see by the hundred in the section south of +Washington Square.</p> + +<p>"Come on in, Angelo," said Clancy, pleasantly. "Don't be afraid. Mr. +Morris and I just want to ask you a few questions. Name's Angelo +Russo," he added, turning to Morris. "Says he's been janitor here for +about four years." Then, turning back, he took the seemingly reluctant +Italian by the arm. "Come in here, Angelo," he repeated. "Nothing for +you to be afraid of. I guess Sullivan must have treated you kind of +rough, didn't he? But he didn't mean anything. Professional etiquette, +that's all. Now sit down there and make yourself comfortable, and tell +us what you know about the tenants here."</p> + +<p>His manner was cheerful and disarming, and the janitor was reassured. +He seated himself on the edge of a chair near the door of the living +room and answered Peter's questions with a volubility which was almost +overwhelming.</p> + +<p>"No know mucha 'bout da ladies," he said, with a characteristic shrug +and a nervous grin. "Ver' quiet, ver' nice. Both keep alla to selves. +Both speak pleasant to Angelo, no speak mucha. Say 'Nice day, Angelo,' +Mees Anne say, ev' morn' she go out buy grub. Dat all. 'Nice day, +Angelo.' Da tall, gran' one, Mees Mary, she say, 'Good eve', Angelo,' +if see her when she go teatro at night. No see her ver' mucha. No roun' +vestabula, me, lika in morn' when Mees Anne come down. Den——"</p> + +<p>"What does Miss Anne look like, Angelo?" Donald Morris interrupted. He +was filled with an intense desire to learn all that was possible about +the strange sister whom he had never seen—whom, now, it appeared he +would never see if Mary's letter gave the exact fact. "There will be no +one left but Anne, and you will never see her. She will see to that." +Why would there be no one left but Anne? Where——</p> + +<p>"She looka da nice, quiet lady," again the Italian shrug and the +gesture of open hands. "Weara da black, ver' plain. No tall an' gran' +lika da sist'. She looka lika alla da ladies, only she hava da big, +reda mark on face, here, looka lika blood——"</p> + +<p>"You mean a birthmark?" Clancy broke in hastily. "A conspicuous +birthmark?" He exchanged a hopeful glance with Morris. A thing of that +sort ought to make it easier to trace her, if it became necessary.</p> + +<p>"Non capisch da birt'mark," Angelo showed a slightly puzzled face, "but +he big reda place alla lika here." He raised a stubby brown hand and +passed it across his dark cheek and down on his neck. "Too mucha bad," +he added. "Oth' side she awright."</p> + +<p>"Did she resemble Miss Mary?" asked Morris, eagerly. "Did she look at +all like her sister?"</p> + +<p>"N', no!" The Italian's negation was very emphatic. "Mees Mary tall, +lika Madonn', stan' straight," he lifted his square body in the chair, +"lika da lil'. See face tru vail lika ange' in cloud, <i>si</i>, si. +Sometime me lika see no vail. N', no, Ev' time she wear him. Tinka, me, +she wear him so peopl' in street not know she great Mees Blake ev'bod' +talk 'bout."</p> + +<p>Morris nodded. "That's true, Angelo. But tell us more about Miss Anne. +We know how Miss Mary looked." There was a world of sadness in his +voice. "Describe Miss Anne to us. Was she tall or short?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Si, si.</i> Pret' gooda tall," answered the janitor, considering +heavily, "but no so ver'. She hanga down, lika dis," drooping slightly +forward. "She looka ver' sad alla time. She nev' speak, only, 'Gooda +morn', Angelo.' That all. Jus' 'Gooda morn', Angelo'."</p> + +<p>"How long were the sisters here?" asked Clancy.</p> + +<p>"Not know for sure. Come two, tree year ago. Soon aft' me taka da job."</p> + +<p>"So long as that, and you don't know anything more about them?" asked +Peter, sharply.</p> + +<p>Again the shrug, with eyebrows raised. "How me know mucha 'bout da +ladies? Justa da janitor, me."</p> + +<p>"Well, you must know," said Peter, "what servants they had."</p> + +<p>"No serv', no serv' 'tall," Angelo replied, quickly. "Two ladies all +alone. Tinka dey do alla own work. Tinka, me, Mees Anne do alla work, +an' Mees Mary, she sleep late. No see come down till time for she go +teatro. Mees Anne she go out ev' morn'——"</p> + +<p>"All right," Peter interrupted. "Then they had no servants—not even a +laundress?"</p> + +<p>"Me no know—maybe. Somebod' might come for wash. Me no know who, if +anybod'. Me no in hall alla time. Only morn' when clean up hall—me +liva da basemen'. Door no lock alla da day. If somebod' ringa da bell, +me go."</p> + +<p>"Then you don't know if the ladies had many visitors, or who they +were?" asked Peter, with a frown. The conversation seemed not to be +eliciting anything useful to his purpose.</p> + +<p>The janitor shook his head.</p> + +<p>"See ol' lady come, two, tree, four time. Fine, gran' ol' lady, ver' +big, wide——" Angelo thrust out his hands together, palms down, to the +full reach of his short arms, and brought them around to his sides in +a full, sweeping curve, graphically expressive of great <i>embonpoint</i>. +"Gran' ol' lady," he repeated, his white teeth flashing in a grin, "she +puffa some on alla da stair!"</p> + +<p>"You don't know her name?" Peter inquired, eagerly.</p> + +<p>Again the Italian shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Or where she lives?"</p> + +<p>"How know, me?" was the reasonable response.</p> + +<p>"And you've never seen any other friends of theirs?"</p> + +<p>"No, no. No see anybod'."</p> + +<p>Peter realized that there was no hope in this direction. He leaned +back and thought for a moment, frowning, his keen eyes half closed. +Morris shifted, uneasily, in his chair. He felt that they were merely +wasting time. He had no ideas as to what should be done in the +circumstances, but he felt, agonizingly, that they should be doing +something—anything. At last Clancy spoke:</p> + +<p>"It was easy enough for both the sisters to leave without your seeing +them, then, Angelo?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>si, si</i>. Easy—sure!"</p> + +<p>"And they said nothing to you about going? That seems a little queer to +me. Did they ever go away before, and leave the apartment empty, and +not tell you to look out for things?"</p> + +<p>"No tinka dey both go sama time before. Mees Mary, she go in summer +time, but Mees Anne stay alla time home."</p> + +<p>Peter looked around the room. Had they gone away together this time, +amicably, as sisters should? The strange phrasing of the letter came +back to him, and his eyes rested, in disturbed consideration, on the +blood-stained scarf.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he rose from his chair. "I guess that's about all, Angelo," he +said. "I don't suppose you're familiar enough with things here," he +glanced again about the disordered room, "to know what's missing."</p> + +<p>"No, no." The janitor jumped to his feet, shaking his head rapidly, +emphatically. "Mos' nev' come up here, me. No know what gone. Sleepa in +basemen'. My wife she sick—she hear noding, me hear noding! Burg' he +mus'a go up fi'-'scape into da kitch', you see? Wind' broke——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I saw that the window was broken," said Peter, quietly. "Well, +we're much obliged to you, Angelo. I guess we won't need you any more, +but I may see you again. I may be coming in here a few times. It'll be +all right. You can ask Sullivan. He knows me and Mr. Morris, too."</p> + +<p>At the words of dismissal the Italian, nothing loath, started for the +door. Peter followed him into the hall.</p> + +<p>"You keep your eyes open, Angelo," he said, "and let us know if any one +comes to this apartment. We'll make it worth your while. And, by the +way, who has the apartment just below this?"</p> + +<p>The janitor's left hand was on the knob of the door. "Nobod'. He's +empty. Been empty two, tree mont'."</p> + +<p>"All right, Angelo," said Peter, smiling genially. "Don't forget what +I said about letting us know if any one, <i>any one</i>, mind, comes to +this apartment or asks for Miss Blake or her sister. Find out who it +is if you possibly can. It'll be worth more than this to you, by a +damsight," and he thrust a folded bill into the janitor's welcoming +palm.</p> + +<p>The Italian's sharp little eyes glanced up and away. "Me tella you +somebod' come," he agreed, readily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, and before you go," said Peter, in an off-hand manner, "just leave +me the door key, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Door he shutta da spring lock," explained Angelo, quickly. "No needa +da key."</p> + +<p>"No?" said Peter, casually. "Well, I'd rather have the key, anyway. +Always feel safer, somehow. I'm so absent-minded, Angelo, that I often +forget things and have to go back for 'em, and if the door was shut, +I'd have to go all the way to the basement to hunt you up, see? Just +give me the key and I'll leave it with you when I go down."</p> + +<p>"Awright, awright," said the Italian, pulling a key from a ring which +was secured by a chain to his belt. "Me tinka awright," and he opened +the outer door.</p> + +<p>As he did so, the sun, nearing the zenith, shone in from the front +room, striking full upon the white panels, and Peter, who was +just behind him, uttered a sharp exclamation and started forward. +Instinctively, he caught the Italian's arm and drew him away from the +door.</p> + +<p>"Just a moment. Mr. Morris!" he called in a voice the excitement of +which was carefully held in check. "Come here just a moment, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Look here." He spoke again as Donald Morris quickly reached his side. +"Look at this!"</p> + +<p>Angelo Russo caught his breath, and crossed himself, fervently. "Madre +di Dio!" he whispered to himself.</p> + +<p>Morris, leaning forward, felt a horrible shiver pass over him from head +to foot.</p> + +<p>On the white door, just below the lock, was a long, dark splash of +blood.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Voice Over the Wire</span></h3> + + +<p>"I don't know how it escaped me before, except that the hall was so +dark," muttered Peter, angrily, to himself, as he closed the door upon +the Italian's hurried departure.</p> + +<p>Hastily he took a small but powerful electric hand-light from his +pocket and flashed it slowly all about. The door showed no further +traces, inside or out, but on the floor, which was stained dark brown +and heavily waxed, there were two or three dull, round spots. Peter +tested them with moistened forefinger, and held up his hand to Morris. +The end of the finger was stained red.</p> + +<p>Swiftly he proceeded down the hall, flashing his torch back and forth +close to the floor. As he came opposite the door of the room which had +been used as a storeroom or closet, Morris who, white to the lips, had +followed closely, heard him give a little grunt of satisfaction and saw +him drop to his knees.</p> + +<p>"Plenty of it here," said Clancy, pointing, and he flashed the light so +as to bring out a large, dull blot upon the softly shining wax of the +floor. "And here! and here!" he added, indicating smaller spots just +beyond on the floor and one, showing dark red, on the white baseboard.</p> + +<p>A moment later he rose. Rapidly and thoroughly he inspected the entire +apartment, flashing his hand-torch into all the dark corners. Morris, +silent and apprehensive, followed him, closely watching every movement. +They found nothing more, and returning to the living room, Peter stood +for several moments before the window, lost in thought. At last he +turned to Donald Morris and said:</p> + +<p>"I won't try to put anything over on you, Mr. Morris. The detective +who's able to dope out everything in a complicated case by looking at a +little bunch of ashes doesn't exist. You can take it from me," with a +wry smile, "there ain't no such animal.... Frankly, I'm at a loss. How +serious this thing is, it's impossible for me to say. But it looks like +a pretty ugly combination of circumstances, I'll go that far.... If you +want to go on with the proposition—and I take it for granted that you +do——"</p> + +<p>"I do, I must!" There was no uncertainty in Donald's tone.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, our best bet is to get busy tracing Miss Blake and her +sister. We're only wasting time. Apparently there's nobody here who +knows anything about where they might have gone, who their friends are, +or——"</p> + +<p>Both men started violently. In the stillness of the room a telephone +bell rang out, loudly, insistently.</p> + +<p>Peter faced swiftly about to the instrument which stood on a small +stand to the left of the door into the hall. With a leap he reached it, +caught the receiver off the hook, and held it to his ear.</p> + +<p>"9282 Sturdevant?" a voice intoned over the wire.</p> + +<p>Peter glanced at the little plate over the mouth-piece and replied at +once:</p> + +<p>"9282 Sturdevant. Who's calling?"</p> + +<p>"Just a moment," came the honeyed reply. "Here's your party."</p> + +<p>"Somebody calling this apartment, all right." Holding his hand over the +transmitter, Peter spoke to Donald Morris, whose face was a study in +anxiety and excitement.</p> + +<p>There was an instant's silence; then along the wires came another +voice, clear and resonant, deep and full, though whether that of a man +or woman Peter could not be sure.</p> + +<p>"Anne," it said. "Anne! Are you there?"</p> + +<p>Morris was surprised at Clancy's answering tone. It was low and gentle, +not at all like his usual voice.</p> + +<p>"Who's calling?" Clancy repeated, softly.</p> + +<p>"Why, Anne! You know. You——" Evidently Peter's attempt at +dissimulation was not entirely successful, for the voice went on, +sharply—"What number is this?" and waited, necessitating a reply.</p> + +<p>"This is 9282 Sturdevant. Whom are you calling?"</p> + +<p>"I'm calling Miss Anne Blake," was the quick response. "Is she there, +and who are you?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Anne isn't here now," said Peter, smoothly. "Can I take a +message?"</p> + +<p>He thought there was a note of alarm in the reply—"No. No. I want to +find Anne Blake. I want to speak to her at once."</p> + +<p>"Would Miss Mary do?" asked Peter.</p> + +<p>He was sure that there was a quickly restrained gasp at the other end +of the wire. Then the voice said, peremptorily:</p> + +<p>"I want to know who this is speaking from Miss Blake's apartment."</p> + +<p>"Who is it wishes to know?" Peter countered.</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Peter waited.... The pause lengthened and Peter +again spoke into the transmitter—</p> + +<p>"Hello, hello!"</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>Peter waited a moment and then moved the receiver up and down on the +hook without effect. At last—</p> + +<p>"Operator," came in a dulcet voice over the wire.</p> + +<p>"Connect me with that party again," cried Peter, urgently. "You've cut +us off."</p> + +<p>"What number was it, please?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," fiercely. "See if you can trace it. And hurry!" and +Peter waited, holding the receiver to his ear.</p> + +<p>"Who was it?" cried Morris, unable to restrain his anxiety.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, dammit!" said Peter, vehemently. "I'm afraid I've made +a fool of myself. Somebody calling Miss Anne Blake, and they shied +off when they found she wasn't here. I wish to God I knew who it was. +Anybody that knows her well enough to call her 'Anne'.... It must have +been a friend who might know something that would help! And they cut +off, I'm sure. Purposely. Oh——"</p> + +<p>"Here's your party," said the operator in his ear.</p> + +<p>"Maybe it's all right," said Clancy, hopefully, to Morris. "They've got +the connection again. Hello! Who is this?"</p> + +<p>"Vanderbilt Hotel," came the prompt answer.</p> + +<p>"Will you please find out for me who just called Sturdevant 9282, and +get them on the wire again?"</p> + +<p>Peter repeated the name of the hotel to Donald Morris and both men +waited anxiously. It seemed an age before the information came back—</p> + +<p>"Party spoke from a public booth. We don't know who it was. Sorry."</p> + +<p>Peter hung up the receiver with an angry click and turned to Morris, +repeating the answer he had just received.</p> + +<p>"It's a damn shame," he went on. "I'd give a good deal to know who +it is that's worried about Anne Blake just now. The man or woman, +whichever it was, that just called was pretty well fussed up and afraid +of making a break. And now it's all off!... Well—it leaves us about +where we were before we were so rudely interrupted. There's nothing to +do but to start tracing Miss Blake and her sister from here—and the +sooner we begin, the quicker we'll find them."</p> + +<p>"But where can we start? We know nothing of their movements," said +Donald, in a tone of deep discouragement.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," said Clancy. "We do know something, though I admit it's +not much. We may infer, I think, that there was someone in this +apartment, probably as late as five o'clock yesterday.... That was +Sunday ... and if there was any luggage, which almost undoubtedly there +was, it means a cab, since it would have been impossible to get an +expressman.... Miss Blake didn't have a car of her own by any chance?" +he asked, on sudden thought.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Morris, eagerly, his anxiety slightly mitigated by +the prospect of immediate action. "But I happen to know that she +habitually used a taxi from a garage over near Sixth Avenue. She spoke +once about how reliable they were. Let me see.... The name was ... +Horton—no—Holden?... No, I can't be sure. But I know the place. We +passed it coming from the theatre and she pointed it out to me." He +rose, excitedly. "Come on. I'll show you where it is," and he caught +Peter's arm in a nervous grip.</p> + +<p>"That's good news," cried Peter, enthusiastically. "Now we'll begin. +But there's something I must do before we go. I may want to come in +here without disturbing our friend, Angelo. It won't take a minute."</p> + +<p>He drew a small piece of wax from his pocket and began working it up in +his fingers, while Morris watched him, his impatience somewhat tempered +by curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Carry a lot of odd things about with me," Clancy explained. "Need +almost as many as a first-class burglar. You see," he went on, as with +practised fingers he took an impression, in the wax, of the key Angelo +had left with him. "You never can tell when a thing'll come in handy. I +may need it and then, of course, I may not. But it's just as well to be +prepared." He put the model carefully away in a small case and returned +the case to his pocket. "Now I'm ready," he added, briskly, catching +up his hat from a table just inside the door of the living room. And +without further words the two men hastily closed the door, made sure +that it was fast, and descended the stairs at a run.</p> + +<p>Peter called to Angelo from the top of the basement stairs, delivered +the key, and joining Morris, who waited impatiently at the door, they +passed out into the busy streets.</p> + +<p>The noise of traffic increased as they neared Sixth Avenue, and Peter +Clancy, whose susceptibilities and intuitions were preternaturally +keen, contrasted the busy roar and rattle and movement of many people +with the silence and aloofness of the still place they had just left. +Somehow, he had the certain intuition that those quiet walls had +sheltered a tragic situation, unexplained and, perhaps, unexplainable. +The mere fact that he had so little to go upon piqued his vivid +curiosity and brought up every reserve of his fighting Irish instincts. +He swore to himself that he would solve this enigma, that he would find +out every detail of this strange situation, if it took "till Kingdom +Come."</p> + +<p>His feeling was greatly enhanced by the personality of the man who +was hurrying by his side. No one who had ever been admitted, in any +degree, to Donald Morris's confidence had failed to feel his remarkable +charm. Peter had seen him in an hour of great stress, when every mere +conventionality had been swept away, and a very real personal desire to +be of service was the result of this glimpse of the actual man.</p> + +<p>These thoughts passed rapidly through the mind of the young +detective as they hurried along the streets. They had not far to +go, as the garage in question was east of Sixth Avenue, in one of +the cross streets, just above Washington Square. Morris led the way +unhesitatingly.</p> + +<p>"There it is," he said as they turned the corner. "Hammond's Garage. I +knew it began with an H. Miss Blake has used this garage exclusively +for some time. They'll be sure to know——"</p> + +<p>"Let's go a bit easy," said Clancy, with his hand on Donald's arm. "We +don't want to get up more excitement than is absolutely necessary. +Suppose you leave it to me."</p> + +<p>Morris nodded a ready acquiescence, and promptly abandoning his place +as leader, followed Peter into the little office, beside the big door +of the garage.</p> + +<p>"Good morning," said Peter, pleasantly, to a heavily built man, who +turned his swivel chair away from his desk at their approach and +regarded them with the calm of a man whose business came to him without +strenuous effort. "Is this Mr. Hammond?" Peter continued.</p> + +<p>"It is," said the man, shifting a large, unlighted cigar to the +opposite corner of his mouth.</p> + +<p>"My name's Clancy," Peter went on. "I just dropped in on an errand for +Miss Blake—Ninety-nine Waverly Place, you know." He wished to make +sure that this was the right garage and waited for the affirmative nod +which immediately followed. "Miss Blake wants to know," he continued, +smoothly, "why you didn't send the taxi for her yesterday at five."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hammond's composure was slightly shaken. He frowned and ponderously +swung about to the desk. He opened a large book which lay upon it and +ran his finger down the entries of a page dated May twenty-eighth. +Frowning still more, he shook his head and called loudly—</p> + +<p>"Joe!"</p> + +<p>Immediately an overalled mechanic, with a long smear of black grease on +his nose, appeared at the door.</p> + +<p>"Yep."</p> + +<p>"Did you get a call for Ninety-nine Waverly any time yesterday +afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"I did not."</p> + +<p>"You're sure?"</p> + +<p>"I am that." There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in the tone.</p> + +<p>Donald Morris looked quickly at Clancy, but Clancy was entirely +occupied with the two garage men.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's funny," said Peter, with a puzzled frown. "Miss Blake was +very much annoyed when your taxi didn't come, and she had to get one +from—where was it now? She told me, but I can't remember. What's the +name of another public garage near here?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think there is any decent one anywhere near here except +mine, but there's a cab stand at the Lafayette. Maybe she got it from +there. It would be the nearest place. Anyhow, Mr.—Mr. Clancy, you can +bet we didn't get the call, or we'd'a' been on the job. We've been +drivin' Miss Blake for a couple of years or more and we're always very +particular, anyway. Let's see——" Hammond again referred to his book. +"We took Ninety-nine Waverly to the theatre Saturday evening at seven +forty-five, but we didn't have a call to get her after the performance +that night.... No. The last is May twenty-seventh at seven forty-five. +Nothing after that." He glanced at the mechanic who was waiting at +the door. "All right, Joe," with a nod of dismissal, and the man +disappeared.</p> + +<p>"I can't explain it," Hammond turned to Peter, "only we didn't get the +call, and I wisht you'd tell Miss Blake so. Joe's been here for a long +time and he's very careful. Never knew him to make a mistake. Them +darned telephone operators might have given her the wrong number and +somebody thought they'd play a joke by sayin' they'd come for her. I +can't think how else——"</p> + +<p>"Well, it's a mistake, then," said Peter, pleasantly, "and I'll tell +Miss Blake—when I see her. Sorry to have troubled you," and with an +apologetic wave of the hand, he took Donald Morris by the arm and led +him, disappointed and perplexed, into the street.</p> + +<p>"Cheer up," said Peter, as he turned him eastward. "Don't get +discouraged. We've only just begun. This may be a long chase and, as I +said, we'll have to trust a good deal to luck. I'm not disappointed a +whole lot, as I had a kind of a hunch that the cab might not have come +from a place where Miss Blake was well known. We'll try the Lafayette, +since it's so near, and if we don't find anything there, I'll get my +partner, O'Malley, on the 'phone and we'll comb the city for that cab."</p> + +<p>"Like looking for a needle in a haystack," muttered Morris, wearily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, not so bad as that," said Peter. "We've got that sort of thing +pretty well systematized. It may take a little time, but we're bound +to find a cab, unless they left on foot, with only hand luggage, and +that's hardly probable, is it?"</p> + +<p>"No, it doesn't seem probable," Morris said, after a pause. "And they +couldn't get an expressman on Sunday, of course.... Miss Blake expected +to spend the summer in town ... and she was here Saturday night, +late.... She wouldn't have sent her trunks beforehand.... It was a +sudden resolution...."</p> + +<p>They were making their way eastward at a rapid rate, and in a +few minutes they reached University Place and the pleasant old +Lafayette.... He and Mary had dined there several times, Morris +remembered with an inward groan, in some secluded corner where the +lights were dim. Always she had avoided attracting attention, never +seeking the public eye, except upon the stage. Unlike most actresses, +she had even been averse to being photographed. He could remember only +a few portraits which had been taken at the beginning of her career. +Her face would be familiar to those who had seen her on the stage, but +to few others. The thought troubled him now, since it would add to the +difficulty of tracing her.</p> + +<p>Clancy had left him upon the sidewalk at the entrance of the hotel. +Running up the steps, the detective had exchanged a few words with +the doorman. After that he had spoken to several of the taxi drivers +lined up along the curb. Suddenly he turned, and beckoning excitedly to +Morris, took a few rapid steps in his direction.</p> + +<p>"The luck of the Irish!" Peter exclaimed, joyfully, as the two young +men met. "You can't beat it! I've found the man."</p> + +<p>"No!" cried Morris, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Yes!" said Peter with emphasis. "The next to the last man on the line, +the one I just spoke to, took a lady and a trunk from Ninety-nine +Waverly Place a little after five yesterday afternoon. Come on, and +we'll get the rest!"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">What the Cabman Knew</span></h3> + + +<p>"One lady?" questioned Morris, excitedly, catching Peter by the arm as +they hurried toward the taxi, the driver of which stood, expectant, by +its open door.</p> + +<p>"Only one," said Peter, in a low voice, "and I don't know yet which +one, but we'll soon find out."</p> + +<p>He motioned Morris to get into the cab, and spoke familiarly to the +chauffeur: "Drive us over to the Square, old top, and line up along +somewhere where it's quiet. We want to have a little talk with you. And +you can keep your metre ticking, so that'll be O. K.," he added, with a +grin.</p> + +<p>The driver, a big, strong young fellow, grinned pleasantly in response +and jumped to his wheel. In a moment they drew up in a quiet spot on +the old Square.</p> + +<p>"This do?" asked the taxi man, turning in his place and speaking +through the open front of the cab.</p> + +<p>"Fine," answered Peter, who was seated directly behind him. He leaned +forward and spoke in a friendly, confidential manner. "We want to find +out something about the lady you took from over there," he pointed in +the direction of Waverly Place, "yesterday afternoon. She went away +without leaving any address, and something has happened which makes it +necessary for her friends to locate her at once, see?"</p> + +<p>The driver nodded his comprehension.</p> + +<p>"I want to be sure it's the lady we're looking for. It's an apartment +house, you know," Peter explained, rapidly, "so perhaps you'll describe +her to us."</p> + +<p>"Well," said the driver, hesitatingly, "I don't know as I can tell +you so much what she looked like. She was dressed plain, in something +dark, though blue or black or what, I couldn't be so sure. She come +hurrying along around the corner, but I was part way down the line, so +I wasn't much interested, though she did seem to be lookin' for a taxi. +She sorta gave the once-over to the two guys that was ahead of me, and +then she stepped right up, quick, to my cab, and she says, lookin' at +me sharp through her veil, 'Could you carry a heavy trunk down three +flights of stairs by yourself?' she says. It was kinda unexpected, +'cause they usually gets you to the place and then springs it. 'I'll +make it worth your while if you can manage it alone,' she says, +flashing a five at me. 'It's this, over and above the fare,' she says, +kinda nervous and excited like. 'You're on, lady,' I says. 'Lead me to +that trunk!' I says, just like that. So she told me Ninety-nine Waverly +Place, and I took her there and carried down the trunk, and, be gobs, +it was heavy enough, and maybe worth the money at that."</p> + +<p>Morris was listening eagerly to every word. He could keep silence no +longer.</p> + +<p>"But the lady!" he said, excitedly. "Tell us more about her. Was she +very tall and slender and beautiful?"</p> + +<p>Clancy touched his arm. He was afraid that the chauffeur, if given a +clear description, would think he had seen what Morris so evidently +wished him to have seen.</p> + +<p>"You describe her in your own way, Bill," he interposed, addressing the +driver, "but tell us everything you noticed about her. How about it, +was she tall?"</p> + +<p>"How'd you know my name was Bill?" asked the driver, irrelevantly, with +a grin, and without waiting for a reply, he went on, "I don't think +the lady was so very tall; at least not so you'd notice it particular, +but she was sorta thin, and she kinda stooped a little. She had on a +thick veil, so I didn't see her face hardly any when she come up to me +on the street—only her eyes, and they was big and kinda—burning." He +hesitated a little. Evidently his powers of description were not often +put to the test.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Peter, as the man paused, "you went up to the apartment +with her to get the trunk. I think you said you carried it down three +flights of stairs. That would have made it the floor next to the top +one, wouldn't it?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the cab driver, shaking his head, "it was the top floor, +and thankful I was there wasn't any more of 'em."</p> + +<p>"Did you see any one else in the apartment?" asked Peter, carefully +restraining his impatience.</p> + +<p>"Not a soul," answered the man, "and I don't think there was anybody +else there. It was awful quiet. I didn't see anybody and I didn't hear +anybody moving around."</p> + +<p>"Did you notice anything unusual about the apartment?" asked Peter. +"Was it—what you'd call—tidy—when you were there?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Bill, scratching his head. "I ain't much of a hand +at noticing things, I'm afraid. Places is apt to be a bit upset when +people are going away. I didn't think anything about that. I only just +went into the back room to get the trunk—and——" A sudden thought +seemed to strike him—"now I come to think of it, I did get just a +little peek at the lady's face as I was coming along the hall with the +trunk on me back. She'd watched me strap it up, and then she went ahead +of me into a room off the hall, toward the front. When I come along, +she was standing over by the window, and there was a looking glass on +the wall right in front of her. She'd just held up her veil to look for +something on the little table there was there, and I saw her in the +glass, just for a second, before she pulled the veil down again." He +paused, and added, doubtfully, "Did the lady you was lookin' for have a +kind of a scar or something on her face, on—let's see—on this side?" +He touched his right cheek.</p> + +<p>Morris suppressed an exclamation, and Peter leaned still farther +forward.</p> + +<p>"What kind of a scar, Bill?" he asked, quietly.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, exactly," answered the driver, hesitatingly. "The window +was on the other side and I couldn't see so very plain, but it seemed +to me there was some kind of a dark red mark on her cheek and down on +her neck. I can't be sure, but I thought there was. I only saw it for a +second. Does that help you any?"</p> + +<p>"H'm'm——" said Peter. "Maybe. Maybe it will, Bill.... And you're +pretty sure there wasn't any one else in the apartment?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Bill, "I'll leave it to you. I didn't see nobody and I +didn't hear nobody, and when I took the trunk out, she was out on the +stairs already, and she asked me to make sure the door was locked. And +why would she be nervous about that, I asks you, if there was someone +inside?"</p> + +<p>"Doesn't seem reasonable, does it?" said Peter, thoughtfully. "But I +don't quite see——You say the lady was in the bedroom when you passed +the door, but she was outside, on the stairs, when you took the trunk +out. How was that?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I hadn't got the trunk just right on me shoulders, and I stopped +a second to shift it over. By the time I'd got it good, she'd come into +the hall from the front end, and she didn't waste no time getting the +door open for me. She seemed in an awful hurry and excited like. She +went on down the stairs a few steps to be out of the way of me'n the +trunk, and then she stopped on a sudden, and says, 'Oh, I didn't think! +You can't shut the door, can you?' And me bein' proud of me strength, +says, 'Sure I can,' and I backs around sidewise and starts to shut +the door, and darned if there wasn't a long trail of some kind of a +lady's white silk dingbat caught onto the bottom of the trunk and been +draggin' after me all the way down the hall, like a cat's tail."</p> + +<p>Peter, hearing Morris draw in a sharp breath, cast a warning glance in +his direction. The cabman, unobserving, went on—</p> + +<p>"I thought I was going to have to get the lady back to pull it off and +shut the door, but I give it a back kick and it landed free, and I +shut the door by my own self. The lady was standin' part way down the +stairs, awful impatient to be off (I guess, maybe, she was late for +her train), and she looks back and says, 'Try the door, if you will, +please, and see that it's fast.' So I did, and I guess that's about +all, except that I took her and the trunk to the Penn. Station, and +that's the last I seen of her."</p> + +<p>"The Penn. Station. Good-night!" muttered Peter, disgustedly. "You can +go anywhere in the country, almost, from the Penn. Station." Then, +after an instant's thought, he said aloud: "That was funny, what you +said about the white silk thing following you along the hall like a +cat's tail, Bill. Where do you suppose you picked the thing up?"</p> + +<p>"Must have come from the storeroom where the trunk was," said Bill, +readily. "Otherwise I'd 'a' seen it before I got to the door, if it'd +been layin' on the floor of the hall, I mean. Must have been behind the +trunk, too, down in the corner, where it was dark."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure it fell entirely inside the door when you kicked it +loose?" asked Peter. "Try to remember, Bill. I have a particular reason +for wanting to know."</p> + +<p>The man looked at him curiously, but replied at once—</p> + +<p>"Why, it must have, I should think, but I can't be exactly sure. To +tell you the truth," with a note of apology, "I didn't care so much +where it went, s'long as it didn't trail along and make me ridiculous, +and I didn't look so very careful. The trunk was bearin' down on me +shoulders, and the lady was in a hurry."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Peter, absently, thoughtfully, and added, "How far down the +stairs was the lady when you shut the door, Bill? Two or three steps, +or more? Was she far enough up, I mean, to see the scarf drop?"</p> + +<p>"No, she wasn't. I'm sure." This time the driver answered with +certainty: "She was half way down the first flight anyway, and me just +able to see her head over the rail."</p> + +<p>"H'm—yes," said Peter, slowly. "Yes."</p> + +<p>He considered for a moment in silence. Then he turned to Morris.</p> + +<p>"Anything more you can think of that Bill might be able to tell us, Mr. +Morris?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Morris shook his head, despondingly.</p> + +<p>"All right then, Bill," said Clancy. "You've given us quite a lot to +think about, anyway, and we're much obliged to you. Just give me your +name and address, will you, in case anything should turn up that we +needed you again," and having entered the direction in his notebook, +he added, "Now beat it over to the Penn. Station and show us where you +left the lady."</p> + +<p>"And this is for yourself," said Donald, leaning quickly forward and +slipping a bill into the man's hand.</p> + +<p>The crisp slip of green-engraved paper must have been more effective +than the most advertised pure gasoline and motor oil, for no cab of its +size and condition had ever made better time than Bill's cab did in +getting to its destination. It was only a matter of moments when they +were gliding down the long incline to the station.</p> + +<p>"This is where I left her," said Bill, as the cab, panting like an +animal, with the haste it had made, stopped opposite the express +windows, the lights of which showed yellow against the outer sunshine +and the blue of the gas vapours which strove to escape from between the +tall pillars of the carriage entrance.</p> + +<p>The two young men leaped out of the cab and while Morris was paying the +man off, Peter asked, in a low tone,</p> + +<p>"Did you see where the lady went when she got out of the cab, Bill?"</p> + +<p>"No," the man answered, straightening his leg to shove the money Morris +had just given him into his trousers pocket. "She paid me as we were +runnin' down, and as soon as a couple of guys had jerked the trunk off, +I beat it."</p> + +<p>"Well—all right, Bill," said Peter. "So long," and with a friendly +wave of the hand, the cabman, realizing that the curiosity which he +felt would probably never be satisfied, proceeded on his way, while the +young detective, followed by Donald Morris, began his investigations.</p> + +<p>He made searching inquiries at every ticket-window in the great, softly +echoing main room of the station and at the express offices. He even +went down to the waiting room of the Long Island Railroad and enquired +there at all the possible places. No one remembered seeing, on the +previous evening, a lady answering the meagre description Peter was +able to give. Her costume was, obviously, conventional, and with her +veil down, there had been nothing about her to attract attention.</p> + +<p>Among the hundreds of people passing every hour through the vast +station Anne Blake also had passed, leaving no trace.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">A Big Trunk</span></h3> + + +<p>"But Mary!" groaned Donald Morris in agony, as the two men, their +unsuccessful investigation over, stood for a moment in the vast +loneliness of the great station. "I don't mind so much that we've lost +all trace of her sister. It's Mary, Mary that I'm thinking about. Where +has she gone? What has happened to her?" The fearful tension of the +morning was apparent in every line of his weary white face. "Let Anne +go! She's nothing to me! But find Mary, Clancy! Find Mary! Put every +ounce of strength you have, every resource of your organization on it. +Spend any amount of money. Leave no stone unturned. I'm afraid—I'm +horribly afraid. She's——"</p> + +<p>Clancy put a restraining hand on his arm, and even while he spoke he +was wondering if the same sinister idea which was creeping into his own +thoughts had already, by any possibility, found a place in Morris's +less experienced mind. It was hardly probable, Peter comforted himself +with the thought. A thing so far outside the experience of the young +sculptor would scarcely suggest itself. And if it did, it would be +necessary to combat it as long as possible, for in that direction, +Peter was sure, would lie madness for Donald Morris.</p> + +<p>"We'll get on the job at once, Mr. Morris," he said, promptly, +reassuringly. "We'll search the city over to find any trace of her. She +didn't leave the apartment with her sister. We know that much, anyway. +If she took another cab——"</p> + +<p>"She's almost certain to have done that," Donald interrupted, eagerly. +"She hated to walk through the streets, even for a short distance, and +all the railroad stations are a long way from Waverly Place."</p> + +<p>"Well, if she took a cab, we'll find it," declared Peter, confidently. +"But it may take a little time. I'll have to go to the office now, and +get things started. You can't be any help about this part, and I'd +advise you to get a rest. You aren't used to this kind of thing, and +it's bound to knock you up. Go home and take it easy. I'll 'phone you +if there's any news or if there's anything you can do. Let's get a cab, +and I can drop you at your house on my way to the office. There are a +few things I'd like to have you tell me, and that way we won't waste +any time. How about it?"</p> + +<p>"All right," answered Morris, wearily. "But I wish you'd let me go with +you. Somehow I feel——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I guess I know how you feel, all right," said Peter, "but it +won't be any good. You can't help, and you need to get quieted down. +Come on."</p> + +<p>With sympathetic consideration he led Donald to a cab, selecting +one which had the front windows closed, so that they might talk in +privacy. As they turned into Seventh Avenue he said:</p> + +<p>"Now tell me everything you know about Miss Blake and her sister. Every +little thing. You can never tell what might come in useful. How long +have you known them?"</p> + +<p>"As you know, I've never met her sister, and know nothing at all +about her, except that they lived together, and I've always had the +impression that there was something—I don't know just how to put +it—something—well—wrong—about the sister," said Donald, slowly. +"Mary never let me come up to the apartment, and there was something +odd in her face whenever her sister was mentioned. Of course it +happened but rarely—and it's a hard thing to define. Perhaps a person +less interested would scarcely have noticed——"</p> + +<p>Donald relapsed into thought. After a moment Peter said:</p> + +<p>"And when was it that you first met Miss Blake?"</p> + +<p>"About a year or so ago, it was," said Morris, rousing himself, his +eyes kindling. "I'll never forget it! It was at my sister's. I'd heard +a lot about Mary Blake, and had seen her several times on the stage, +of course. She seemed to me, even then, to be the most beautiful woman +and the greatest actress of our time. My sister, Mrs. Atterbury, prides +herself on knowing all the literary and artistic people, all the +eminent musicians and actors in town. It's almost a mild form of mania +with her. And most of them respond readily," with a little shrug, "but +for a long time she couldn't reach Mary Blake, and the fact piqued her +more than a little. Miss Blake's former manager, Arthur Quinn, guarded +her like a dragon. It was amusing to see Helena—my sister—trying to +cajole old Quinn, whom she knew well, into introducing her. It simply +couldn't be done. But when poor Quinn died, and it was known that Miss +Blake had signed up with Frederick Jones, Helena started to work on +him. Jones, it seems, has social ambitions, and whether it was that, or +what it was, my sister induced him to let her go behind the scenes one +night and meet Miss Blake. Helena has a way with her, I must say, and +somehow she prevailed on Mary to give a reading at the house, a thing +she'd never done before, and has never done since. I don't know," he +broke off, "why I'm telling you all these details, Clancy, only you +said——"</p> + +<p>"Go on, don't skip anything," said Peter, encouragingly. "So the first +time you met Miss Blake was at the reading at your sister's house?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and, oh, it was wonderful, marvellous!" He spoke slowly, with +the air of one who lives again one of the greatest moments of his +life. "They used the big model platform at one end of my studio for a +stage. The room, of course, was dark, and when the curtains were drawn +aside, she stood there in the dim blue light, her face a pale oval, +shining faintly, like a star." He had forgotten Peter. All his mind +was filled with a poignant remembrance. "She spoke—and it was as if +the stars sang together.... It didn't matter what she said.... The +sheer magnetism of her personality, the beauty of the soul which looked +out of her eyes—so near, so near—drew like cords of steel.... Her +strange, sad face seemed, somehow, oddly familiar ... as if I'd seen it +before ... in a dream, perhaps. It——"</p> + +<p>The cab came to a sudden stop at a point of congested traffic. The +change from the detachment and quiet of its smooth forward motion to +the confusion and roar of the busy crossing brought Donald, with a +jerk, back to himself. He glanced at Clancy a trifle confusedly, and as +the cab went on, took up his story in a more normal tone.</p> + +<p>"Everybody wanted to be presented to her after the performance was +over, but she would meet no one except the family, Francis Atterbury +and myself. She received us, for a few moments, on the stage, after the +curtains had been drawn. She was gracious and charming, but insisted on +leaving at once. She had told Helena that it would be necessary for her +to do this, that she was very tired. She allowed me to take her down to +her cab, and I said 'Good-night' to her in the dark street.... The next +night I went to the theatre and sent my card to her, between the acts. +She let me come behind the scenes, and I talked to her a few minutes +in the wings.... After that I saw her with increasing frequency. We +dined together rather often, in some quiet place. The thought of +attracting any attention to herself, when she was off-stage, was most +distasteful to her—amounting almost to an obsession. That's a strong +word, perhaps, but it almost seemed like that. She lived very quietly, +and never introduced me to any of her friends. I don't even know who +her friends are. I know absolutely nothing of her past life, except +that it was a very unhappy one. I could not force her confidence and +she volunteered nothing, not even when she must have known—must have +seen——"</p> + +<p>He hesitated, and Peter met his look with a slight, comprehending nod.</p> + +<p>"I understand, Mr. Morris," he said, gravely. "But didn't you think it +was strange, don't you think it was strange now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Donald admitted. "But it doesn't matter. I don't care how +strange it all is. I don't care who she is, or who her people were, +or what sad or even terrible thing she is keeping from me. She is +beautiful to me—in body, mind, and soul—a wonder-woman! There is no +one like her in all the world, and I ask nothing of God but to give her +back to me. I can trust her. I can be content to know nothing.... Only +find her for me, Clancy! Find her for me!" He clenched his hands and +his eyes burned deep.</p> + +<p>Peter turned away his face.</p> + +<p>"I'll do my best, Mr. Morris," he said with grave sincerity. "What's +possible to do, I pledge my word shall be done. By the way," he added, +in a changed tone, "do you know Miss Blake's manager personally?"</p> + +<p>"Frederick Jones? Yes," answered Morris, quickly. "I've met him often."</p> + +<p>"He'd be willing to do you a favour, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes, I think he would."</p> + +<p>"I may want to have a little talk with him," said Peter, reflectively. +"Think you could fix it?"</p> + +<p>"I'll give you a card," said Donald, at once, and drawing a case from +his pocket, he wrote a few lines and handed the card to Peter.</p> + +<p>"That ought to do it," said Peter, glancing at it. "Thanks. I may not +use it, but it's best to be prepared."</p> + +<p>They had turned into Gramercy Park. The cab drew up before the broad +entrance of Mrs. Atterbury's house, and Donald Morris stepped out.</p> + +<p>"I'm trusting you, Clancy," he said, as he held out his hand, "with +something that is more important than life to me."</p> + +<p>"I know," Peter nodded as he grasped the outstretched hand with a firm +pressure. "I'll do my best," he repeated, reassuringly.</p> + +<p>He sighed, however, as the cab rolled swiftly through the busy streets.</p> + +<p>"Nobody's best is any too good in a case like this," he thought to +himself. "He's a fine chap, all right, is Morris. I hope she's what he +thinks her, and then some.... Wonder what kind of a woman she really +is. He looks as if he might be a judge, but you never can tell.... +What is it she's been hiding from him—from everybody ... except one +person.... A woman as successful as she is wouldn't live the way she's +been living, unless there was something.... And the sister? Dammit all, +I can't see——"</p> + +<p>He was still cogitating thus when he reached his office. He was +thankful to find that his partner and old friend, Captain O'Malley, was +in and at liberty. It was always a help, a clearance of his mind, to +talk over a case with the astute, experienced old man who had trained +him when he was a cub in the police detective service, and with whom he +had been associated ever since.</p> + +<p>The old man listened attentively while Peter detailed the facts as they +had been presented to his notice.</p> + +<p>"It looked like robbery," Peter said, in conclusion, "but, I ask you, +wasn't it intended that it should look like robbery, maybe? At least, +isn't that on the cards? That broken window on the fire-escape was a +blind. I'm sure of that much. I didn't mention it to Morris—thought +he had enough on his mind as it was—but not only was the broken glass +all on the outside window-sill, but the catch hadn't even been turned. +Whoever broke the glass wasn't very fly, or else they got scared, for +they didn't unlock the window."</p> + +<p>"Or else the thief stopped and locked it after he got outside," said +O'Malley, with a little chuckle.</p> + +<p>"Rats!" exclaimed Peter, feelingly. "Quit your kiddin', O'Malley. Don't +joke. This is serious. Both these women are missing, and there's blood +in the apartment and on Miss Blake's scarf. We only know how one of 'em +left the place. She left alone ... with a big trunk.... It was a big +trunk, O'Malley. I could tell by the marks it had made on the wall of +the storeroom, and by the place where there wasn't any dust at all on +the floor. It was all pretty clean, but you just could see where the +trunk had stood.... And then, here's another funny thing—the closets +in the bedroom were all full of beautiful clothes, the sort you'd +expect Mary Blake to wear, and the bureau was, or had been, full of +fine, expensive lingerie, before somebody chucked 'em around the place. +Now, I figure Anne kept her clothes in the storeroom—and there wasn't +a rag there—nothing but a few almost worn-out things in an otherwise +empty chiffonier."</p> + +<p>"And you argue from that——" said O'Malley.</p> + +<p>"I'm not arguing," said Peter. "I'm only thinking. It looked to me as +if Anne had taken all her clothes (though there probably weren't so +many, judging by the number of hangers and the size of the chiffonier) +and that Mary hadn't taken anything.... Of course it's only a guess. +I can't be sure. But that's the way it looked.... And how would +Mary get along without clothes—unless she might have been going to +use Anne's?... But they didn't go away together.... Morris has the +idea—and I got it myself from the letter he showed me—that there was +a sort of—a kind of antipathy between them. Oh, hell, O'Malley! You +see what I'm driving at—I've been mixed up with so much crime and +stuff that I can't help wondering——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said O'Malley, slowly. "Yes, I see.... The bloody scarf that the +cabby pulled through the door ... the blood on the floor of the hall +just by the trunk-room ... the big trunk.... H'm'm——"</p> + +<p>The two detectives looked at each other long and seriously. Then Clancy +brought his closed fist down on the desk.</p> + +<p>"It's Anne—it's Anne I want to find, O'Malley! We'll look for Mary for +all we're worth. We won't leave a stone unturned, as I promised. But if +you ask me what we must do to get to the bottom of this proposition, I +say—find Anne Blake!"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Four Photographs</span></h3> + + +<p>"Yes. Find Anne Blake," O'Malley repeated, slowly. "But, in the +meantime, son, you'd have to establish a motive, and it'd have to be +some little motive, at that! And after all, you know, Miss Mary may +turn up at any time. It would be easy enough for her to make a get-away +and nobody see her. Suppose she slipped quietly out into the street and +picked up a cab on the Avenue or somewhere? How'd we find that cab, +I ask you? We don't know where she was going, and there wouldn't be +anything to spot her by but a description or a photograph, if you can +get hold of one."</p> + +<p>"I can do that easy enough," said Peter. "Morris gave me a card to her +manager and I can get one from him. I'm going to see him right away and +find out what he knows about Mary Blake. He's the only person, so far, +that can give me a straight line on her." He reached for the telephone +and instructed the operator in the outer office to get Mr. Frederick +Jones of the Westmoreland Theatre on the wire. While waiting for the +connection, he continued his talk with his partner.</p> + +<p>"Get out the drag-net for those two girls, O'Malley. Spread it all +over the country and up into Canada. Comb the city with a fine-tooth +comb. If Mary really hadn't any luggage, it's on the cards that she +may not have left town. But," he shook his head thoughtfully, "I've +got a hunch, O'Malley, that we won't find Mary Blake. The letter +said, 'There'll be no one left but Anne....' Whatever was to happen +has happened ... and I think—I can't explain it, but I feel it in my +bones—that our only hope is to find Anne."</p> + +<p>The telephone, at his elbow, buzzed sharply.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Jones is very busy," Peter's operator informed him. "Can his +secretary take a message?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Peter replied. "Let me have the secretary."</p> + +<p>The connection made, Peter was informed that it would be impossible to +see Mr. Jones that afternoon, and it was only by using Donald Morris's +name that he was able to make an appointment for the following morning +at eleven o'clock.</p> + +<p>On Tuesday, therefore, prompt to the minute, Peter presented himself +to the dragon (in the shape of a bobbed and powdered switch-board +operator) who guarded the entrance to the offices of the Westmoreland +Theatre Building. He had to assure her that he was not an actor out of +work, and present his credentials, and it was not until his statement +that he had an appointment had been verified that he was allowed to +climb the three flights of stairs to the office of Frederick Jones, +Manager. Even here he was subjected to a maddening delay before he +could gain audience.</p> + +<p>When he reached Mr. Jones at last, however, he found him genial and +cordial enough. The few lines which Donald Morris had written on his +card turned the trick, and Mr. Jones expressed himself delighted to be +of service.</p> + +<p>Peter had had plenty of time to go over carefully his line of attack. +He regretted the necessity, as he would have expressed it, "of putting +any one wise," but, on the other hand, he felt confident that Mr. +Frederick Jones must be well aware of Donald Morris's interest in +Miss Blake. He was also sure that her disappearance would come to the +knowledge of her manager in short order. He, therefore, went straight +to the bat.</p> + +<p>"I want to talk to you about Miss Mary Blake," he said. Leaning his +elbow on the desk, with chin in hand, he regarded the manager keenly.</p> + +<p>"What about Mary Blake?" Jones questioned, sharply.</p> + +<p>"She's disappeared," answered Peter, without emphasis.</p> + +<p>"What!" The manager started to his feet.</p> + +<p>"She's disappeared from her apartment and left no address," Peter +explained, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" cried the manager, leaning over and beating his clenched +fist on the desk. "Do you know what you're saying? But, of course, it +can't be! Why, she was going to be in town all summer, and we start +rehearsal on a new play the middle of July! 'Dark Roads' ended its run +last Saturday night. She must have gone off for the week-end somewhere. +You're just trying to get a rise out of me!"</p> + +<p>"I'm not," said Peter, gravely. "She's gone away for some time, and +under peculiar conditions. So far, we haven't been able to find any +trace of her. If you think I'm kidding you, you can call up Mr. Morris +and ask him. He found out, accidentally, that she'd gone away, and he +thought it was so serious that he called me in. I'm a detective," and +Peter presented his business card.</p> + +<p>The manager looked at it and dropped heavily into his chair.</p> + +<p>"This is bad news for me, Mr. Clancy," he said. "Damn bad news. She's +worth twenty-five to fifty thousand a year to me, I don't mind telling +you, and if anything has happened to her—if she's gone off her nut—or +anything—she's a strange sort of girl——"</p> + +<p>"How, 'strange'?" interrupted Peter, his eyes narrowing.</p> + +<p>"Well—she's the greatest emotional actress in the world to-day. +You can take it from me. And I said it to Arthur Quinn, many and +many a time, when he was alive. She can take the heart out of your +body and wring it like a wet sponge. She's beautiful, and clever +as the devil—but, like most temperamental people, she has her own +peculiarities. And sometimes they were a bit hard to deal with."</p> + +<p>"For instance?" prompted Peter.</p> + +<p>"Well, for instance—she'd never rehearse without a full costume and +make-up, and the lights just as they would be at performance. Said she +couldn't feel the part unless the conditions were all the way they were +going to be. It made it necessary to get her costumes ready before we +started rehearsal, and sometimes it was a damn nuisance."</p> + +<p>"But it doesn't strike me that there was anything very unreasonable +about that," objected Peter. "Might be a bit unusual, but——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that wasn't the only thing," Jones broke in. "I couldn't get her +to meet anybody, not even people who would be useful to her. She would +see a few newspaper men, but only in the theatre, between the acts. She +objected to being photographed, too, and I had the devil and all of a +time getting the right kind of publicity for her."</p> + +<p>"But you have some photographs," said Peter, eagerly. "Surely there are +some to be had. That's what I want particularly."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," grudgingly, "we've got some that were taken a year or two +ago. Quinn didn't seem to have so much trouble with her. He got a lot, +and they are beauties, and good enough to use. She hasn't changed any +since they were taken. But people like to see new ones."</p> + +<p>"Can you spare me some?" asked Peter. "I can't get very far without +'em, you can see that for yourself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure," answered Jones, readily. "You bet I'll do anything I can to +help you."</p> + +<p>He touched a button on his desk and instructed the sleek youth who +immediately appeared to bring him the photographs of Miss Blake. They +were speedily produced, and Peter gazed at them with deep interest. +There were four different poses, two full length, in evening dress, one +of the head in profile, and one full face.</p> + +<p>It was the latter which interested Peter the most. It was a striking +portrait. The brilliant light, falling from above upon one side of the +face, left the eyes in a transparent shadow, out of which they looked +with a burning, compelling intensity. Haunting, magnetic eyes they +were, full of dramatic possibilities. The nose was short and straight, +with rather full nostrils, expressive of temperament and passion. +The mouth was sensitive, not too small, and exquisite in its subtle +lines and curves. The contours of the face were fine and beautifully +modelled, the cheek-bones and chin delicately defined. There was a +nervous sensibility in the face, a tension and unrest about the pose of +the head upon the slender, gracious neck and shoulders, which suggested +an intense, artistic temperament.</p> + +<p>"Great, aren't they?" said Jones, looking at them as they lay on the +desk between the two men. "Wonder what club old Quinn held over her to +make her sit for 'em?"</p> + +<p>"She and Quinn were great friends, weren't they?" asked Peter. "Do you +know where he picked her up?"</p> + +<p>Jones shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Haven't the faintest idea. He had a way of snatching 'em out of the +atmosphere, had Arthur Quinn, and he was tight as a drum about 'em +all. Nobody had ever heard of her, so far as I know, and I know every +possible bet, from the Keith Circuit up. My business. Quinn sprung her +in the title rôle of 'Constance' the first shot out of the box. Don't +know where she got her training, but she had it all right, all right, +and then some. She never missed a trick, and she was a success from the +drop of the hat. Of course Quinn was a wonder at putting 'em through +a course of sprouts, but the girl appeared on the first night as if +she'd been acting since she was a baby. Maybe they're born that way +sometimes, but I never ran across one that was."</p> + +<p>"I suppose she made a lot of money," hazarded Peter, following a train +of thought of his own.</p> + +<p>"Oh, lord, yes," agreed Jones. "I don't mind telling you in confidence, +Mr. Clancy, that I paid her, on my last year's contract, a cool +thousand a week."</p> + +<p>"Great Scott!" exclaimed Peter. "As much as that?"</p> + +<p>"I sure did," said the manager. "Why, look here. I guess I can show +you."</p> + +<p>He drew toward him a bank book, stuffed with vouchers, which lay upon +the desk. Running rapidly through the cancelled checks, he selected +several and slid them across the polished mahogany to Peter.</p> + +<p>"Just came in from the bank. End of the month," he explained. "Run your +eye over those if you don't believe me."</p> + +<p>Peter did run his eye over them and very carefully. They were all +made out to the order of Mary Blake and for one thousand dollars. He +turned them over and studied the endorsements. They were all alike. At +the top, in a clear, slanting, characteristic hand was written "Pay +to the order of the Scoville Bank—Mary Blake," and at the bottom, +rubber-stamped, were the words, "Pay to the order of the Federal +Reserve Bank of New York," the date, and "The Scoville Bank of New +York, William Dunne, Cashier."</p> + +<p>"I think I'll make a call on Mr. William Dunne, Cashier," thought +Peter, still following an insistent undercurrent of suggestion, as he +made a mental note of the name of the bank. "It might be of interest +to know how much of this corking good salary she's saved—and whether +she—or any one else—has drawn heavily against it lately." Aloud he +said—</p> + +<p>"That's a lot of money, Mr. Jones! I didn't know they got anything +like that. I can see I made the mistake of my life when I picked my +profession. Think you could get me a job?"</p> + +<p>A slight grin made its way through the trouble and concern on the +manager's face.</p> + +<p>"Better stick to your own job, Mr. Clancy," he said. "There aren't so +many who make what Miss Blake does, believe <i>me</i>!"</p> + +<p>Peter had gathered up the photographs and risen to his feet. Jones, +following his example, caught his arm as he approached the door.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, keep me posted, Mr. Clancy," he said, anxiously. "I +can't think she's thrown me down. Why, only about a month ago she had +a pippin of an offer from a movie concern; far and away over anything +I could afford to give her, though she does net me a lot. And do you +think she'd consider it? Not on your life. She turned it down cold."</p> + +<p>"What reason did she give?" asked Peter, curiously.</p> + +<p>"Didn't give any, to me at least. I didn't know anything about it +until Wolf, the producer, who's an old friend of mine, congratulated +me on her sticking to me so tight. So, you see, I can't believe she's +double-crossed me, and it's a pretty safe bet that I'll hear from her +soon. If I do, I'll let you or Mr. Morris know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, do, by all means," said Peter. "I'll keep in touch with you, and +for the love of Mike, don't let the story leak out. I'm sure I can +trust to your discretion, Mr. Jones."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure. Sure you can," promised the manager, easily. "It certainly +wouldn't be to my interest to have it known—at least for the present."</p> + +<p>Peter did not like that last phrase very much, but he did not dare to +place in jeopardy his present friendly relation with Jones by taking +it up. He contented himself, therefore, with a smiling injunction to +"keep it under his hat," and added:</p> + +<p>"By the way, Mr. Jones, is there anybody else—anybody you know of that +Miss Blake might be likely to write to?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think there is a soul," answered the manager, frowning. "She +had nothing to do with any member of the company; pretty up-stage with +all of 'em, though not offensive about it exactly. Just kept 'em all at +a distance—same as she did me, to tell you the truth. As I told you, +she'd never meet anybody I asked her to—except Mrs. Atterbury, and I +nearly dropped dead when she asked me if it would be O. K. for her to +give a reading there. I was tickled to death, of course. Great ad. for +her; but she never followed it up. Just like her," he grumbled. "Other +than letting Morris take her around a little she let the whole thing +slide."</p> + +<p>"Had no social ambitions, evidently," Peter remarked. "And you never +met any friends of hers?"</p> + +<p>"Not a soul."</p> + +<p>"Strange," Peter said. And again, to himself, as he hurried from the +manager's office, he repeated, "Strange—so beautiful, so successful, +and so alone. Why?... There was her sister, and there was Donald Morris +and the manager.... And besides them, nobody—nobody but Angelo, and +he'd only just seen her, as he couldn't help seeing her.... And an old +lady, a stout old lady, who called there.... And the voice over the +wire.... It was an odd voice—unusual—I'm sure I'd know it again, +anywhere.... And, by gad, I'd give a hundred dollars to know who was +the owner of that voice over the wire."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">A Signature Card</span></h3> + + +<p>Peter looked at his watch as he ran down the stairs of the Westmoreland +Theatre Building. It was nearly one o'clock, and he decided that he +would have time enough to snatch a bit of lunch before he made the +attempt to see Mr. Walter Dunne, of the Scoville Bank. He stopped in at +a public telephone booth in a cigar store, and called Donald Morris and +O'Malley. To the one he reported what slight progress he had made, and +from the other he received the information that he, O'Malley, had been +down to the apartment and seen the janitor and that there was nothing +new there. No one had called to see either of the sisters and no word +of any kind had been received from them.</p> + +<p>"Get the photographs down here as quick as you can," O'Malley urged. +"I've wired our correspondents all over the country, but you know, +Pete, they can't do such a hell of a lot without the pictures, and +neither can the boys here."</p> + +<p>"Send Maggie over to the Fifth Avenue Bank," said Peter, quickly. "I've +got to go there, anyway. Have her meet me in half an hour and I'll give +her the photographs. You can get them copied, p. d. q., and broadcast +'em all over the map, see. Tell her to meet me in twenty minutes, I can +make it by then."</p> + +<p>Hastily he hung up the receiver, snatched a sandwich and a glass of +milk at a near-by drug store, met Maggie, his switch-board operator, +at the Fifth Avenue Bank and delivered the photographs to her with +instructions to rush them back to the office.</p> + +<p>"Holy cats!" said Maggie, pensively, as she looked at the pictures of +Mary Blake. "Ain't she sweet!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind whether she's sweet or not, Maggie," said Clancy, hastily. +"Put 'em in your bag, and don't lose 'em. Chase yourself back to the +office just as fast as you can, there's a good girl——And for the love +of Mike, stop chewing that gum. You make me nervous! How many times +have I told you——"</p> + +<p>"But I ain't in the office now, Mr. Clancy. It's me lunch hour and me +time's me own and me tastes is me own. If you don't like——"</p> + +<p>"There, there, Maggie. Never mind," said Clancy, soothingly. "I didn't +mean anything; but if there's one thing more than another that spoils a +pretty girl, it's that infernal chew, chew, chew! It gets on my nerves."</p> + +<p>Mollified by the subtle compliment, Maggie blew the offending gum +nonchalantly into the gutter. "'S all right, Mr. Clancy," she said, and +with a wide smile she flappered rapidly away.</p> + +<p>Peter's errand at the Fifth Avenue Bank, where he and his partner kept +their modest but reliable account, was to get a note, accrediting +him to the cashier of the Scoville Bank. The reputation of the firm +of Clancy and O'Malley was above question, and the note was easily +forthcoming.</p> + +<p>Armed with this, Peter proceeded at once to the Scoville Bank and was +readily admitted to an interview with the cashier.</p> + +<p>Mr. William Dunne proved to be a pleasant young man of about Peter's +own age, who looked attentively at the detective's business card, and +asked him to state wherein he, the cashier, could be of service.</p> + +<p>"I want to find out a few things about one of your depositors," said +Peter, proceeding at once to business. "Anything you tell me will be +treated in the strictest confidence, and I'm sure the questions I want +to ask you can answer without any trouble. It's about Miss Mary Blake."</p> + +<p>"H'm'm——" said the cashier. "Miss Blake, the actress? Yes. She has an +account here. Been running up bills somewhere?" with a slight grin.</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the sort," said Peter, readily, "though it may turn out +to be a more serious matter than that. At any rate, it isn't anything +against the lady. It's in her interests that I'm here."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you ask her the questions you want to put to me, then?" +asked Dunne, shrewdly.</p> + +<p>"Because she's out of town and the matter is urgent," explained Peter, +imperturbably.</p> + +<p>The cashier hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Of course I'd be glad to help you out in any way, Mr. Clancy," he +said, doubtfully, "but the relations of the bank to its clients are +very confidential. We have to be very careful about disclosing anything +of their private affairs. You know how you'd feel, yourself. We have +to be very certain that we're not doing anything prejudicial to their +interests."</p> + +<p>Peter saw that it was necessary for him to be very frank if he were +to gain the information he desired from this conscientious and astute +young man. He, therefore, returned the cashier's questioning glance +with an open, candid smile.</p> + +<p>"I'm perfectly aware, Mr. Dunne," he said, "that all good banks protect +their depositors' interests to the limit, so I'll just put my cards on +the table. Miss Blake has disappeared, and her sister also, under most +peculiar conditions, and I have been employed to try to trace them. I +was summoned to their apartment by Mr. Donald Morris."</p> + +<p>"Stephen Morris's son?" asked the cashier, quickly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Peter, and seeing that the well-known name had its effect, +he added, "Perhaps you'd like me to get him on the wire, and assure you +that——"</p> + +<p>"I don't like to seem to doubt you in any way, Mr. Clancy," the cashier +interrupted. "I'd be very glad to be of service to any friend of Mr. +Morris's. He has an account here. Suppose I get him on the wire."</p> + +<p>This suited Peter perfectly. Knowing that Morris would be at home, +waiting for news, he realized that there would be little delay, and +waited imperturbably while the cashier verified his statements. In a +few minutes Dunne turned away from the telephone.</p> + +<p>"So far, so good, Mr. Clancy," he said, smiling. "Now bring on your +problem."</p> + +<p>"Well, this is the way it stands," said Peter, with an answering smile. +"It looks as if Miss Blake's apartment has been robbed. Of course we +can't be sure, because we don't know what was there originally, but +things were tossed about a lot, bureau drawers and desk drawers opened, +and that sort of thing. And both the sisters have disappeared."</p> + +<p>"All right. I get that," said the cashier. "Now what do you need to +know about them?"</p> + +<p>"First of all, do you know Miss Blake by sight?" asked Peter.</p> + +<p>"H'm'm—I've seen her on the stage, yes. But I don't recollect ever +having seen her in the bank here."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps one of the tellers——"</p> + +<p>"One of them might have, of course, but I doubt it. You see, I was +paying teller, myself, up to a month ago, and as far as I can remember, +it was always Miss Anne Blake who came to the bank."</p> + +<p>"You know her, then, by sight," said Peter, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. She comes in almost every week. Quiet, retiring sort of +woman, with a bad birthmark."</p> + +<p>Peter nodded.</p> + +<p>"When was she here last, Mr. Dunne? Do you think you could find out +for me? Would the tellers know her?"</p> + +<p>"Think they would. In fact, I'm sure Parsons knows her. He was my +assistant and is paying now. I'll ask him. Just a moment."</p> + +<p>He left his desk, and went through a glass door at the back of the +metal-latticed cages. Peter could see him, through the grille, talking +to first one man and then another. Presently he came back.</p> + +<p>"Miss Anne Blake was in the bank and cashed a check on Saturday +morning," he informed Peter.</p> + +<p>"On Saturday morning," Peter repeated, thoughtfully. "Do you know how +much she drew?"</p> + +<p>"I do," said the cashier, with a twinkle in his eye.</p> + +<p>"Would you mind telling me, in strict confidence, the amount of the +check?" asked Peter, persuasively. "I promise you, on my word of +honour, that it'll go no further. You can see for yourself that, if +there was a robbery, it's important for us to know whether there was +any large sum of money in the house."</p> + +<p>"I see," said the cashier, thoughtfully. "Well, I don't think there's +any harm in telling you. The Fifth Avenue vouches for you, and Mr. +Morris does, too. No. There can't be any harm. It was a check for five +thousand dollars."</p> + +<p>Peter sat up in his chair.</p> + +<p>"Five thousand!" he exclaimed. "Five thousand dollars? Did she often +draw as much as that?"</p> + +<p>"No, never anywhere near as much as that before. And she took cash, +too. Parsons warned her that it wasn't very safe, these days, to carry +so much money around, and suggested that she take it in A.B.A. checks. +He thought she was going to, for she asked to see the blanks, and then +she decided that she wasn't afraid to take the cash."</p> + +<p>"I'm not awfully familiar with those checks," said Peter, apparently, +for the moment, losing interest in his main subject, "but I understand +they're a great convenience when you're travelling. Got one handy? I'd +like to see one."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they're great," said the cashier, producing a pad of blanks from +the drawer of his desk, and laying it before the detective.</p> + +<p>Peter looked at it for a moment, curiously.</p> + +<p>"You sign here, in the body of the check when purchasing, don't you," +he said, slowly, "and then, when you sign again, here at the bottom, it +identifies you. Yes. Very clever. Very convenient. I'll remember, when +I have another long trip to take. Thanks."</p> + +<p>He sat considering in silence for a little time. Then he asked:</p> + +<p>"How does Miss Blake's account stand with the bank? I mean, is it a +joint account? Can she and her sister both draw checks against it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Dunne answered, promptly.</p> + +<p>"Then, if Miss Mary should—die—Miss Anne could still go on drawing +against the account without any bother about a will, or anything."</p> + +<p>"Naturally, but I don't quite see how this applies——"</p> + +<p>"No," agreed Peter, genially. "It probably doesn't. I was only +thinking——"</p> + +<p>He continued thinking silently for a moment, then he went on:</p> + +<p>"Would you feel that there was any harm in telling me how much money +Miss Blake has on deposit here?"</p> + +<p>"I really couldn't do that, Mr. Clancy. It's against the rules of the +bank. I'm sorry."</p> + +<p>Peter grinned—computing swiftly in his own mind.</p> + +<p>"Would I be safe, do you think," he asked, "in extending credit to Miss +Blake to the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars?"</p> + +<p>The young cashier laughed.</p> + +<p>"You would, Mr. Clancy. You certainly would."</p> + +<p>"Suppose it were necessary, and I doubled the credit?"</p> + +<p>Dunne's eyes twinkled with merriment, and he shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't advise you to go much above that, Mr. Clancy," he said, +"but at the present moment you wouldn't be risking your fifty thousand +to any extent."</p> + +<p>The grin left Peter's face, and his eyes narrowed. He had, indeed, +found food for thought. A joint account, for about fifty thousand +dollars, which would be entirely under Anne's control if Mary—should +die. Had he found a motive, a sufficient motive? And why had Anne drawn +so large a sum on Saturday? Saturday! The very day before the one on +which Anne and Mary had both vanished, leaving no trace.</p> + +<p>Did someone know of the large sum in currency which the sisters had in +their apartment, presumably, on Saturday night?... But Anne, at least, +had left the apartment, herself unharmed, on Sunday evening. That was +an established fact.</p> + +<p>And why hadn't Anne made use of the safe and convenient A.B.A. checks, +as the paying teller had advised her? She had evidently considered +doing so, for she had examined the blanks—and found, not only that she +must sign them first when purchasing, but also that the signature at +the bottom must agree with the one in the body of the check when it was +cashed.</p> + +<p>There was only one possible conclusion in the detective's mind. She did +not wish to use her own name, and that was why she would not buy them +of the bank where she was known. If she was clever, she would see that +she could purchase the checks elsewhere and use any name she saw fit. +Peter was confident that when, or if, they found Anne Blake, it would +be under some other name.</p> + +<p>These reflections occupied but a moment, so swift were Peter's mental +processes. He had noted and tabulated each circumstance for future +application to the problem in hand, and there had been scarcely a +perceptible pause in the conversation when he said:</p> + +<p>"I'm awfully obliged to you, Mr. Dunne, for the information you've +given me. There's just one thing more. Would you mind showing me any +vouchers you may happen to have on Miss Blake's account? It would be a +great favour."</p> + +<p>The cashier pursed his lips, and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I really couldn't do that, Mr. Clancy," he said, +apologetically. "Cancelled checks are the property of the client, and +not of the bank. I could show you the signature card, if you'd be +interested in that. It shows both signatures, if that's what you want +to see."</p> + +<p>Peter did not care to explain that he had hoped to get from the +vouchers some clue which would indicate with whom the sisters were +accustomed to have dealings, or that he might stumble on some other +valuable bit of information. This proving impossible, he might as +well look at the signatures. As O'Malley always said, "You never can +tell——"</p> + +<p>"Why, thanks. I would like to see them, Mr. Dunne," he said, "if it +isn't too much trouble."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," responded the cashier, rising.</p> + +<p>He passed again behind the network of grilles, and presently returned +with the usual signature card in his hand. Seating himself, he laid it +before the detective.</p> + +<p>Peter examined the signatures carefully. Mary Blake's was, so far as +he could judge, precisely like those he had seen at Frederick Jones's +office, the writing rather large, and slanting in the ordinary way. +Anne's signature was small and cramped and written "backhand," very +different from her sister's generous, spirited writing. And yet, in +some ways, they were similar, Peter noted; a fact probably due to long +association. The e's, for instance, were formed in both cases, not in a +loop, but like a written capital e, and they were separate, not joined +to the letter k which preceded in the word "Blake."</p> + +<p>Peter remarked these points in passing, but their full significance did +not dawn upon him for many, many anxious days.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Woman at the Pennsylvania Hotel</span></h3> + + +<p>"Here he is," said Captain O'Malley, as Peter, having made a quick +trip from the Scoville Bank, entered the door of his partner's private +office. "You're just in time, Pete. Fox thinks he's found the lady!"</p> + +<p>"What, already?" said Peter, glancing sharply at the round, smooth face +of the detective who stood beside O'Malley's desk. "And which one?"</p> + +<p>"I think I've found Miss Mary Blake. But, of course, I can't be +perfectly sure yet," answered Fox, thrusting forward his chin, eagerly. +"I've been rounding up the hotels to see what ladies, travelling alone, +registered on Sunday night. Been doing it ever since we got our orders, +and I haven't had any luck till just about an hour ago. I'd gone all +through the smaller hotels, thinking she'd sure pick a quiet one, and +then it suddenly occurred to me that maybe she'd think she'd attract +less attention at one of the big ones, and after running through +several, I hit the Pennsylvania. Happens I know the clerk there, so he +took some pains to help me. He was off duty Sunday, and there wasn't +anybody registered that day that could possibly have been either of +the Miss Blakes. But, as you know, Clancy, they're pretty particular +about taking any ladies without luggage, and Watson (that's the clerk) +thought she might possibly have tried to get in and they wouldn't take +her. So he got hold of the man that was on duty Sunday, and I gave him +my spiel. This lad (Franklin, his name is) said there was a lady, very +beautiful and young, that came into the hotel on Sunday evening, about +seven, and wanted a room. She didn't have nothing but a small handbag, +and she was so pretty Franklin was leary of her and said they were +full up. So then I asked him if he had any idea where she'd gone, and +he said that she seemed so kind of timid and upset about not getting +a room, and she didn't look exactly like a rounder (though you can't +always tell, at that), so he suggested that she might go over to the +station and talk to the Travellers' Aid officer that's always in the +women's waiting room; that she could find out there some respectable +boarding house she could get into."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" said Peter, eagerly, as Fox paused for breath.</p> + +<p>"Well, that sounded good to me, so I beat it over to the station, +and sure enough, the Travellers' Aid woman there did remember that a +pretty young woman come in Sunday evening and that she'd recommended +a boarding house on Twenty-sixth Street, where they take nothing but +women. Then I chased over to the boarding house, and sure enough, +she was there, all right. I saw the landlady. She's a respectable +woman, enough, but it's a big house that caters to a transient trade +and I guess they can't be too particular. Anyhow, she said the girl +looked all right and paid for a week in advance, so she should worry. +I described Miss Blake to her, and she thinks it's her, all right. I +couldn't do nothing more without a photo, so I beat it over to see if +we'd got one yet; and that's as far as I've gone."</p> + +<p>"Sounds good so far," remarked O'Malley. "What do you think, Pete?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it fits what we know, as far as it goes," said Clancy. "But the +acid test'll be matching this girl up to the photograph. Have you got +the duplicates yet, O'Malley?"</p> + +<p>"Just come in, not five minutes ago," answered the old man, reaching +for a large envelope which lay upon his desk. "Pretty good service +we're getting from the Swift Camera Company. They're swift in something +more than the name. Here, Fox, here you are." He held out four +unmounted photographs. "You can't make a mistake with all those for +comparison, but see her yourself, and make sure."</p> + +<p>Fox scratched his head.</p> + +<p>"But how'm I going to get a chance to compare 'em?" he asked, +doubtfully. "The landlady says that the young woman, who gave her name +as Mrs. Florence Smith, keeps in her room the whole time. She don't go +out at all. Has her meals sent up. Says she's nervous about meeting +strangers, but it looks to me as if she was hiding."</p> + +<p>Peter and O'Malley exchanged glances.</p> + +<p>"Find out anything else?" asked Peter, with increasing interest.</p> + +<p>"Only that she hasn't had any more luggage sent in. Just had nothing +but the handbag she come with. And that she'd written and sent out one +letter since she come, and last night, the only time she's been out at +all, she asked where was the nearest place she could send a telegram."</p> + +<p>"Wonder when she sent that letter, and if it was by messenger," said +Peter, reflectively. "You didn't happen to ask, did you, Fox?"</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't, Clancy. Does it matter?"</p> + +<p>"Well——I don't know——Might——But that'll be easy enough to find +out from the landlady, I guess," said Peter. "Anyhow, the whole bag of +tricks sounds pretty interesting, Fox. We're bound to follow it up. +Somebody's got to get a peek at her by hook or by crook."</p> + +<p>"But how?" asked Fox, irritably. "How am I going to get at her? I can't +go and bust into her room. And if she never leaves it——"</p> + +<p>"She'll have to leave it sometime, son," said O'Malley, soothingly. +"All you'll have to do is to stick around, and sooner or later she's +bound to come into the open."</p> + +<p>This suggestion of "watchful waiting" made no appeal to Peter, however. +He thought a minute, and then said to Fox:</p> + +<p>"There's a way of getting to her and I'll bet I find it. Your feet get +cold too easy, Fox, and you've got no imagination. I'll take this thing +on, here and now. Come on and lead me to that landlady, and I'll show +you how the thing can be done."</p> + +<p>Fox, grumbling inwardly, did as he was bid, and the two men proceeded +as fast as possible to Twenty-sixth Street. There he introduced Clancy +to the landlady, a lean, middle-aged woman, of respectable appearance, +with a cold, calculating blue eye.</p> + +<p>"I don't know why I should help you to see Mrs. Smith," she said, +in answer to Peter's request. "She's paid her board and lodging in +advance, and she's quieter'n any lady in the house. I don't know you, +and——"</p> + +<p>Peter interrupted her.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Comfort," (for, inappropriate as it seemed, this was the +landlady's name) "Mrs. Comfort," he said, "we don't know whether or not +Mrs. Smith is the lady we're looking for. And, in any case, there's +nothing against her and we mean her no harm. The lady we're looking +for"—he fixed her with his eye and touched his forehead significantly, +shaking his head in apparent commiseration—"has left her friends, and +has left no address."</p> + +<p>"You mean she's crazy?" asked the landlady, in a horrified whisper. +"I thought she acted kind of queer. I can't bear crazy people," she +shivered.</p> + +<p>Peter was quick to follow up his advantage.</p> + +<p>"But this may not be the lady we're looking for, Mrs. Comfort. We only +want to make sure. It would be too bad to worry you if we're mistaken. +One thing: She sent a letter out since she's been here. Do you happen +to know when it was she sent it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do know that, positive," said Mrs. Comfort, uncomfortably. "She +asked Lily, the waitress, to take it out when she went home Sunday +night."</p> + +<p>"Was it to go by messenger?" asked Peter, quickly.</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Would Lily, do you think? And whom the letter was addressed to? Do you +imagine she'd remember? Could you ask her for me, Mrs. Comfort? If I +knew the address on the letter, I might not have to see Mrs. Smith to +make sure."</p> + +<p>"No," irritably, "I can't ask Lily, for the simple reason that she +hasn't showed up so far this week at all."</p> + +<p>"Too bad," said Peter. "Well, never mind, Mrs. Comfort. It won't matter +to me, anyway, if you'll fix it so we can find out whether this Mrs. +Smith is the lady we want. You will fix it, won't you?" His tone was +very persuasive.</p> + +<p>"Well," hesitated the landlady, rubbing her long nose with a bony +forefinger, "it'd ease my mind to have you see her since what you've +told me. But how can I? I've got no right to let you go up to her room. +This is a respectable house, and——"</p> + +<p>"I know it is," Peter agreed, cordially. "It's got a fine reputation, +Mrs. Comfort. But even if you don't have men boarders, surely you must +have men in to make repairs, or something. How about the telephone? I +could go in to inspect the telephone. You could come along with me if +you like."</p> + +<p>"But there's no telephones in the rooms," objected the landlady. "What +d'you think this is? The Ritz?"</p> + +<p>Peter was checked for the moment. He glanced around the lace-curtained +parlour for inspiration. The house was an old one, and lighted by gas. +The fact, immediately noted, gave him an idea, and he was about to +suggest that he go up and pretend to do something to the burners in +Mrs. Smith's room, when a sharp ring at the front door bell interrupted +him.</p> + +<p>"Them girls downstairs is so slow." With an annoyed gesture Mrs. +Comfort turned quickly, passed through the open double doors of the +parlour, and herself opened the street door.</p> + +<p>Peter heard but one sentence—and he was out in the hall in the +twinkling of an eye. Without a word of explanation he snatched a yellow +envelope from the outstretched hand of an elderly "messenger boy" +who stood upon the threshold, dropped his own hat on the hall table, +unceremoniously appropriated the cap of the astounded messenger, and +turned swiftly to Mrs. Comfort.</p> + +<p>"Which room?" he whispered. "Quick!"</p> + +<p>"Third floor back," gasped the landlady. "But you can't——"</p> + +<p>Peter did not wait to hear her expostulations. He dashed up the stairs +and was out of sight before she could finish the sentence.</p> + +<p>He stopped for an instant before the door of the third floor back, to +get his breath. Then he knocked softly.</p> + +<p>"Who's there?" The voice had a startled, anxious ring.</p> + +<p>"Western Union Telegraph," Peter answered, in a quiet, assured tone.</p> + +<p>The door opened the least crack, and then was flung wide, the envelope +snatched from his hand and torn open, the contents devoured. Peter +stood stock still, with wide-open eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank God! Thank God! He'll take me home. He'll take me back! Oh, +father, dear father!" She was sobbing, beside herself. She turned, +blindly, to Peter. "How do I get this? This money?—I want to go home. +To go home to California. He'll save me from Roger. He'll protect +me. I won't have to bear anything more. I'll be free, at last!" The +words tumbled wildly over each other, and again, almost without taking +breath, she asked, "How do I get this money?"</p> + +<p>Peter saw it all in a flash. The woman, hiding from a husband who had +ill-treated her, the father who had sent the money, faster than on the +wings of the wind, to bring his daughter home.... It was an old story, +with, Peter hoped, a happy ending, for the girl was beautiful and +appealing—though not in the least, except in generalities, like the +portrait which he carried inside the breast of his coat.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">One Clue</span></h3> + + +<p>And this sort of thing was destined to be Peter's experience for +many days to come. Every waking hour, and many when he should have +been sleeping, was spent in following up clues unearthed by eager +detectives, spurred to incessant action by the large reward which +Donald Morris had privately offered for any news of either or both of +the sisters.</p> + +<p>Morris had been inclined, at first, to limit the reward to news of Mary.</p> + +<p>"I care nothing about the sister, Clancy," he said. "What does it +matter to me where she is, or what she does? It's Mary—Mary——"</p> + +<p>The agonized appeal in his eyes was almost more than Peter could bear. +The two men, so unlike, but with the bond of one common interest, +had become, in those few days, fast friends. Peter could not bring +himself even to hint at the sinister possibility which had presented +itself to his mind and to Captain O'Malley's. Hardened as they were +to the terrible crimes which were committed in this great city every +day, the possibility of murder—a word which they had not whispered, +even to each other—was not one which Peter would willingly suggest to +the client who had become his friend. It was, therefore, with great +difficulty that he persuaded Morris to make the reward applicable to +news of either of the sisters.</p> + +<p>"If we can only find Anne," he said to O'Malley, after Morris had +reluctantly consented, "I promise you I'll put the screws on her and +find out what happened to Mary Blake, if it's necessary to have her +arrested for murder to do it. You watch me! <i>I'm going to find Anne!</i>"</p> + +<p>But for once, for all his confidence in himself, Peter seemed destined +to failure. Each day and all day long and far into the night, all over +the country, sharp-eyed men and women trained to the last keen edge of +observation and inquiry sought for the missing women.</p> + +<p>And always there were clues. Their name was legion, and Peter did +not dare, in his own words, "to pass one up," for fear that it might +lead true, at last. It seemed impossible that there could be so many +unexplained women as were unearthed; so many women with birthmarks, so +many who were young and dark, and to the observer's eager eye (dazzled, +perhaps by the amount of the reward) so like the photograph which each +detective carried about with him.</p> + +<p>In his investigations, Peter travelled the country over. A swift +journey to St. Louis—and failure. Returning, he had no more than +reached his office, when a report came in of a young woman, with a +conspicuous birthmark, who had recently taken obscure lodgings in a +back street in Philadelphia. The cases of those who were supposed to +be Anne Blake were the most difficult to cope with and took the most +time. A decision could only be reached, in some instances, by finding +out the antecedents of the suspects, and by determining that the person +in question was definitely in some other place on the twenty-eighth of +May, for there was nothing in Peter's possession with which to identify +her except a meagre description.</p> + +<p>He had made time to amplify this to the fullest extent possible. +To this end, he had called again on the janitor, Angelo Russo, at +the apartment in Waverly Place, late in the afternoon following his +experience with the <i>soi-disant</i> Mrs. Florence Smith.</p> + +<p>He had gone quietly into the old apartment house and, unheralded, had +sought the janitor in his own domain. In the dark, stuffy basement, he +had interviewed Angelo and his invalid wife, who appeared almost too +ill to answer any questions.</p> + +<p>"She not know noding 'bout noding," Angelo said, interposing his short +body, protectively, between Peter and his wife. "She sick long time. +Doc', she say mus' have fresh air—count-ree. How get him, me? Try +ev' way I know, Godalmighty! but no good—Angelo have no lucka—only +troub'—jus' troub'."</p> + +<p>"Did your wife ever see Miss Anne Blake?" asked Peter, touched, in +spite of his preoccupation, by the poor, stupid Italian's sincere +distress. "That's all I want to know."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Me seen her long time 'go," said the wife, in a thin, weak voice. +"Long time 'go," she repeated, sadly.</p> + +<p>"Could you describe her to me? Tell me how she looked?" asked Peter, +kindly. "A woman sometimes sees more than a man."</p> + +<p>But the poor woman's powers of description were little better than her +husband's. She insisted, however, that Anne Blake was not thin, "not +skinny," but—Peter supplied the word—slender. "Yes, she was slen', +but stronga. Me see her lif' biga heavy ting, carry 'em 'roun' lika +easy. No, not skinny—what you say, slen'? Yes." This was the only way +in which her description varied from Angelo's.</p> + +<p>After leaving the Russos, Peter had found two or three tradesmen, in +the immediate vicinity, who knew Anne Blake by sight. He was able to +determine from them that her appearance was, in a general way, such as +before described. As to the birthmark, one or two thought it was on the +left, and the others thought it was on the right, cheek. One perhaps +fanciful lady, who owned a small bake shop, said she remembered it +well, and that it was certainly on the right cheek, extending down on +the neck. That it looked to her something like the mark of a hand, a +big spot below, and four—or was it only three—smaller ones, running +up on the cheek. "Dark it was, like blood, an' awful to have upon ye, +the poor thing!"</p> + +<p>This was all that Peter had to go upon in his subsequent attempts to +trace Anne Blake, and only once, after investigation, had he been at +all assured that he had found a genuine clue. This happened on the +Wednesday following the disappearance.</p> + +<p>He had sent a woman detective to interview the matron of the women's +waiting room in the Pennsylvania Station. This detective found that the +neat coloured woman, in charge of the pay dressing rooms, remembered +seeing a veiled lady come in there on Sunday evening. She couldn't be +sure, but she thought it was after five. It was not very long before +the time when she went off duty, and that was at six. She recollected, +too, that the lady had some sort of disfigurement on her face. She had +received the fee and opened one of the pay dressing rooms for her, but +whether it was because the lady stayed in there till after her time was +up, or for whatever reason, the coloured woman had no recollection of +seeing her again.</p> + +<p>And after three weeks of almost incessant toil this was the one +thing Peter had learned. Porters and conductors of every train which +left the Pennsylvania Station on that fateful Sunday night had been +personally interviewed. Not one remembered seeing any such lady as +Peter described. As far as he was able to learn, Anne Blake might have +vanished into thin air.</p> + +<p>The search for a cab which Mary Blake might have taken on that Sunday +evening had proved equally fruitless. The city, as Peter had promised +Donald Morris, had been gone over with a fine-tooth comb. All the big +taxi companies, the smaller garages, and all the "free lances," from +the Bronx to the Battery, had been investigated, to no purpose. No one +had seen Mary Blake leave Waverly Place and every trace of her was +utterly lost. Like her sister, she had slipped out of sight, leaving no +ripple to betray her passage.</p> + +<p>"It looks as if the only chance of getting results would be to let +the story leak out to the papers," said Peter to O'Malley, late one +afternoon toward the end of June. "Mr. Morris is dead against it. +Thinks that Miss Mary would hate the publicity worse than anything in +the world. And even if we could persuade him to let us go ahead and +practically advertise, even then I'm not any too hopeful." He sighed, +wearily. "I don't see, in any case, why Anne should come out of the +woods. Dammit! If she'd only draw some of that money that's lying +up there at the Scoville Bank, it might give us a look-in. But they +haven't heard a word. I'm sure she's got plenty of funds in hand, all +right, and is lying low. Wonder how she figures to pull out that money +without any one getting wise as to where she is."</p> + +<p>"I've been puzzling about that, too," said O'Malley. "Seems as if she'd +have to take somebody into her confidence to put it across, but if what +we've doped out is true, and Mary Blake never turns up, for the simple +reason that——" He made an expressive gesture.</p> + +<p>"That letter keeps coming back to my mind, O'Malley," said Peter, +reflectively, "the one Mary wrote to Donald Morris. And one phrase +sticks in my crop—'There will be no one left but Anne, if I fail——' +It looks like what we thought—and yet—somehow I can't get it out of +my head——" Suddenly he banged his fist down on the desk and jumped to +his feet. "I'm going through that apartment again, O'Malley," he said. +"I've been trying to ever since—but some damned bright-eyes thought +he had the whole thing cinched, and I've had to beat it somewhere on a +wild-goose chase. But I'm through with that for the present. I don't +care who has a pipe dream, induced by too big a reward, I'm going to +see if there isn't something in that apartment that'll give us a lead. +If we could only find out where they came from, and who they knew, +it might give us a line on where they'd be likely to go. The way it +is, we've just about come to a standstill, as I see it. There must be +something left in the place where they've lived for several years that +would be a hint to the guy who was able to take it. That key's been +burning in my pocket all these weeks, and to-night I'm going to use +it, see! I don't want any gallery, so I'm going late, just before the +street door's closed for the night. That's at twelve o'clock. I'll try +to fix it so that I don't run into the janitor."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess you needn't be much afraid of that, from what Rawlins +says. He's been pretty well fed up with just watching the house when +there's been absolutely nothing stirring, and he's sort of made +friends with Angelo to keep from being bored stiff. And the poor old +devil, Angelo, I mean, is just about crazy on account of his wife. She +won't go to a hospital, and there he is, taking care of her and trying +to hold down his job at the same time. With the result that he's only +upstairs when he can't get out of it. So——"</p> + +<p>"So you think there's no fear of my running into him," concluded Peter. +"Well, I don't suppose he'd beef about it much, but you never can +tell with these ignorant foreigners. They sometimes have an attack of +conscience in the most unexpected places. I won't take any chances. +I'll get Rawlins to give me the tip when he's out of the way——"</p> + +<p>"I guess it would be as well, at that," said O'Malley. "But what do you +expect to find, Pete? You went over the apartment pretty thoroughly the +first day, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"I did take a good look," answered Peter. "It was as thorough as I +could make it at the time, and with Morris champing at the bit. But I'm +not entirely satisfied—haven't been all along. There's a queer feel +about the place, O'Malley. You may think I'm getting fanciful in my old +age, and I can't explain to you just what it is that seems——The place +is shut in—airy enough, and all that, you know, but cut off from the +rest of the world.... You have the sort of feeling that almost anything +might happen there—and no one the wiser.... The windows are all +covered with curtains that are thin enough to let in the light and air +but thick enough so you couldn't see a thing from the outside. They're +not the usual sash curtains, but run from the top to the bottom of the +windows, and there's a rod through them at the bottom so they can't +blow—and there are thick, dark shades.... Of course it might be that +way in any apartment where the outlook wasn't very attractive—and it +may be just that.... You may think I'm a nut, O'Malley, but I've got it +into my old bean that there was something more—a purpose—I don't know +what.... But I'm going to find out. The thing's got me going. I'm going +to find out, O'Malley, if it takes a leg!"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Duplicate Key</span></h3> + + +<p>It was a dark night, hot and close, with a feel of thunder in the air. +The big arc lights near the arch in Washington Square made spots of +copperas green on the close-trimmed grass and flecks of emerald on the +full summer foliage of the trees. Above, the sky was velvet black, +thick and solid, like a pall, except for the faint, pulsating glow of +heat lightning over in the west.</p> + +<p>In the short length of Waverly Place the shadows lay deep, like those +at the bottom of a cañon. At the far end shone the lights of Broadway, +dim here in comparison with its upper reaches of flashing electricity. +An occasional car banged and rumbled on its way north or south, serving +to accentuate the silence of the short cross street.</p> + +<p>It was nearing midnight when Peter Clancy alighted from the stage at +Fifth Avenue and made his way eastward. When he reached the corner of +University Place, he whistled softly, five notes in a minor key. That +simple little call was as familiar to every man on his staff as the +notes of a robin to a country-bred boy.</p> + +<p>Immediately a shadow, among the shadows on the south side of the +street, moved toward him. Peter advanced quietly.</p> + +<p>"That you, Mr. Clancy?" A voice from the moving shadow, and as it came +closer, Peter could just distinguish Rawlins's face.</p> + +<p>"Anything stirring, Rawlins?"</p> + +<p>"Not a damn thing," the man replied, disgustedly. "This is a hell +of a job to put a live man on, Mr. Clancy. Been hangin' around here +for weeks, and not a soul to speak to but Sullivan and the dago over +there——"</p> + +<p>"Angelo swallowed the story of your being a plain-clothes watchman for +the bank here all right, didn't he? He hasn't any suspicion——"</p> + +<p>"Not a suspish," said Rawlins, confidently. "He and I are good friends, +all righty—and I can't help being sorry for the poor devil. He's such +a fool, and he's up against it, sure enough. He ought to send that wife +of his to a hospital."</p> + +<p>"Those people haven't any sense about that sort of thing," commented +Peter. "But never mind that now, Rawlins. Just slip over and see if the +coast is clear. I'm going up to the apartment for a bit, and I'm not +looking for an excited audience. Beat it over, and give me the high +sign if he's out of the way."</p> + +<p>Peter waited in the dark entrance next to the American Bank, which was +directly opposite number Ninety-nine. He saw Rawlins's short, wiry +figure silhouetted against the dim light which burned in the hallway +of the house across the way; saw him disappear in the darkness at the +other end of the passage.</p> + +<p>It seemed a long time to Peter's impatience before Rawlins again +appeared and, like a shadow, flitted across the street. He was out of +breath when he reached Peter, and chuckling softly to himself.</p> + +<p>"What's up?" asked Peter, sharply. "What are you laughing at, Rawlins? +Let me in on the joke."</p> + +<p>"Gee!" exclaimed Rawlins under his breath. "I'll bet the Federal +authorities would give a good deal to have heard what I just did. Say, +Clancy, did you ever hear that the dagoes in this old burg have got a +real, honest-to-God lottery going strong under cover somewhere?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, there are always rumours like that going around," said Peter, +carelessly. "The Chinese and the French and the Italians. What's that +got to do with the price of cheese?"</p> + +<p>"Why," said Rawlins, still chuckling, "there's a man over there with +Angelo in his little front room—I gum-shoed through the hall and part +way down the stairs, and I heard 'em talking. Angelo is crazy because +he's lost some money on the thing, poor devil, and he talked louder +than I guess he knew. They both spoke Italian, but you know I'm a shark +at lingoes, Clancy," with evident pride.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," said Peter, impatiently, "but we aren't here to sleuth +out things for the Government. I'd have been interested awhile back, +but I've got something else on my chest now. D'you think Angelo is +likely to come up in the next few minutes? That's all I want to know."</p> + +<p>"I should say, from the start he's got, that he'd go on cussin' his +friend for some time," answered Rawlins, grinning in the dark at his +recollection of the little Italian's language. "If you chase over right +away, you'll make it without any trouble. Angelo is what you might call +occupied just about now."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Peter, softly.</p> + +<p>Swift and quiet as a cat, he crossed the street, passed through the +gas-lighted hall, and up the stairs.</p> + +<p>There was no gas burning on the third landing, from which he deduced +that the apartment was still unoccupied. The fourth floor also was +perfectly dark and Peter had to flash his electric hand-light upon the +door to fit his duplicate key.</p> + +<p>The lock grated with an uneasy sound and the door swung slowly inward. +Still, black darkness, which could almost be felt, confronted him. +Peter stepped across the threshold, and without a sound, carefully shut +the door.</p> + +<p>The closed rooms, after the oppressive heat of the outer world, seemed +damp and cold, and Peter shivered slightly. In his rubber-soled shoes +he made no sound as he advanced into the living room, flashing his +light carefully about to avoid colliding with anything.</p> + +<p>There was little fear of being seen from the outside, since the +buildings opposite were used for business purposes, and empty at this +time of night, but Peter was taking no chances. His first move was to +pull down the dark shades at the windows.</p> + +<p>Remembering the way the outer halls were lighted, he struck a match +to light the gas, and found, to his surprise, that the apartment was +equipped with electricity. He had not noticed it before, or if he had, +it had made no impression on his then preoccupied mind. He saw nothing +significant in it now—was glad of the more brilliant light in which to +make his investigation—that was all. There was a candle lamp over on +the desk and a big, shaded lamp upon the table. Peter switched on the +smaller lamp.</p> + +<p>In the quiet light which illumined the room he could see that it was +just as he had left it over three weeks before. A little dust had +drifted in through the chinks of the windows, filming the polished +mahogany of table, chairs, and couch, but otherwise there was no +change, except that the scarf, which had proved an open sesame to a +world of anxiety, had been removed. But Peter knew all about that. He, +himself, had taken it to VanDorn and Sawyer to have the stain upon it +analyzed. They found it to be, what he felt sure from the first it was, +human blood. The scarf lay, now, in the safe at his office.</p> + +<p>Peter went into the bedroom and pulled down the shade, lest some +wakeful person in the houses on the street above might catch a gleam +from the light which he had left burning in the living room, and become +curious. Then, softly, he crept into the dining room and lowered +the blinds there, then into the kitchen, where he noted that the +broken pane of glass had been replaced according to Morris's careful +instructions to Angelo on the day it was discovered. He had felt, with +Morris, that it was an unnecessary risk to leave it in a condition in +which any sneak thief might have entered from the fire-escape with +perfect ease.</p> + +<p>Peter drew the dark blue blind down to the sill, and flashed the cold +eye of his hand-torch about, looking for a light fixture. He found +it in the shape of an old-fashioned gas chandelier with two burners, +suspended from the ceiling. He lit them both. The gas burned high, with +a soft, secret hiss. It sounded loud in the remote stillness of the +place, and automatically Peter lowered it to the point of silence.</p> + +<p>Then, supplementing the light from above with the clear gleam of his +torch, he searched the kitchen with microscopic thoroughness, but found +nothing which could be supposed, in any remote way, to have a bearing +on his problem. The two significant details, the fallen glass upon the +outside of the sill and the sliver of ice in the sink, which he had +noted on that perplexing Monday, having disappeared, the kitchen had no +other revelations to offer.</p> + +<p>He proceeded to the dining room, with a like result. Except for the +disarrangement of the side-board already noted, the room was evidently +just as it ordinarily appeared when tenanted. Again he noticed that +there was but one chair drawn up to the small round mahogany dining +table. The rest were standing tidily against the walls, and he +wondered if only one person had partaken of the last meal which was +eaten in that room.</p> + +<p>Passing into the hall, he sent the brilliant eye of his flash back and +forth across the dark waxed floor. It was thinly covered now with a +light, feathery dust. It would blow into the little gray rolls that the +hospital nurses call "kittens" if the air was let in.</p> + +<p>"Gad, I wish I could open the windows," thought Peter. "The air's as +dead as——"</p> + +<p>He paused before the open door of the small storeroom, still looking +at the floor. There was one spot here where the dust had collected +thickly. A big round clot of it lay there and several smaller spots. +Peter, with a slight faint creeping of the flesh, stepped carefully +across this part of the floor and entered the storeroom.</p> + +<p>The only window here gave upon a narrow light-shaft across which was +the window of the bath adjoining. There were only thin muslin curtains +at these windows, but at this midnight hour probably no one would +notice the light at the top of the shaft.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow, I'll have to risk it," said Peter, half aloud, "I've got to +make sure about this room."</p> + +<p>There was only gas here, as in all the rear of the apartment, but the +flow was good and the light fairly strong. Again Peter noted the slight +abrasions of the wall where he concluded the other trunk had stood, +the trunk which Bill, the taxi driver, had found so heavy, the trunk +which Anne Blake had taken away with her to a destination which still +remained veiled in mystery.</p> + +<p>The size of the trunk was—Peter measured from one little sharp +indentation in the wall to another—three feet four or five inches—and +from the floor, approximately twenty-four inches.</p> + +<p>"Big enough," Peter muttered to himself. "Big enough for—almost +anything."</p> + +<p>He folded up his pocket rule and turned to the large brass-bound trunk +which had been left standing against the wall.</p> + +<p>"Makes me feel a bit like a burglar, but it's all in the day's work," +thought Peter, as he knelt beside it and inspected the lock. "I guess +I've got you," his thought ran on, "you're easy," and he took a large +bunch of small keys from his pocket, and after a few minutes' work, +found one that fitted.</p> + +<p>A sharp crack of the lock, and Peter lifted the lid. The odour of +camphor, in a great whiff, filled his nostrils, almost choking him. He +drew back and took a long breath.</p> + +<p>"Gosh, they've used plenty of it," he exclaimed, half aloud. "I'd be +sorry for the poor devil of a moth that took a chance with that!"</p> + +<p>Carefully he lifted up the ends of the various articles in the trunk, +in such a way as not to disarrange them. Except for a pair of woollen +blankets at the bottom, there was nothing there but winter clothing of +various sorts. Extremely various sorts, Peter saw, for first there was +a magnificent evening wrap trimmed with almost priceless fur. Beneath +it lay a plain, rough, dark, heavy winter cloak rubbed a little at the +cuffs and collar, as with constant wear. There were carriage boots, +satin, lined with fur, and next them, wrapped in newspaper, was a pair +of high, fleece-lined goloshes, old and shabby. Peter looked at the +date on the newspaper.</p> + +<p>"The <i>Planet</i>, May 25," he read. "Somebody packed this trunk not more +than three days before——Well, I don't see where that gets you, old +top. Come get a move on."</p> + +<p>In replacing the bundle of goloshes, he noticed that an article had +been cut from the paper, not torn out, but cut with sharp scissors. The +fact merely caught his attention in passing.</p> + +<p>"Probably a notice of 'Dark Roads,'" he thought, and dismissing the +subject from his mind, he went on with his task. It proved somewhat +trying, owing to the camphor fumes, which became more overpowering as +he delved deeper into the trunk, and once they became so strong that he +sneezed.</p> + +<p>He tried to choke it back, but it would come, a loud "Atchi!" which +resounded horribly in the stillness.</p> + +<p>Peter held his breath and listened. Nothing stirred. Far away he +could hear the faint "whir—ee—ee" of a passing street car, over on +Broadway, and the low murmuring of thunder overhead, but within was the +silence of the tomb.</p> + +<p>"Cheerful, I calls it," said Peter, to himself, drawing a long breath. +"Well, I guess that'll be about all here."</p> + +<p>He closed and locked the trunk, flashed his light inside the open +drawers of the small white chiffonier, and found nothing that could +give him any help. Not a letter, not a card. No piece of writing of any +sort. The very few articles of clothing which remained were old and +worn. A pair of gray leather gloves, shabby with wear, still held the +shape of slender, long hands. There was something almost pathetic about +them as they lay there, palms upward, an appeal—but Peter was in no +mood for sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Anne Blake's things, without a doubt," he thought, "and too worn +out to bother with.... And her winter stuff packed away with her +sister's.... I wonder if Sherlock Holmes would make anything out of +that. Does it mean that she plans to come back in the fall? Or are they +all things she has no further use for? And, if so, why pack 'em away +so carefully?... And just a few days before—she—quit. Was the whole +business 'sudden at the last,' as they say of people who are a long +time dying?" He shook his red head in perplexity. "Well, no use trying +to think it out now, Peter. Let's get all the dope and then patch it +together the best we can."</p> + +<p>So saying, he slipped softly down the hall, throwing his brilliant +light over every inch of the floor and walls. Almost without sound he +drifted from the hall into the bedroom and stood still, looking about +him. There was electricity here, and he boldly switched on the lights +in the ceiling. The resulting illumination was so bright that it made +him blink.</p> + +<p>Then he proceeded with his investigation.</p> + +<p>Nothing in the waste basket, nothing, not even ashes, in the small, +old-fashioned grate; nothing left in the few pockets he discovered with +exceeding difficulty, in the various rich articles of women's apparel +which hung in the two closets. Nothing of any interest in the rifled +drawers of the big highboy, nor in the empty drawers of the dressing +table. A little drift of pink toilet powder still clung in the corner +of one of them and there was a tiny smear of red on the inner side of +the same drawer. Peter touched it and found that it was a trifle greasy +and made his finger-tip rosy-red.</p> + +<p>"Rouge. Aha, my lady," he chuckled, with a little grimace, "beauty +isn't always even skin deep." And for the hundredth time he wondered if +Mary Blake was all that Morris thought her. "Not that a little paint +and powder is anything against a girl these days, when every flapper, +from fifteen to fifty, makes up for the street, and some of 'em pile +it on so thick you'd think they must have put it on with a trowel—in +the dark. Well," he looked about him, "there's no excuse for her if she +didn't do it right." He reached out and switched on the lights on both +sides of the mirror, at the back of the dressing table. His pleasant, +homely freckled face appeared in the glass, dazzlingly illuminated. +"Humph! Mary took no chances of not looking her best, I'll say that +for her," he thought. "But I wish to God she'd left me some real +light on the problem she's stacked me up against, instead of all this +spotlight stuff.... Well—I guess there's nothing here. Now for the +living room."</p> + +<p>He turned off all the lights, and went through into the room at the +front. Here the little candle lamp on the desk threw a gentle, intimate +glow over the rather austere old furniture and neutral-tinted walls. +There was nothing here that even remotely suggested the theatrical; +none of the customary signed photographs, and but few pictures. Over +the mantel, the Mona Lisa smiled her enigmatic smile, there were a few +fine old Japanese prints, and that was all. In front of the centre +window, on a slender pedestal, was an exquisite little plaster cast +of an Andromeda, chained to a rock. Scratched in the base was the +signature, D.V.L. Morris.</p> + +<p>All these generalities Peter could see in the quiet light, but they did +not appear to have any particular significance. He felt that he needed +all the light, both mental and material, that he could get, so without +wasting any precious moments he took off the shade of the lamp which +stood on the table and turned on both its high-powered bulbs.</p> + +<p>Again, as on that first day, he stirred the dead, cold ashes in the +fireplace. No, there was nothing. Every particle of the paper was +consumed. He could not even tell what sort of papers had been burned. +Sighing, he rose and looked again about the room. On each side of the +fireplace were built-in shelves laden with books and magazines. There +was a good deal of fiction which Peter had never read. Thackeray, +George Meredith (Stevenson, Peter knew, and heartily approved), Henry +James, Edith Wharton, and many others, including the novels and plays +of Bernard Shaw. There was a good deal of poetry, and many plays, old +and new. On the top shelf stood a worn set of Shakespeare, in a quaint, +old-fashioned leather binding. Without knowing just why he did it, +Peter took down one of the volumes at random. It chanced to be "Julius +Cæsar," and on the fly leaf, in a bold, flowing hand, was the name, +"Winthrop Curwood."</p> + +<p>"Winthrop Curwood," Peter repeated, half aloud. "I've heard that name +before somewhere.... Winthrop Curwood.... No, dammit, I can't place +it.... And anyway, it may not mean a thing. The books are old enough to +have been bought second-hand. I'll just see——" He ran rapidly through +a number of the older books. The name did not occur again. "However, +I'll just make a note of it. There doesn't seem to be any other owner's +name written in any of 'em," he thought, and in a little pocket +memorandum book he copied the name "Winthrop Curwood," in his clear, +microscopic hand.</p> + +<p>In returning "Julius Cæsar" to his place on the top shelf Peter's hand +struck a pile of magazines which were closely stacked at the end. One +of the slippery pamphlets loosened, and in a rush the whole lot came +cascading down.</p> + +<p>Peter caught his breath, and thanked his lucky stars that there was +no one in the apartment below. As he carefully returned them to their +place he noted with some surprise that besides the more popular +magazines of the day there were a number of scientific and medical +journals, and several copies of a publication called <i>Beauty</i>. He +had never even heard of this latter, and glanced through one or two +copies curiously, smiling a little, in spite of the seriousness of his +quest. There appeared to be no end of ways in which one could heighten +one's beauty, and no practical limit to the absurdities which were +recommended for the purpose. That someone had taken the suggestions +seriously there could be little doubt, for in several cases articles +had been carefully clipped from the body of the magazine. This had also +happened, in one or two cases, in the medical journals. Peter wondered, +in passing, what the subjects treated had been, but could form no idea, +since the entire article, in each case, had been cut away.</p> + +<p>Peter had always been fascinated by people's books, their selection +was a matter so strongly indicative of character. But in this instance +the evidence was distinctly contradictory. "A lot of high-brow books," +he thought, "and some of the rest of the stuff so low-brow it makes +even me feel intellectual. Did Anne pick out one kind, and Mary the +other—and if so, which? Oh, well, it's no use to speculate now. +Better get on." He resumed his painstaking inspection.</p> + +<p>He had saved the desk till the last. Here, if anywhere, he was sure +he would find what he so ardently sought. And yet, never in his life +had he found so non-committal a lot of papers as were in the drawers +and scattered on the floor. A great mass of press notices, with the +little yellow slip of the clipping bureau still attached, were mixed up +with plain white letter paper and envelopes. There were a few business +letters from Frederick Jones, but not one from Mary's old manager, +Arthur Quinn. In fact, there were no strictly private letters to either +of the sisters, and he could find none at all addressed to Anne.</p> + +<p>To avoid the smallest chance of missing anything, Peter had seated +himself beside the desk and had drawn out, one by one, each of the four +drawers, placing them upon his knees while he minutely examined the +contents.</p> + +<p>Satisfied, at last, that there was nothing to his purpose in any of +them, with a feeling of deep discouragement he slid them back into +their places. They all ran in with the ease which one encounters only +in very good old American-made furniture—all but the bottom drawer on +the right. This slipped in smoothly until it was nearly shut, and then +stuck.</p> + +<p>"Oh, damn," said Peter, and pushed it hard.</p> + +<p>It would not move. He pulled it out and pushed it in again, but it +would not close completely. It did not really matter in the least. He +had found the drawers open and there was no reason why this one should +not remain so, but any one who has ever started to shut a drawer knows +precisely how Peter felt. That drawer simply had to yield before he +could go on with anything else ... and perhaps....</p> + +<p>Peter jerked the drawer out, and dropped to his knees, while his right +hand sought and found the flashlight in his pocket. There was a slight +click, and a brilliant glare lit up the recess into which the drawer +should have gone.</p> + +<p>Peter uttered a forcible exclamation, and stooping low, groped with his +long fingers in the back of the recess, and drew out a small rectangle +of stiff pasteboard. At some time it must have fallen from the upper +drawer and remained, perhaps for years, undiscovered. It had evidently +fallen slantwise across the corner of the back when the drawer was +pulled out, and had been slightly damaged by Peter's efforts to close +it.</p> + +<p>He automatically straightened a bent corner as he hastily took it over +to the table where the bright light from the lamp could fall full upon +it.</p> + +<p>Apparently, it was not an especially valuable treasure-trove. Just +a small old carte-de-visite photograph of a little girl in a plain, +somewhat countrified "best" dress of the last of the Nineties. She +appeared to be about seven or eight years old, and the childish face, +which looked up at Peter, was one of such transcendent loveliness that +he, always a lover of children, caught his breath.</p> + +<p>Peter took an unmounted photograph from the breast pocket of his coat, +and laid the two portraits, side by side, upon the table.</p> + +<p>There could be no doubt. They were the same, they must be the same. +The gay, laughing, exquisite child's face had developed into that of a +wonderful, sad, but equally beautiful woman. The great eyes, with their +long, dark lashes, the small, straight nose, the curving lips, were the +same. Only the expression was different, an unfathomable difference. +The spirit behind the eyes must have undergone a complete metamorphosis +to have made the apparent change.</p> + +<p>"It's Mary Blake, all right, all right. I'll bet my life on that," +muttered Peter to himself. "Mary Blake——"</p> + +<p>Quickly he turned the little photograph over. There was no writing on +the back, as he had hoped, instead, in elaborate, filigreed lettering +was printed the words—</p> + +<p class="ph2">WALTER LORD, Photographer<br> +Hobart Falls, New York.</p> + +<p>"By gad," exclaimed Peter under his breath, bringing his closed fist +softly but with emphasis down upon the table. "The first look-in +we've had. The very first! Hobart Falls, New York. That's where she +must have come from—or somewhere near there, at least.... And Walter +Lord.... Who can tell what Walter Lord may know ... if he's still +there—and alive."</p> + +<p>With a rapid motion he slipped the two portraits into an inner pocket +and buttoned his coat over them.</p> + +<p>"I'll find out something about her, at last! My hunch about coming here +wasn't all to the bad. In this way I'll bet I find out something about +the secret past of Mary Blake—and Anne——"</p> + +<p>With eyes alight with the first hope he had known for many a day, Peter +put back the shade upon the table lamp, readjusted various things about +the room so that they should be, as near as possible, in the order—or +disorder—in which he had found them, switched off the lights, and +crept softly to the door.</p> + +<p>Gently, gently, with one hand on the latch and the other on the lock, +he turned the two knobs and drew open the door. As he did so a clock +somewhere outside in the darkness boomed "One, Two."</p> + +<p>"Two o'clock," thought Peter, as he sped noiselessly down the stairs. +"Not much sleep for me to-night. I must find out where Hobart Falls is +and beat it for the first train in the morning. I've got a feeling in +my bones that I've struck something at last. A little light thrown on +the past may reflect on the future. Who knows? Anyhow, it's up to me +not to leave a stone unturned.... And I'm curious ... damn curious.... +I'd like to know...."</p> + +<p>A street door closed, with a faint, soft creak, and the lean figure of +the young detective slipped away into the hot darkness.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Rosamond Curwood</span></h3> + + +<p>A clear, bright day followed the heavy thunder shower which had +occurred late in the night. Peter, as he boarded the train for Hobart +Falls, hoped that it was an omen.</p> + +<p>He had just had time for a few minutes' talk with O'Malley, in which +he gave his partner instructions about reaching him if anything of +importance should transpire during the day.</p> + +<p>"Better wire me at Hobart Falls," he said. "Have it left in the +telegraph office to be called for. I can't tell where I'll be stopping +and I can't think of any other way I'd be sure of getting it. I don't +believe there'll be anything."</p> + +<p>After that, he had hastily called Donald Morris on the telephone and +explained briefly that he was rushing out of town on a new scent.</p> + +<p>"Another false clue?" asked Morris, wearily, and Peter saw, in his +mind's eye, the pale, tired face of his client.</p> + +<p>"May be," said Peter, in a friendly, hopeful tone. "But you never can +tell. We mustn't miss a trick and I've found something I'm bound to +follow up. It may lead to nothing, of course, but there's always a +chance. I'm in a deuce of a rush just now and I'll have to wait till +I get back to tell you about it. Don't get discouraged. While there's +life, there's hope. While there's life——" he repeated to himself as +he hung up the receiver—"I wish to God I could be sure that Mary Blake +is still alive. Well, anyway——"</p> + +<p>He made the nine-thirty train for Hobart Falls with four minutes to +spare. "Which is enough for anybody," thought Peter, as he watched the +ugly houses and factories slip by.</p> + +<p>The railroad ran northward on the west side of the Hudson, for Peter +had ascertained Hobart Falls to be situated in the Catskill Mountains. +After a time the train slipped from behind a range of hills into a +tunnel and out again, and Peter, startled from his deep absorption, saw +below him the great river, shining blue and silver, in the morning sun. +No one who has ever seen it thus suddenly could fail to be impressed +by its beauty and grandeur. Peter, city-bred as he was, was strongly +affected by the sight of the blue-green wooded hills, lapping and +over-lapping, and the great, serene river winding in between.</p> + +<p>His thoughts ran—"I wonder if I'll be lucky enough to find Walter +Lord, and what he'll know.... Gee, those rocks are corking, and those +big, soft pines.... It was a long while ago—maybe twenty years since +they wore that kind of clothes.... That's a house, way up on that +mountain! Must have a ripping view.... And he may be dead by now.... +But he mustn't dare to be—I need him too much...." And so his mind ran +on, alternating between hope and discouragement, through the hours that +followed.</p> + +<p>He had to change cars twice, each time to a road of narrower gauge. +"The next'll be roller skates, I should think," he said to himself as +he jerked and bumped along in the little mountain train.</p> + +<p>It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when they ran in to the +tiny, ugly, red-painted station of Hobart Falls. They had passed +through a number of stations, vociferous with red-faced hackmen and +seething with fat, jewelled, and overdressed Hebrews of the middle +class. This little place was quite different. There were no big hotels +or boarding houses in the immediate vicinity, and so few people that +only two trains a day stopped at Hobart Falls. The loungers about the +station were obviously country-bred and American.</p> + +<p>Peter quickly approached one of them and asked where the telegraph +office could be found. He wished to ascertain at once if there was +anything from O'Malley.</p> + +<p>The man jerked his thumb in the direction of the waiting room. "In +there," he said, briefly, "ticket office," and, with stupid, bovine +eyes, watched the stranger as he disappeared inside the station.</p> + +<p>"Nothing ain't come fer nobody to-day," said the agent, in reply to +Peter's inquiry.</p> + +<p>Peter stepped swiftly out again upon the platform, and looked about +him. Blue hills and valleys surrounded the little station on every +side. In the middle distance could be seen one or two small farmhouses, +and in the immediate foreground, drawn up close to the platform, was a +decrepit, dingy Ford. A long, lank man, sitting at the wheel, glanced +up at Peter expectantly.</p> + +<p>"Is this for hire?" asked Peter, indicating the ancient car with a +motion of his head. "And can you take me to the village?"</p> + +<p>The driver grinned at a man who was leaning against the edge of the +doorway, and spat, generously, over the wheel.</p> + +<p>"Git in," he said, laconically.</p> + +<p>Peter threaded himself into the back seat, and the weary flivver, with +a heavy groan, started down the empty road.</p> + +<p>"Any p'tickeler place?" asked the man at the wheel, turning his +weather-beaten face, and looking Peter over from head to foot.</p> + +<p>"I think I'll want to spend the night here," answered Peter, a trifle +dubiously. "Is there a hotel?"</p> + +<p>The man laughed. "This ain't no metrolopus," he vouchsafed, "but I +guess the Widder Lord'll put you up for the night, if you'd like to go +there."</p> + +<p>The "Widder Lord." Peter's heart sank, but he only said, "That'll do +all right, I guess. Take me there, will you?"</p> + +<p>At that moment they turned a sharp corner, and Peter saw why the driver +had grinned at the lounger on the station platform. The village, what +there was of it, was not four minutes' walk from the station, but quite +out of sight, hidden by the small, wooded shoulder of a hill.</p> + +<p>It was a sleepy, quiet little place, shut in by rolling upland. There +was one long street, or, rather, a wide place in the road, on each +side of which were small, old village houses, mostly painted white, +with green shutters. There were two stores, one of which was also the +post office, and a blacksmith's shop. In front of the latter stood an +old-fashioned buggy with empty shafts. From within came the ringing +clink of metal upon metal. Save for an old dog wandering down the +street, and a few loose hens dusting themselves in the road, there was +no sign or sound of life.</p> + +<p>"Rip Van Winkle might have taken his twenty-year nap right here in the +middle of the street, instead of going to all the trouble of climbing +up one of those mountains," thought Peter. "No wonder there aren't any +Jews here. This place sure would cramp their style, and then some.... +Wild-goose chase I've come on, anyway, I feel it in my bones. Walter +Lord is probably as dead as the rest of the village." The silence got +on his nerves and he spoke to the driver. "Think the Widow Lord will be +awake when we get there?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The man turned a sardonic, screwed-up eye upon him. "'S next house," +he said, pointing, "and we'll be there in one shake of a lamb's tail. +What'd she be asleep this time of day fer?"</p> + +<p>Peter looked without much interest at the house indicated. It was +old and gray and weather-beaten but had evidently once been the +considerable house of Hobart Falls. Low and rambling, it faced the +street, standing a few feet back, among some ragged, flowering shrubs.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Peter's eye lightened and he reached over and caught the +driver's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Stop here," he said, sharply. "This is the place where I want to stop."</p> + +<p>"Sure it's the place ye want to stop," repeated the driver, +disgustedly. "Ain't I been tellin' ye? This is the Widder Lord's."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. I forgot for the moment." The light faded from Peter's eyes. +"The '<i>Widder</i> Lord's'," he muttered, inwardly. "The man's dead, of +course. However——"</p> + +<p>He glanced again at the object which had raised a sudden hope within +him. At the far end of the house, standing out at right angles from it, +and partly hidden by vines, was an old battered sign:</p> + +<p class="ph2">WALTER LORD<br> +PHOTOGRAPHER</p> + +<p>"I've got the right house, anyway, and without any lost motion," +thought Peter. "And that's the luck of the Irish—as far as it goes."</p> + +<p>He paid the driver the "two bits" suggested as the amount of the fare. +The sum was paid so unconcernedly that the driver lingered while Peter +stepped quickly up to the front door and rang the old jangling bell. A +man as free as that with money didn't come to Hobart Falls so often.</p> + +<p>Peter had made up his mind that he would spend the night there, in any +case, if the "Widder Lord" would take him in. He knew he would have +to take a taxi (he thought in city terms) to Kortenkill, two stations +below, to catch the midnight train, which did not stop at Hobart Falls, +if he were to go back to town that night, and the thought of bumping +over the bad roads in a pre-historic flivver, after being up most of +the previous night, made no appeal to him.</p> + +<p>"I'll make her take me in," thought Peter, and rang the bell again.</p> + +<p>"Anybody want me?"</p> + +<p>The voice came from just over Peter's head, but he could see no one, +for the roof of the little old Dutch porch hid the speaker.</p> + +<p>"Who wants me, Josh?" the voice repeated.</p> + +<p>"Nobuddy wants you, Walt," the driver in the road bawled out. "'S a +stranger wants to spend the night. 'S yer sister-in-law to home?"</p> + +<p>Peter's heart leaped harder, if not so far, as his long legs. One jump, +and he was on the narrow brick walk, looking up at an open window from +which protruded the quaintest old head he thought he had ever seen.</p> + +<p>The face was that of a man of seventy or more, but the hair and long +sweeping moustache were brilliantly black. The hair was thin and +carefully brushed forward above the ears, in a bygone style. Two little +twinkling eyes looked down from either side of a long, thin, pointed +nose—looked down at Peter in mild surprise.</p> + +<p>"You wanted to stay the night, Mr.—uh——"</p> + +<p>"Clancy," Peter supplied, eagerly. "Yes. I want to look around Hobart +Falls a little. Could you——This is Mr. Walter Lord, isn't it?" He +glanced aside, as if for verification, to the half-hidden sign.</p> + +<p>"That's me," replied the owner of the craning head, with a smile. +"That's me, all right."</p> + +<p>Peter's heart settled down to a steady beat.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Lord," he said, "it's just like this. I've got a little +business here in Hobart Falls, and I want to spend the night. Josh," he +spoke as if the driver, who still lingered, were an old and intimate +friend, "Josh thought Mrs. Lord would take me in. I'm sorry she's away, +but couldn't you manage to put me up? It'd be a great favour."</p> + +<p>"Aw, take him in, Walt," urged Josh, from the road. "'N let me know if +you'll need a hack again, Mister. I got the best car in the Falls."</p> + +<p>Peter was anxiously watching the face above him.</p> + +<p>"Well, you see, Miranda not being here, and all—makes it kind of hard. +She's awful particular about the linen closet, and I don't know what +sheets——"</p> + +<p>"Never mind the sheets," Peter interrupted, quickly. "I'll sleep on +the floor, if necessary. I've just got to stay to-night, Mr. Lord, and +if you don't take me in——"</p> + +<p>"Wait a second, and I'll come down," said Walter Lord, disappearing +from the window with the abruptness of a Jack-in-the-box.</p> + +<p>"He'll take ye, all right," Josh called out, encouragingly, as he +turned his little car. "Lemme know when ye want me agin," and was gone, +in a cloud of dust.</p> + +<p>"If you wouldn't mind coming around this way, Mr. Clancy——"</p> + +<p>The entire figure of Walter Lord disclosed itself at the corner +of the house, and the figure was in strict accord with the face. +Slender, bent, and old it was, but almost jauntily clad. Light gray +trousers, somewhat stained with chemicals, were carefully pressed +into a knife-like crease down the front. A double-breasted waistcoat +of starched white duck sported a long festoon of old worn gold +watch-chain. Around his neck was a standing collar with tall points, +and so large that it made his thin neck look, so Peter thought, +like a lily in a pot. About the collar was tied a long, black +"shoe-string" tie of silk. He was just settling his thin shoulders into +a wide-lapelled, square-tailed, black broadcloth coat which he had +obviously donned for the occasion.</p> + +<p>"Come this way, Mr. Clancy," he repeated. "The front door sticks in +this warm, damp weather, for we scarcely ever use it. All our friends +come in here," and with a gracious, hospitable gesture, he held open +the side door for Peter to pass.</p> + +<p>Peter had just time to notice that there was a small outside stairway +leading to the second floor, built on at this end of the house, and +that, upon the second floor, there was a fairly good-sized slanting +window, and on the roof a skylight. "The photographic studio," thought +Peter, as he followed Lord into the house. As he crossed the threshold, +he unostentatiously dropped his small handbag just inside the door.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't make you very comfortable, Mr. Clancy," said the +old man, doubtfully, drawing forward a sagging rocker with an elaborate +"tidy" on the back. "Won't you sit down? My sister has gone over to +Letty Bowen's just for the day and to spend the night. She'll be home +in the morning. Too bad, too bad. There's only a cold supper. D'you +mind cold suppers? I rather like 'em myself, this hot weather—and +I said to Miranda, 'I'll be as happy as a clam at high tide.' But I +didn't expect to have a visitor. (Let me take your hat.) Not that +I'm not always glad of company. Miranda says I'm worse than misery. +(Misery loves company, you know. Her joke.) But I do like to see new +people—new faces. Keeps you young, don't you think?—Oh, I almost +forgot. Do have a cigar——"</p> + +<p>He slipped one thin, stained hand into his breast pocket and drew out +a Pittsburg stogie of the longest, thinnest, and stogiest type. Peter +shuddered inwardly and ventured to ask if he might smoke cigarettes +instead. "Perhaps you would have one yourself, sir," he added, noting a +funny little twinkle in the old man's eye.</p> + +<p>"Well—you know——" Walter Lord spoke with slight embarrassment, at +the same time reaching out an eager hand, "I must say I do prefer 'em +to cigars, but Miranda, well, she kind of feels that—that cigars are +more suitable for a man of my age—and so——"</p> + +<p>He lit one of Peter's cigarettes, inhaled a long, delicious whiff, and +smiled gently.</p> + +<p>"Dear old duck," thought Peter, "with the heart of a kid, and scared to +death of his sister-in-law. Bet she's a Tartar. Thank heaven she isn't +here."</p> + +<p>Peter leaned his head back against a large yellow butterfly worked in +wool on a black background, crossed his long legs and smoked leisurely, +with the air of a man at ease.</p> + +<p>"There must be a lot of good fishing around here," he remarked, taking +a long shot at a possible hobby of the man he had determined should +be his host. "Crossed a lot of likely looking streams as we came up +through the mountains."</p> + +<p>He saw, by the expression of Walter Lord's face, that he had made a +bull's-eye. The little man leaned forward and spoke with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"There's the best fishing to be found in the Catskills just beyond that +meadow over there," he pointed out of the window. "You can't see the +stream from here, on account of the tall grass, but it's fine, open +fishing and just full of trout. Of course they're not very large, but +along at the beginning of the season I caught one that weighed two +pounds. Yes, sir. He was a beauty. And there are more of 'em, if you +know the pools. I could show you——"</p> + +<p>After that, Peter had things pretty much his own way. The talk ran +largely on flies and tackle. ("He was sure to be a fly fisherman, if +he fished at all, the good old sport," thought Peter, smiling at his +host.) Peter told a story of some wonderful fishing he had once had, +up in Nova Scotia, and Lord capped it with an experience of his in the +Adirondacks when he was a boy—and so the minutes flew.</p> + +<p>There was no further question as to Peter's spending the night there. +The lonely old man was too eager for society, and too trusting and +unsophisticated to raise any objections to the harbouring of an +unheralded guest, particularly since the guest was a fisherman, and a +fly fisherman, at that.</p> + +<p>If Walter Lord had any idea that Mr. Clancy had come to Hobart Falls +with a purpose other than to investigate the fishing possibilities of +that region, his curiosity on the subject was completely held in check +by his innate courtesy.</p> + +<p>In the first few minutes of their acquaintance Peter's quick mind +had invented several stories to account for his presence there. He +hesitated between the advisability of being a doctor, seeking a good +site for a sanitarium. ("For patients troubled with insomnia, this +would be ideal," Peter grinned to himself.) Or, perhaps, it would +awaken more sympathy to have a young wife who was ill, and needed +mountain air and seclusion.</p> + +<p>But before he had talked with the old man very long Peter conceived a +deep distaste for subterfuge. "Dammit all, I won't lie to the good old +scout unless he makes me," he said to himself, as he watched Walter +Lord making his fussy little preparations for supper, and listened to +his constant flow of pleasant chatter as he passed back and forth from +the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Cold lamb and some of Miranda's currant jelly," he said, as he +placed a blue platter and a sauce dish filled with a truncated cone +of wobbling, clear crimson upon a small table near the west window. +"Beautiful, rich colour where the sun strikes it, isn't it?" He stepped +back to note the effect. "Let me see, there's a salad, too. Lettuce +from our own garden, Mr. Clancy. Pretty late for lettuce, but I plant +it right along through the summer and it does real well. Oh, I almost +forgot the pot cheese."</p> + +<p>He bustled out in the kitchen and presently returned with a crisp salad +and a yellow bowl brimming with creamy cheese.</p> + +<p>"The coffee's almost ready, and it'll be good, too," he chuckled. +"Miranda thinks strong coffee, three times a day, is bad for my nerves, +but I made this myself, and I'll bet you won't get a better cup of +coffee at the St. Denis Hotel." (Peter had told him that his home was +in New York.) "I used to go there quite a bit when I was younger. It's +a grand, good place, don't you think so, Mr. Clancy?"</p> + +<p>His tone was so wistful, so full of pleasant pictures and +recollections, that Peter hadn't the heart to tell him that the old St. +Denis had vanished long ago. He only said that it certainly was one of +the best places in New York, and let it go at that.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes they were seated on either side of the little table +near the window, a simple but bountiful meal spread between them. The +westering sun gleamed on the quaint old blue-and-white china and on the +jug of larkspur and madonna lilies which Walter Lord had moved to one +side of the table so that he could look at Peter as they ate and talked.</p> + +<p>Peter had but one object, for the moment, and that was to captivate +the mind of his host, a feat which his experience and ready Irish wit +made easy of accomplishment. He told some stories which brought tears +of laughter to Walter Lord's little, twinkling eyes, and made him rock +backward and forward in his chair. In order to invite the old man's +confidence, Peter told some of his early experiences. Truthful stories +they were, in the main, only slightly embellished, and most effective +in their skilful blending of humour and pathos—but in them was no hint +of Peter's present profession.</p> + +<p>By the time supper was finished, Peter had achieved a footing of such +friendly intimacy that he was allowed to help clear away. And all the +while he had been studying the little old man, whose quaint appearance +would have been simply ridiculous to one less sympathetic than Peter +Clancy. To him, the dyed hair and the jauntily worn old-fashioned +clothes spoke aloud of a spirit of undying youthfulness and simplicity, +a heart kept young by the love of all things beautiful, a mind so +filled with imagination and artistic longings that it had selected a +thing as impractical as photography for its profession.</p> + +<p>Peter thought of the little, sleepy village and the emptiness of the +wooded hills, and could imagine how few were the sitters who came to +Walter Lord's old photographic studio. And he wondered, in that remote +spot, what incentive kept the light gray trousers so carefully creased, +the linen vest so stiffly starched, the old, worn broadcloth coat so +immaculately brushed.</p> + +<p>"He must be like 'St. Ives'," Peter concluded, at last. "Since there's +no one else to dress for, he 'dresses for God.'"</p> + +<p>They had left things tidy in the kitchen, and now, at ease in their +pleasant relationship of host and welcome guest, they sat beside the +open west window, smoking limitless cigarettes and talking endlessly.</p> + +<p>Peter, looking always for an opening for the introduction of the +subject which was uppermost in his mind, carefully guided the old man +into speaking further of himself and his pursuits, a matter presenting +no difficulties whatever, for Walter Lord had many hobbies and rode +them with an enthusiasm which age could not abate.</p> + +<p>He learned, among other things, that the Lords had once been well off, +but that the family estate had dwindled before Walter and his older +brother, Tom, came into possession, and that after Tom had died and +left his elderly widow and the remainder of the property to Walter's +care, it had suffered still more.</p> + +<p>"I did the best I could," said the old man, wistfully, "but there it +was—I always felt that I could have made more money if I could have +gone to New York—but Miranda—and the old house—they seemed sort of +to anchor me."</p> + +<p>"And your photograph studio, Mr. Lord. I should think you'd have hated +to leave that," said Peter, at last boldly approaching the subject +deepest in his thoughts. "By the way, speaking of photography"—he +smiled and leaned forward across the table, confidentially—"you may be +surprised, but I've seen some of your work. It's bully, too!"</p> + +<p>"What?" cried Walter Lord, excitedly. "You don't say so, Mr. Clancy. +Some of my work in New York! Now I wonder who it could have been. +I've only taken pictures of people around here—and there aren't so +many—it's never been what you could call a paying profession, and +Miranda——But never mind. Whose picture was it that you saw? And how +did you know that I——"</p> + +<p>"By George, I believe I've got it with me," said Peter, slapping his +pockets, the while his heart beat quickly. Now or never—"Here it is, +sure enough," he added, gleefully—and laid the small carte-de-visite, +the sole trophy of his midnight quest, face upward on the table.</p> + +<p>There was a moment of suspense while the old man carefully adjusted his +glasses and took the old photograph up in his hand. Peter watched his +face, narrowly. It had been many years. Would he——</p> + +<p>"Why! Why!" exclaimed Walter Lord, in tones of deep surprise. "Why, +how, in Heaven's name, Mr. Clancy, did you get a picture of—of little +Rosamond Curwood?"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Another Photograph</span></h3> + + +<p>"Rosamond Curwood!" Peter's heart skipped a beat and then raced on +again. Could he have been mistaken? But no! He had found the picture +in her apartment, and it could be no other than Mary Blake. He was +sure, positive.... And Curwood? With a click, his mind fastened the +connection. The name he had written in his notebook—the name in the +old set of Shakespeare—Curwood. Winthrop Curwood!</p> + +<p>Though he had been staggered for an instant, Peter resumed the +conversation with scarcely a perceptible pause:</p> + +<p>"It's Winthrop Curwood's daughter, isn't it?" he said, smoothly, +watching closely the old man's expression.</p> + +<p>There was immediate and unqualified acquiescence in the eyes of Walter +Lord. "Yes. But where did you get it?" he asked again, wonderingly. "I +thought——"</p> + +<p>"Yes?" Peter encouraged, as the old man hesitated.</p> + +<p>"It seems odd to me that you should have her picture."</p> + +<p>There was a slight emphasis on the last pronoun, and for the first +time Walter Lord looked at Peter with almost a hint of—was it +suspicion?—in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I just ran across it in an old desk," Peter hastened to explain, "and +I kept it because it's such a pretty kid, and the photograph so well +taken. Looks as if she was just going to speak—and you can almost hear +her laugh. I don't know the original——"</p> + +<p>"But you knew who it was." Lord's tone was puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I knew who it was," said Peter, easily. "Beautiful little thing, +isn't she? It was a fine subject for you, and I must say you've done it +justice."</p> + +<p>Peter had struck a very vulnerable spot. Walter Lord's faint feeling +of suspicion, if so strong a term may be used, melted away before the +frank praise of his work.</p> + +<p>"Not bad, not bad at all," he said, smiling now, "and, as you say, she +was a beautiful child. The most beautiful child I ever saw," dreamily, +"except her mother—Anne Blakeslie."</p> + +<p>"Anne Blakeslie—Anne Blake——" Peter repeated to himself, +thoughtfully. Aloud he said:</p> + +<p>"So you knew her mother, too? Isn't it strange how things come about? +The world is a little place, after all."</p> + +<p>The banality of this last remark did not strike Walter Lord. Instead, +he seemed to think it quite an effective sentence.</p> + +<p>"The world is small, Mr. Clancy. Yes, the world is a little +place, after all," he agreed. "Here you drop into Hobart Falls so +unexpectedly, and come to my house, which you couldn't possibly have +heard about—and all the while you have a picture of one of Anne +Blakeslie's children in your pocket."</p> + +<p>His innocent wonder made Peter feel almost ashamed. But the matter was +too important for squeamishness, he assured himself. That last remark—</p> + +<p>"So there was more than one child," said Peter, quickly. "Were they all +as beautiful as this—this Rosamond?"</p> + +<p>"There were only two," answered Lord, reminiscently. "Two twin girls. +The other was named for her mother."</p> + +<p>"Anne?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Anne and Rosamond," said the old man, gently.</p> + +<p>"Did you know them well?" asked Peter, and added—"It's such a funny +coincidence, altogether. Makes me sort of curious about them."</p> + +<p>Walter Lord leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and gazed out at +the red gold of the summer sunset.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, softly. "Yes, I knew them well. That is, I knew the +children—and their mother—I knew her best of all——"</p> + +<p>There was something in Walter Lord's quaint old face which kept Peter +silent. He could not interrupt with the questions which were burning +to be asked. He would let the story come in its own way.... After a +moment the old man went on:</p> + +<p>"Yes," with a little sigh, "I knew Anne Blakeslie—you might say I'd +always known her. She lived on a farm, up back in the hills, and we +both went to the little brick school house down at the end of the +village. Guess you didn't see it. It's just around the turn of the +road."</p> + +<p>"No," said Peter, softly, so as not to break the thread of the old +man's thought.</p> + +<p>"Yes—we saw each other every day—until I went away to school—and +when Tom died, and I had to come home to stay—Anne Blakeslie had grown +up in the meantime, and she was beautiful—beautiful in soul as well as +in body—or, perhaps, it wouldn't have happened——"</p> + +<p>A purple cloud drifted across the setting sun. Its shadow fell softly +upon the old face.</p> + +<p>"What was it that happened?" prompted the younger man, gently.</p> + +<p>"Why," Walter Lord roused himself with an effort, "it was about that +time she must have come to know Winthrop Curwood. It's sort of an odd +story. Maybe you'd like to hear——"</p> + +<p>"I would." Peter's answer should have left no room for doubt.</p> + +<p>He was conscious, as the old man proceeded with the story, that it was +the drama of Walter Lord's life. Sometimes he forgot Peter altogether; +at other times he was aware of the younger man only as a ship that +passes in the night. He spoke to him in passing. It did not matter +how much he told. They would never see each other again, in all human +probability. As one sometimes may tell a stranger the thoughts of an +over-burdened heart, thoughts which would for ever remain hidden from +the nearest and dearest, so Walter Lord told Peter, without himself +realizing it, the story of his life's tragedy—the story of Anne +Blakeslie.</p> + +<p>"I never knew when she saw Winthrop Curwood first. Not that it +matters." The old voice was low and gentle. Throughout the pronoun +"she" was spoken with such reverence as to suggest that it would have +been written with a capital—as if, instead of Anne Blakeslie, a deity +were its antecedent—"She must have known him pretty well when I saw +them together for the first time.... I was going up to her house one +day, soon after I got back from school, and.... They were standing just +where a little wood road from up the mountain comes in to the sawmill +road, about two miles west of the village.... They didn't see me, +though I was in plain sight, a hundred yards away.... He was standing +with his hat off—and a look on his face.... It was a fine face, +too.... And just then he reached out, sort of uncertainly, and took her +hand.... I thought I'd better go home, and come back to see Anne some +other day—perhaps. But she caught sight of me before I'd gone more +than a few steps, and called to me. I went back, of course—and I saw +him again, climbing up the steep road, it was hardly more than a trail, +and feeling ahead of him with a long stick. It was then I saw, from the +way he moved, that he was blind——"</p> + +<p>"Blind!" echoed Peter, aghast! "Blind."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the old man, sadly. "He was stone blind. Anne told me about +him, at once, with tears standing in her eyes. He had a little house +over on the far side of the mountain, and lived there all alone. He +had come there, she said, while he could still see a little, and built +the place with some help from a man down in Job's Corners, who still +brought up his supplies. Nobody knew anything about him except it was +easy to see, she said, that he was a gentleman, and educated. And +indeed he was. I saw him, myself, several times after they—after they +were married."</p> + +<p>He paused on that word, and the golden sun, freeing itself from the +passing cloud, lit up the kind old face, with its pitiful, dyed hair, +the quaintly youthful garments, and made of them a thing touching, +tender, wistful in its appeal. He went on, almost immediately:</p> + +<p>"He was a wonderful-looking man, tall and straight; and his voice—I +don't know how to describe it. It was clear and deep, like the sound +of a big bell.... But I don't think it was any of these things that +most appealed to Anne Blakeslie. It was his helplessness, his pitiful +blindness. She talked to me about it quite often that fall. I knew +by that time that there was no hope—I mean that I knew, by then, +that she loved this stranger, and she said I was the only person she +could talk freely to. Her father was a hard man, and she the only +child.... She told me, at last, that she was going to marry Winthrop +Curwood whether he wanted her to or not. She was high-spirited in +those days—headstrong, you might call it—and, when she'd made up her +mind definitely that Curwood should not live alone, she——You may +not understand this part of the story, Mr. Clancy. Her father didn't, +and cut her off completely—refused to see her, and left the farm +and everything he had to a distant cousin, who lives there to-day—a +selfish wretch!" For the first time there was bitterness in the old +man's tone. Peter said, with quiet sympathy:</p> + +<p>"I'll understand, you may be sure of that. Tell me what happened."</p> + +<p>"Well, one night, just at dusk, Anne Blakeslie climbed this side of the +mountain for the last time. She took some clothing with her, and a few +other things.... She didn't tell me much, but I can imagine—knowing +her.... She went in, quietly, and told him she had come to stay. He—he +protested. He pointed out the sacrifice she was making. She overruled +all his objections—as Anne Blakeslie would know how to do—and +then——"</p> + +<p>The room was growing dark. A big white moth flew in through the open +window and fluttered softly among the lilies.</p> + +<p>"The next morning they went together down the far side of the mountain, +and were married by Father O'Connell.... Anne sent me a letter and I +went to see them. I was the only one, of all the people hereabouts, +and I went only when Anne sent for me, which wasn't often. Somehow, +Curwood, in his quiet, dignified way, made me feel—well, anyway, I +never went except when Anne needed me. But in those few times it seemed +to me that they were managing very well. They seemed quite comfortable +as long as Curwood lived.... He was an Englishman, I think. At least, +he spoke differently from us. I'm quite sure he must have been English, +though Anne never told me anything about him. He did not wish it, was +all she said. If she was satisfied, it was enough for me.</p> + +<p>"I found out, later, when he died, that he had only—what they call an +annuity, which ended with his life. Anne had known it all along and had +saved what she could, which wasn't a great deal. The two little girls +were growing up, and it took something to care for them. They came +down here to the little old brick school house every day for several +winters, and I used to see them often."</p> + +<p>Though he did not say so, Peter knew full well that Walter Lord had +taken pains to keep an eye on the children of Anne Blakeslie.</p> + +<p>"They were interesting children, very interesting. All children and +young people are, of course; but these two were more so than any I +ever came in contact with. Rosamond was beautiful beyond anything I, +or anybody, ever saw, I think. I used to delight in taking pictures of +her. I could show you a dozen up in the gallery. And she was always +more than glad to sit for me. She knew pretty well how she looked. +Didn't need any one to tell her, and who could blame anything so lovely +as that for knowing it was lovely? Might as well blame a water-lily +that looks at itself all day in a pond.... But Anne, poor little +Anne—she was always my favourite."</p> + +<p>Peter glanced up in surprise. That Anne Blake should have appealed, +even as a child, to any one, least of all to this gentle, sweet old +chap, was a decidedly new thought to him. Perhaps it was just because +he was so gentle, Peter reminded himself, and because she was the +daughter of Anne Blakeslie——Walter Lord went on, with a little laugh—</p> + +<p>"She was always an odd little thing. I remember one time when Anne sent +for me—her father was very ill; she had heard of it, and wanted me to +take him a message. Well, I went up there, and little Anne, who must +have been about five years old, happened to meet me, just at the edge +of the woods, near the house. She was shy, and started to run, but I +called her and told her my name and gave her some candy, one of those +long peppermint sticks we used to like. She took it and thanked me +very prettily, and then she ran on ahead, and I heard her say to her +mother, in such a funny little awed tone, 'Mother! Mr. God's coming to +see you.'"</p> + +<p>Peter laughed and the old man chuckled softly.</p> + +<p>"She certainly was an odd little thing—Anne. She was shy, naturally, +and was not as fond of coming up into the gallery as her sister was, +because she was afraid that I would want to take her picture, a thing +she absolutely refused to let me do. I did entice her into the gallery +sometimes, with books and candy, and some of the other little things +that children love. I had an idea that it might be nice to get a +photograph of her for her mother. I had plenty of Rosamond, but had +never been able to overcome Anne's prejudice against sitting for me."</p> + +<p>"What a funny idea for a kid to have," said Peter, thoughtfully. +"I know some boys would almost as soon go to a dentist as to a +photographer, but I never knew a girl, of any age, who didn't love it."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Walter Lord, slowly, "Anne had her reason, poor little +thing. She was high-strung, and sensitive almost to the point of +obsession about——But there"—he broke off—"she might have trusted +me. I'd never have put the poor child—Anne Blakeslie's child—to +shame.... And I finally got what I was after." Even though many +years had passed, there was a little triumph in his voice at the +recollection. "I got her to playing with a doll in the sitter's chair, +and I caught her one day in just the position I wanted. Would you like +to see? I know just where——"</p> + +<p>"I certainly would," said Peter.</p> + +<p>Walter Lord jumped quickly up from his chair, threw the end of a +cigarette out of the window, and disappeared up a small back stairway +which led directly from the room. Peter heard him walking about +overhead for a moment. Presently he reappeared, with something in his +hand.</p> + +<p>He laid it down, and lighted a lamp on the table, for the room was now +almost dark.</p> + +<p>"There she is," he said, leaning over Peter's shoulder, and pointing to +the little old photograph. "And, whatever chance has happened to her, +I'll wager that's the only photograph in existence of Anne Curwood."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Rosamond's Secret</span></h3> + + +<p>Peter took the yellowed card in his hands and looked at it long and +eagerly. For nearly a month past he would have been ready to pay almost +any price for a portrait of Anne Blake, and now, here in his hand, he +held the thing he had been wishing for—and, for his purpose, it might +as well have been a piece of blank pasteboard—or so he thought at the +moment.</p> + +<p>The child face of Anne Curwood was shown in profile, facing the left. +The tell-tale mark, which had probably changed but little in the +succeeding years, the birthmark by which Peter hoped to identify her +without shadow of doubt, appeared not at all. This was the way in which +Walter Lord had shielded a child's sensitiveness. He had, with careful +purpose, selected a view which showed the little face unmarred.</p> + +<p>That there was a hidden disfigurement Peter had no reasonable doubt, +both because of what Lord had already said and because of his own +previous knowledge, but he must make sure. He must force Lord to tell +him.</p> + +<p>"Why, she's a beautiful little kid," Peter said, abruptly. "I thought, +from what you said, she must be as ugly as the dickens. Why in the +world was she so funny about letting you——"</p> + +<p>"Poor little thing! It wasn't funny," said the old man, +compassionately. "If either you or I had the same reason, we'd have +felt the same way."</p> + +<p>"But I don't see——" Peter began.</p> + +<p>"No, you don't," said Lord, quickly. "I took very good pains that no +one should see it."</p> + +<p>"See—what?" persisted Peter.</p> + +<p>"Why," said the old man, hesitatingly, "the little thing was born with +a dreadful mark on the other side of her face, the right side."</p> + +<p>("I knew it was the right side," thought Peter, swiftly. "That would +have been the side in shadow, when the cabman saw Anne Blake standing +before her sister's dressing table. I told O'Malley it must be the +right side." He was thinking this even while he listened attentively.)</p> + +<p>"That's why I took her in profile," Lord was saying—"so it wouldn't +show, you see. The child was painfully sensitive about it and so was +her mother, though of course not to the same extent. I wanted them +both to be pleased, and I knew Anne Blakeslie must hate to be reminded +of—of——Oh, Mr. Clancy, such a horrible experience.... I hate, even +now, to think of it."</p> + +<p>Peter did not say, "Don't think of it, then." He wanted to hear, to +learn every detail. He did not want to miss even a remote chance. So +he looked eagerly, inquiringly, into the old man's face, but said +nothing.</p> + +<p>"It was awful, terrible," Walter Lord went on as Peter knew he must +now that he was fully started. "It wasn't so very long before Anne +and Rosamond were born. She was—she had gone into the woods to pick +blackberries or something I think.... There was a sort of clearing +behind some big rocks not so very far from the house.... And there—I +learned it all much later—she came upon a vicious, half-witted tramp, +who was harbouring up on the mountain. He was squatting on the ground, +dressing a chicken he'd stolen, and she didn't see him until she was +right beside him.... He looked at her—and leaped up. She was a woman, +beautiful—alone, and, as he thought, far from help. He bent over, and +crept toward her, with his hands all bloody.... She screamed—and—and +he caught her by the throat——"</p> + +<p>The old man lifted his clenched hands and pressed them, quivering, +against his forehead. Peter sat in horrified silence.</p> + +<p>"If she hadn't screamed"—Walter Lord went on, after a moment—"if +she hadn't been able to fight, and keep on screaming—God"——Again +he paused, but after a long, shuddering breath, continued—"Curwood +was inside the house, but he heard her. He had almost a sixth sense +of direction, and all his senses were preternaturally acute, but he +was blind! Think of it! To be blind, and to hear someone—someone you +loved—calling—calling for help!</p> + +<p>"He got there—just in time. The fiend heard him coming and made off +through the woods.... Anne was ill, terribly ill, and for a long time +it seemed as if she could not live. It was a fearful time for—for +everyone who cared for her.</p> + +<p>"A few days before her little twin babies were born, the body of +the—of the wretch was found at the bottom of a cliff. There were black +marks of fingers on his throat—but he was known to be a worthless +scoundrel—and the coroner's jury brought in a verdict of accidental +death."</p> + +<p>There was a long silence, broken only by the call of an owl away off in +the woods—"Who-o-o—Who——"</p> + +<p>After a time Walter Lord went on, in a slightly altered tone:</p> + +<p>"I don't know how it was, but little Rosamond never showed the +slightest effect of her mother's fearful experience, while Anne, poor +little Anne, not only will bear, as long as she lives, a terrible +birthmark, but her whole character seemed to be affected by it. Whether +it was the shock to her mother's entire nervous system, or whether it +was because she was not like other children, I can't tell, but she was +painfully, almost morbidly, shy and retiring. She came down here to +school only when she was forced to do so, and the rest of the time she +spent with her father, whom she positively adored. I think the fact +that he was blind and could not see how badly she was disfigured may +have had something to do with it, for on this point she was abnormally +sensitive and self-conscious. I don't believe, strange as it may seem, +that her father ever knew anything about it. There was no necessity, +and I can't think any one would have been cruel enough to tell him. The +few times I saw them together he showed no consciousness that there was +anything amiss with his little favourite, Anne. He would stroke her +smooth little face and call her his 'beautiful, little, dear girl.' In +fact, so far as he could tell, there was no striking difference in the +appearance of the two children, for in feature they were almost exactly +alike, as you may be able to see from these photographs."</p> + +<p>Peter studied them again, as they lay, side by side, in the warm glow +of the lamp. It had not struck him before, but as he compared them, +feature by feature, he could see that in childhood, at least, the two +little twin sisters must have looked startlingly alike, though even at +that time the expression of the two faces was strikingly dissimilar.</p> + +<p>There was the same thick, rich, dark hair, the same smooth, broad +brow, the same delicate modelling of feature, but in the case +of Mary—(Rosamond, he corrected himself)—the eyes and mouth +were laughing, careless, and gay, while Anne's were serious and +quiet—almost tragic—a thing not good to see in one so young.</p> + +<p>"All kinds of possibilities there," thought Peter, with a slight shake +of the head. "Plenty of intelligence and nervous force—a kind of +courage, too, I should imagine, with a strong little chin like that.... +The devil's own lay-out for a girl, handicapped as she was——"</p> + +<p>Walter Lord, looking at the portraits and not at Peter, did not notice +his abstraction.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "they did look a lot alike, in a way, but even at +that, the resemblance was only physical, and they showed more and more +difference as they grew up. Their father died when they were about +fifteen, and after that her mother had more difficulty than ever in +controlling Rosamond. I saw a good deal of them at that time, and +though she talked little about it, I could see that she was worried. +Even at that age, Rosamond was careless, reckless, and extravagant. She +always longed for finery, and when I brought books for little Anne, I +always took a bit of ribbon or some such foolishness to Rosamond. It +was wonderful to see what the child could do with the few things at +her disposal. She had a sense of dress and adornment that was really +remarkable."</p> + +<p>(Peter remembered that he had read, somewhere, that Mary Blake was the +most skilfully costumed woman on the stage.)</p> + +<p>"Little Anne had it, too, in a different way. Her clothes were always +quiet and pretty and suitable. Dress seemed to be a kind of instinct +with both of the girls, but Rosamond's taste was almost—almost +theatrical."</p> + +<p>Peter nodded to himself.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it was a desire for admiration," Lord went on, in his +gentle, kindly voice, "that was the cause of—of the trouble that came +to poor little Rosamond."</p> + +<p>Peter pricked up his ears. Was he to learn something at last? Something +of the secret, perhaps, that Mary Blake thought no one would ever +know—the reason that she——</p> + +<p>"What trouble?" asked Peter, aloud, carefully restraining his eagerness.</p> + +<p>Walter Lord's chin was on his hand and his eyes were bent upon the two +little pictures. He spoke slowly, sadly:</p> + +<p>"It didn't happen until after their mother passed away.... I could +always thank God for that.... The girls were eighteen then, well grown, +tall and graceful, and Rosamond most beautiful—magnificent—though I +always thought that Anne——"</p> + +<p>Lord paused an instant and then caught up again the thread of his +narrative.</p> + +<p>"Well—no one knew exactly how it happened. On the mountain, beyond +that valley over there"—he pointed through the window, where a full, +bright moon lit hill and vale with tender radiance—"on the far side of +the mountain there had sprung up a summer colony of city people. We saw +them, once in a while, riding through here on horseback—a gay lot of +young people, rich and careless....</p> + +<p>"How Rosamond met—the man—Anne never knew. She loved her sister +passionately, devotedly, but Rosamond never confided in her. All Anne +knew was that Rosamond went off for long walks by herself. She'd be +gone all day, and come home, laughing and happy, with a brilliant +colour in her face and her eyes alight.... And then, one day, she did +not come back.... Anne watched, in sleepless agony, all through the +night, and in the morning she came down to me....</p> + +<p>"We never heard from Rosamond but once.... Only once, and that was +the next day. Just one letter to Anne, which she never showed me. I +don't know if even she knew the name of the man.... All she said to +me was: 'She's never coming back, Uncle Walter,' and then she covered +her poor face with her arm and laid her head against the wall. 'She's +not married to him,' she sobbed, 'and she says—oh, God!—she says she +doesn't care.....'"</p> + +<p>"So that was it," thought Peter. "That was Mary Blake's secret. Good +God! How shall I tell Morris? A young, pleasure-loving, untaught, +unmoral creature.... And he thinks her perfect.... What was his phrase? +'A wonder-woman'!"</p> + +<p>Old Walter Lord talked on sadly, reminiscently, but for a long time +Peter did not hear what he was saying. He was thinking—"What shall I +tell Morris? How shall I tell Morris?"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">In the Old Photograph Gallery</span></h3> + + +<p>When Peter awoke very early the next morning, though the problem was +still the same, the form of his inner question had slightly changed.</p> + +<p>"How much need I tell Morris?" he asked himself. "If Mary Blake never +is found, why dig up the sad old sordid story? It must have happened +ten years ago—and perhaps she'd redeemed herself—who can tell? And +it's a thankless job, chucking stones is, Pete.... If what O'Malley and +I doped out turns out to be true, and Anne, in spite of the virtues old +Lord attributes to her.... If Anne, for the sake of her clever sister's +money—or from jealousy of her perfect beauty——H'm'm'm."</p> + +<p>He broke off here to wonder how the sisters came together afterward. +Lord evidently knew nothing about it. So far as Peter could learn he +was quite unaware that they had ever met again.</p> + +<p>After recovering from the shock of Lord's disclosure in regard to +Rosamond, Peter had, carefully and skilfully, questioned him. The talk +lasted far into the night, but all he had found out was this:</p> + +<p>Upon Rosamond's disappearance from Hobart Falls, Anne had retired, +absolutely, within herself. All that winter she lived alone in the +small house on the other side of the mountain and never came at all to +the village. Lord had gone up to see her many times, and at last she +confided to him that she had almost no money at all.</p> + +<p>He didn't say it in so many words, but Peter gathered that the +generous, kind old man had offered to share what little he had with her +and had been refused.</p> + +<p>"When summer came," he told Peter, "without saying anything to me, she +went over and got work from the rich city people in Fennimore Park."</p> + +<p>Peter understood that the old man was very angry when he found it +out, but that it had had no effect on Anne's unyielding spirit. She +continued to take washing and to do day's work for the summer people. +There was nothing else to be done. She was too proud to take money she +had not earned, and this seemed to be the only way in which she could +make a livelihood.</p> + +<p>And then, one day late in the fall, Lord had received a letter from her +saying that she was going away as a sort of maid or companion to an +old lady, a Mrs. Rutherford, who had a cottage in Fennimore Park. She +told him that she hoped, before very long, to be able to send the money +he had loaned her on her father's watch and an old seal ring. (Lord +had been worried for fear Mr. Clancy might think he had exacted this +security. Peter assured him that he readily understood that it must +have been forced upon him.)</p> + +<p>"And did she send for them?" Peter had asked with interest.</p> + +<p>It transpired that she had and that Lord had returned the watch and +ring in Mrs. Rutherford's care, to the Holland House in New York.</p> + +<p>And that was the last he had ever heard of Anne Curwood. He had made +a pilgrimage to Fennimore Park the next summer, only to find that +Mrs. Rutherford had gone abroad and that no one knew anything about +Anne. The following year he succeeded in seeing Mrs. Rutherford, who +was obviously, from Lord's tone, an awe-inspiring lady. She had dimly +remembered that she had once had a maid named Anne Curwood, but the +young woman was no longer in her employ and she could, unfortunately, +give Mr. Lord no address.</p> + +<p>Peter was going over all this in his mind as he bathed and dressed. He +was in a somewhat despondent mood for one of his sanguine temperament, +and rather wished he had not humoured Walter Lord's absurd request +that he should sit for his photograph before he left in the morning. +To be sure, he had refused once, on the ground that his train left at +nine-thirty, but when he saw how disappointed Lord was not to have +this souvenir of what was, evidently, an event in the old man's life, +he hastily relented, and as a result, he was up and dressed at seven +o'clock.</p> + +<p>He had heard his host pottering about the kitchen before he was up, +and when he presently descended the old carpeted front stair, he found +an ample and savoury breakfast awaiting him. It was rapidly, and by +Walter Lord gleefully, dispatched.</p> + +<p>"The light is great this morning," the old enthusiast said, as he led +the way up the back stairs, "and I'm going to make a fine picture of +you, Mr. Clancy. It's awfully good of you to be willing to humour an +old codger like me. I hope you won't mind the gallery being a bit +dusty," he added, opening a gray painted door. "I don't have much +incentive, these days, to keep it spick and span, and I never have +allowed Miranda to tidy up here since the day she carefully dusted six +wet negatives." He laughed over his shoulder as he went into a closet +for his plate holders.</p> + +<p>Peter, left to his own devices for a moment, wandered about the room. +It was an ordinary country photograph gallery, with the usual top and +side lights, platform, screens, and chairs. The only odd thing about +it was that the walls, from a chair rail at the bottom to well above +the eye line, were completely covered with photographs. It was a big +room, and there was not one inch of space wasted. It must have been the +enthusiastic work of a lifetime, and Walter Lord was, obviously, a good +workman for even the portraits which, judging by the costumes, dated +far back, were not badly faded.</p> + +<p>"This is some collection you've got here," said Peter, admiringly, as +Lord came back into the room. "Wish I had time to look it all over."</p> + +<p>Lord laid his plates down on a table near by, and smiling at the +compliment, motioned Peter to a chair on the platform. Then he ducked +under the black cloth of the camera, talking all the while:</p> + +<p>"Yes, I've done a fairish amount of work in my time, Mr. Clancy, though +a lot of it was gratis, as you may imagine. (A little more to the +left, please.) I haven't made a lot of money, but I've had a splendid +time. (Chin up, just a little. Not quite so much—there, that's fine. +Couldn't be better.) I'll show you some things you may be interested +in, in just a moment. Now, don't move, <i>please</i>."</p> + +<p>He slipped out from under the black cloth, caught up and adjusted the +plate holder with expert hands, and then stood beside the camera, with +the bulb ready.</p> + +<p>"Now imagine that you've just caught a two-pound trout, Mr. Clancy! +That's what I want! That's fine, fine! Oh, that's going to be splendid, +Mr. Clancy," he said, gleefully, as he manipulated the plates. "Now +just once more to make sure. A little to the right—there—and another +fish!"</p> + +<p>Peter laughed aloud. The shutter clicked. The old man was delighted.</p> + +<p>"I caught that laugh of yours, Mr. Clancy, and that was just what I +wanted—to remember you by. It's good to be young, and to laugh. I +don't believe you have a care in the world!"</p> + +<p>Peter laughed inwardly, sardonically, at this. And all the while he was +thinking of Donald Morris. How much need he be told?</p> + +<p>"Come over here, and I'll show you something pretty, Mr. Clancy." +Walter Lord, having disposed of his precious plates, was again at +Peter's side. "I think this is one of the most charming pictures I've +ever made. See if you recognize it."</p> + +<p>He led the way to a corner of the room where some of the photographs +were turning a little brown; evidently they had been placed there years +ago. He pointed to a cabinet-size picture half way up the wall. Peter +looked and saw, dressed in a fanciful costume of fluttering gauze, a +delicate, slender child's figure standing, fairy-like, beside the trunk +of a great beech. The flicker of sun and leaf shadows was all about +her, and her little oval face was alight with joy and mischief. The +beauty of it caught Peter's breath.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's Mar—Rosamond Curwood, isn't it?" he exclaimed. "And, by +George, I'll say you're some artist, Mr. Lord!"</p> + +<p>"It is lovely, isn't it?" said the old man, happily. "I remember +how I enjoyed taking it. Not many regular photographers were doing +outdoor backgrounds at that time, but I had nothing here"—he glanced +scornfully at the stiffly painted old screens—"nothing that was +suitable. And I did want to keep a memory of the way the child looked +in that fairy dress. I saw her at the school in a little play, and +persuaded her—not that there was any trouble about that—to sit for +me. It was a curious thing how well Rosamond acted in all the little +entertainments they gave at the school.... At the same time, I don't +think she was half so clever, in that way, as Anne, but of course Anne +was so shy that she would never appear in public, and I imagine almost +no one knew that she had any talent. I only found it out, myself, by +accident."</p> + +<p>Peter saw in this the old man's habitual defence of his favourite, a +natural siding with "the underdog." To humour this kindly quality, he +asked:</p> + +<p>"How was that?"</p> + +<p>"Why," said Walter Lord, reminiscently, "it started one day when I was +going up to their house through the woods. I was walking along quietly, +and suddenly I thought I heard someone talking, half singing, a little +way to the left, behind a screen of young hemlock. The words, such as +I could catch, sounded strangely familiar. My curiosity got the better +of me, and I slipped quietly through the bushes and parted the hemlock +sprays. There, in a tiny open glade, was little Anne, dancing lightly +in the sunshine and half singing:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">"If we shadows have offended,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Think but this, and all is mended——</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That you have slumbered here,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While these visions did appear——</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>"You know, Mr. Clancy—the last part of 'Midsummer Night's Dream'."</p> + +<p>Peter was not any too familiar with Shakespeare, but he nodded in +silent acquiescence, and the old man went on:</p> + +<p>"I found out, after that, that she knew simply miles of Shakespeare. +She used to recite for me, under strict pledge of secrecy, in the +woods, on long, summer afternoons. You should have heard her, as little +Arthur, in 'King John,' plead for her eyes—'O, spare mine eyes, if +for no use, but still to look on thee!' Her voice was enough to break +a body's heart.... But, of course, she had no chance, poor child, with +that dreadful mark on her face."</p> + +<p>"Was it such a terrible disfigurement?" asked Peter, eager to get an +accurate description. "Where was it and how large?"</p> + +<p>"It was just here"—Walter Lord placed his curved palm upon his lower +jaw, with the fingers extending up on the cheek. "It was almost like +the mark of a hand, a bloody hand——" The old man frowned and sadly +shook his head. "Too bad, too bad. Wrecked the poor child's life ... +seems terrible ... such a little thing—but, for a girl——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, too bad, too bad," echoed Peter, absently, the while he made a +mental note of the probable shape and position of the identifying mark +by which he hoped at last to recognize Anne Blake. "Well," he added, +rousing himself and looking at his watch, "I'm afraid I ought to be +going, Mr. Lord. How long will it take to get to the station?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, not more than ten minutes," answered the old man, dragging out his +own watch and comparing it with Peter's. "You've twenty minutes to +spare. I want to write down your address so I can send you prints of +the pictures I took of you just now. I'm pretty sure you'll like 'em."</p> + +<p>He went over and began fumbling in his desk for something to write +upon. Peter followed and stood beside him.</p> + +<p>"Forty-seven East Thirty —— Street." Peter supplied his private +address, and as Lord seemed to be having some trouble in finding what +he sought, Peter waited, glancing absently about.</p> + +<p>Suddenly his eye was arrested by a picture on the wall—a man and a +girl on horseback. Could he be mistaken? He stepped nearer. No, he was +right. He had never seen the girl before, but the man, the man on the +left of the photograph, was Donald Morris. There could be no possible +doubt. But what was he doing here? How had it happened——</p> + +<p>Suppressing an ejaculation, Peter turned to the old photographer. +Making his voice perfectly casual, he asked:</p> + +<p>"Who's the good-looking chap on horseback over here?"</p> + +<p>Lord looked up, following Peter's pointing finger.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that?" he said. "I don't know the man's name. The lady is a Miss +Stone—lives over at Fennimore Park. She's quite a friend of mine. +Rides through here two or three times a season, and is always having +her picture taken with some man or other. You'll find several of 'em +along there.... Now, where the dickens? Oh, here it is." He pulled, +from a crowded pigeonhole, a small, dusty, black leather notebook, +dragging a mass of letters and papers out with it. "Now, Mr. Clancy, +give me the address again, if you don't mind——"</p> + +<p>Peter, his mind full of conjectures, leaned over the old man as he +sat at his desk, and absently repeated his address: "Forty-seven East +Thirty —— Street, New York City." And as he did so, his eye lighted +upon one of the letters which had fallen to the floor.</p> + +<p>Automatically, he stooped to pick it up, and as he lifted it, +inadvertently he caught the words:</p> + +<p>"... money order, and if you will return my father's ring, which I +value, and the——"</p> + +<p>Peter's heart almost stopped beating as he looked at the writing. His +brain was in a whirl. He must leave immediately, and he had no time to +weigh problems of right and wrong. He only knew one thing. He must have +this letter of Anne Curwood's—of Anne Blake's. He must have time to +consider.</p> + +<p>The old man's head was bent above his notebook. With a swift motion +Peter, feeling like an unmitigated hound, slipped the letter into his +pocket. "I'll make up some story—I'll return it later," he thought, +confusedly. "In the meantime——"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I've got to hustle to make the train, Mr. Lord," he said, +aloud, grasping the old man's hand. "You've been awfully good to me, +and I do appreciate it, though I may not show it much. I'll write to +you, and I hope you won't forget me. Don't come down. I'll just grab +my bag and beat it. Thank you a thousand times for your hospitality, +and if you ever come to New York, don't forget that you have my +address. Good-bye. Good-bye"—and in the midst of Walter Lord's hearty +farewells and invitations to come again, he was gone.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Peter Clancy Changes His Plans</span>—</h3> + + +<p>And again, as Peter made his swift way to the station, the question +which had been hammering in his brain took another form—"How much can +I keep from telling Morris? How much can I keep to myself till I can +think things out? It's absurd, Pete! It can't be, and yet—if—if——" +And again: "How much can I keep from telling Morris?"</p> + +<p>The answer to the question which was uppermost in Peter's rapid +thoughts was destined, within the next few minutes, to be influenced +in a most unexpected manner. He had scarcely entered the little old +smelly waiting room of the Hobart Falls station, when, at the sound +of his footsteps on the bare boards, a man looked out of the little +grated ticket-window, the same man who had replied to his inquiry as to +telegrams on the previous evening.</p> + +<p>"There's a wire here for you now, if your name's Clancy, Peter Clancy," +the agent said, turning back to refer to a yellow sheet of paper which +lay beside the telegraph instrument. "That was the name you said last +night, wasn't it? It's just come in, not five minutes ago. Night +letter. Sign here, please."</p> + +<p>He slipped the telegram and a thumbed pad through below the grating, +watching Peter curiously the while. Evidently the residents of Hobart +Falls were not used to receiving night letters.</p> + +<p>Peter scrawled his name on the pad, and hastily catching up the +telegram, he went swiftly over to the window. What had happened? What +new complication——</p> + +<p>The telegram was written out in the operator's none too legible hand. +It was maddening, for, not very far away, Peter could hear his train, +whistling for a crossing. And he wanted to get back to town—to talk to +O'Malley—to think.</p> + +<p>Slowly, perforce, he puzzled out the unpunctuated sentences:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Full story M. B. disappearance to-night's Earth devil to pay think +F.J. must have spilled beans D.M. all broken up left for Fennimore +Park private car with sister night train Fennimore Park near you +report there for God's sake make him understand no leak this office</p> + +<p class="ph3">(Signed) <span class="smcap">O'Malley</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p>The train thundered into the station and out again, but Peter took no +notice. His plans had undergone a complete change. The agent, who was +also the expressman as well as the telegraph operator, was surprised to +find the intending passenger still there though not so much so as he +would have been if he, himself, had not received the queer telegram. He +was somewhat prepared for the question with which the stranger greeted +his reappearance.</p> + +<p>"What's the next train for Fennimore Park?" Peter asked, quickly.</p> + +<p>"Ain't no train for there on this line," answered the agent, helpfully. +"Ye have t' go back to the junction and ketch the Mountain Express +there. Ye should have taken number fifty-three down," he jerked his +head in the direction of the rapidly receding rumble.</p> + +<p>Peter's silence was more profane than any speech. Then a sudden thought +struck him. He threw a withering glance at the indifferent agent, and +jumped to the door opposite to the one on the platform. He was just in +time to see a tired flivver strolling slowly down the dusty road.</p> + +<p>"Josh!" he yelled, at the top of his voice. "Josh!"</p> + +<p>His lungs were strong, and his intent was sincere. Slowly the old car +came to a standstill and the driver, craning his long neck, looked back +down the road.</p> + +<p>"Ye want me?" he bellowed.</p> + +<p>Peter answered with a peremptory wave of the hand. The creaking car +turned in a cloud of dust, and came slowly back.</p> + +<p>"How far is it to Fennimore Park from here?" Peter asked, as soon as it +came within reasonable calling distance.</p> + +<p>"Pretty clost to twenty mile," said Josh, promptly. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"Is the old boat good for it?" Peter eyed the poor old car with some +disfavour.</p> + +<p>"Ye betcha she is," said Josh, enthusiastically. "I told ye, she's the +best car in town. Want I should take ye there? I'll do it fer five."</p> + +<p>Peter wasted no more time. He jumped, bag and all, into the back seat. +"Shoot!" was all he said.</p> + +<p>He was silent for almost the entire +way—thinking—thinking—thinking——</p> + +<p>The old car bumped and skidded over the mountain roads, and groaned and +laboured up the long, rough hills. Peter kept himself in by clinging to +the iron braces of the top, but aside from these automatic efforts at +self-preservation he was practically unconscious of the way they went.</p> + +<p>A strange thought had come to him in Walter Lord's old photograph +studio. A thought so odd and bizarre that at first it seemed absolutely +impossible and insane. And then he began piecing things together. +Bit by bit, apparently unconnected scraps of information were fitted +together, now this way and now that. Once, making sure that the driver +was completely occupied with the difficulties of the winding road, +Peter took from his pocket the letter he had appropriated. ("Stolen, +dammit!" he thought, disgustedly. "Mine's a hell of a job for a decent +man. But if I could prove, even to myself——") He looked long and +wonderingly at the letter before he slipped it back into an inner +pocket.</p> + +<p>"Mary, apparently, took no clothes at all," he thought, going back +for the thousandth time over the old ground, "and Anne took a big +trunk.... Well, that would fit—either way.... The large sum of money, +left at the bank, subject to Anne's order as well as Mary's.... +Yes—either way.... But the blood on the scarf—and on the floor.... I +don't see—unless.... By George! I'll bet——"</p> + +<p>The driver heard his passenger slap his leg with a resounding thwack. +He turned his head slightly. "Mosquito?" he threw over his shoulder. +"Did ye git him?"</p> + +<p>"No. Yes—I'm not sure," said Peter, coming, confusedly, back to the +present. "How far are we now from Fennimore Park? And do we pass +through any town on the way?" he added, his mind reverting to immediate +necessities.</p> + +<p>"We'll be there inside of twenty minutes," Josh answered the questions +in order, "and we pass through Tollenville about a mile this side. 'S +quite a big place. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Think I could get yesterday's New York papers anywhere there?" asked +Peter. "Must keep up with the times, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure ye can," said Josh, easily. "Must have 'em at the Tollen +House, I should think. I'd like t' stop there, anyway," and he drew the +back of his hand, in a suggestive gesture, across his mouth.</p> + +<p>"All right," said Peter, with a comprehending grin. "If it's that kind +of a place I may get the paper I want. So don't forget to stop."</p> + +<p>"I won't," said Josh, with evident sincerity, and Peter retired again +into his thoughts.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him not many minutes later when they pulled up in front of +a big, ugly red brick hotel with many wooden porches and gay, striped +awnings.</p> + +<p>"Tollen House," remarked Josh, briefly, and disappeared around the +corner of the building.</p> + +<p>Peter entered the lobby and anxiously enquired for the New York +<i>Evening Earth</i> of yesterday's date. One was found for him, much to his +satisfaction. He gave the porter, who brought it to him, a generous +tip, and dashed out to the poor old waiting "Lizzie," which looked more +weary and woebegone than ever.</p> + +<p>Josh was nowhere in sight, and while Peter waited he ran a quick and +practised eye over the paper.</p> + +<p>"No wonder Donald Morris was in the devil of a stew," he thought, as +he absorbed the principal article on the front page, with its blatant +headlines and its large half-tone picture of Mary Blake. "Wonder if he +could think our office would be guilty of letting his name appear! Gee! +that would be a rotten thing for a client. 'Absence first discovered by +Donald Morris, son of Steven Morris, and heir to the Morris millions'," +he read, disgustedly. "Dammit all! It's a beastly shame. I'll bet his +house was besieged by reporters before the story had been on the street +ten minutes. Nobody could have leaked but Jones, confound him! Bound to +get some publicity for his leading lady, whether she liked it or not, +and a lot for himself into the bargain. 'Frederick Jones, Miss Blake's +manager, interviewed,' and in pretty good-sized type, too. Oh, damn!"</p> + +<p>At that moment Josh returned. Wiping his mouth with a soiled red +handkerchief, he took his place at the wheel. "Some hooch!" he +remarked, with a wise, sidelong wink, and the car started laboriously +up the road.</p> + +<p>Peter, still looking at the offending paper, rapidly formulated his +defence as they crawled up the steep mountain side. The roadbed here +was of red shale, smooth and well tended, a strong contrast to the back +roads they had been traversing. Soon they came to a great rough stone +gateway and a lodge. They were held up here, while the lodge keeper +telephoned the Atterbury cottage, where, he said, Mr. Donald Morris was +stopping.</p> + +<p>"It's all right. You can go right up, sir," he said, returning after a +moment. "Do you know where it is? Well, you take the first turn to the +right after you pass the inn, and it's the last house before you come +to the church. You can't miss it. Thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Some style," grumbled Josh, as the car moved away. "Would ye think +this was once a free country?" He addressed the world at large, and +Peter did not trouble to answer. He had too much to think about even to +notice the exquisite woodland park through which they were passing; the +great old mossy trees, the broad red road, the ferns and wild flowers, +the primitive forest, broken here and there by wide velvet lawns and +low, broad, picturesque cottages. He was the first, however, to realize +that they had reached their journey's end.</p> + +<p>"There's the church, Josh," he said, "and this will be the house. Drive +in and wait a minute till I make sure."</p> + +<p>He sprang up the two low steps almost before the old car had stopped, +and in a second returned and slipped a bill and some jingling coins +into Josh's outstretched hand. "More hooch," he explained the coins +with a wink, and Josh trundled away with a large admiration of his +"fare" in his leathery old heart.</p> + +<p>The servant, from whom Peter had made his inquiries, again met him at +the door as he crossed the porch.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Atterbury would like to see you before you go up to Mr. Morris, +if you please, sir," he said in a soft, tired voice, and led the way +through a living room which seemed endless to Peter, and out on to +another wide veranda. "Mr. Clancy, 'm," he announced, in a tone which +disclaimed all responsibility for so plebeian a name, and softly +vanished, leaving Peter face to face with Mrs. Francis Atterbury.</p> + +<p>It was an ill moment for poor Peter, judging by the lady's expression.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Clancy," she said, motioning slightly to a chair near the one in +which she was seated. "This is a most unfortunate circumstance. My +brother is quite overcome. He's really ill, yet I had to drag him up +here, almost by force, last night. The reporters were simply besieging +the house, and my brother was so nervously unstrung that I had to call +in a doctor. I've seen it coming for a long time, and that terrible +article in the paper yesterday was the last straw. You've seen it, I +suppose?" Her eyes narrowed as she keenly regarded Peter, and there was +a drawing together of her handsome eyebrows which boded ill for him if +he could not assure her of his innocence in the matter.</p> + +<p>"I had a wire from my partner early this morning," Peter replied, with +the calm of conscious rectitude, "and I was able to get the paper at +Tollenville on my way over. That was absolutely the first I knew that +the story had leaked out. You must see, Mrs. Atterbury, from the tone +of the entire article, that my office could not possibly have given +it to the papers. A firm of detectives couldn't last long, if it was +as leaky as that. I will admit," he added, candidly, "that I advised +Mr. Morris some time ago that our best bet was to give out the story +so as to get the help of the general public in tracing Miss Blake—and +her sister. You sometimes get information that way that you can't +get by private inquiry. We would have been able, through personal +connection with the papers, to keep Mr. Morris's name entirely out of +it. I urged it on him several times, but he couldn't see it that way, +and I was forced to give it up. We are acting entirely in Mr. Morris's +interests"—he said this gravely, and with a dignity which was very +convincing—"and my office would not go contrary to his wishes in any +particular. I must ask you and Mr. Morris to believe this."</p> + +<p>"Well," conceded Helena Atterbury, unbending slightly, "I suppose I +must take your word for it, Mr. Clancy. My brother seems to have a +great deal of confidence in you. But I can't think—I can't see how +Mr. Jones could have done such a thing. I believe your partner told +Mr. Morris that the story could only have come from him. Why, I've +entertained him at my house. He accepted my hospitality, and——"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Atterbury," Peter interrupted, with a shake of his head, "I'm +afraid you don't understand what lengths people will go to for the +sake of advertising. They seem to lose all sense of decency sometimes. +I knew it was a risk to let Frederick Jones in on the game, but there +were certain things we had to know and he was bound, being her manager, +to find out sooner or later, probably sooner than later, that she'd +disappeared. I hope you can see that we had no choice."</p> + +<p>Helena Atterbury, in spite of her annoyance at the contretemps, could +not fail to be impressed by the ingenuous sincerity of the young +detective's speech and manner. Her voice had lost much of its icy +hauteur when she spoke again.</p> + +<p>"Well, I won't detain you any longer, Mr. Clancy," she said, rising. +"Mr. Morris is anxious to see you. He is in a very bad nervous +condition, and I know you will be careful." Her natural, woman's +anxiety spoke in her voice and eyes, and her natural, woman's curiosity +prompted her to question: "Did you find out anything new yesterday? Can +you give my brother any hope that——"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, any more than I did before, where Miss Blake is, Mrs. +Atterbury," he said, frankly. "But I did find out some things—some +things that I hope may prove of value. It was only last night and +this morning that I got hold of the information, and I haven't had +time really to think it out. But I will say this much to you, Mrs. +Atterbury: for almost the first time since I took the case I have hope. +I really feel that I have definite hope."</p> + +<p>His clear, bright blue Irish eyes looked straight into hers, and Helena +Atterbury's distaste and distrust melted slowly away.</p> + +<p>"I pray, for my brother's sake, that your hopes are well founded, Mr. +Clancy," she said. "Come. I'll take you up to him."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</h2> +</div> + +<h3>—<span class="smcap">And Asks a Question</span></h3> + + +<p>Peter found his client comfortably ensconced in a long, swinging couch +on a wide porch on the second floor. He looked pale and worn and +appeared nervously exhausted, but his tired eyes lighted a little as +Peter came through the bedroom door.</p> + +<p>Helena Atterbury tactfully left them alone at once, and Peter was glad +to find that there was little difficulty in convincing Donald Morris +that he and his staff were in no way responsible for the newspaper +article which had caused so much pain and annoyance.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have had it leak out for the world," said Donald, +anxiously. "Mrs. Atterbury was furious about the reporters coming to +the house, but I wouldn't have minded that so much. What knocked me up +completely was the thought of how it would affect Mary. Somehow, that +just bowled me over, Clancy. I'm ashamed to say I went all to pieces. +You see, her letter to me—well, I'm sure, no matter what happened, she +wanted me to wait—to wait till I heard from her."</p> + +<p>"By the way," said Peter, leaning suddenly forward in his low wicker +chair, "that letter—have you got it with you? or anywhere handy? I'd +like to look at it again. There's something I want to make sure of——"</p> + +<p>A quality in Peter's voice caused Morris to look up at him quickly.</p> + +<p>"What!" he exclaimed. "Have you found out something new? Did you get +hold of anything at Hobart Falls yesterday? It seems the most unlikely +place in the world, and I haven't the least idea why you went there."</p> + +<p>"I did—and I didn't," answered Peter, non-committally. "As I just told +your sister, I don't know, any more than I did before, where Miss Blake +has gone. But I did come across something—something that may help. +<i>Have</i> you got the letter?"</p> + +<p>Morris, regarding him with serious, puzzled eyes, put his hand into +an inner pocket and drew out a leather case. Silently he opened it, +extracted a letter and handed it to Peter, intently watching the face +of the young detective.</p> + +<p>Peter looked at the letter long and earnestly. He read it through +carefully, from the folded page at the beginning to the end. Neither +of them spoke. In the silence, a low murmur of voices came up to them +from the porch beneath, a question in a servant's controlled tone, and +a slightly louder answer from Mrs. Atterbury, but neither of the men +heard or heeded.</p> + +<p>Peter folded the letter and handed it back to Donald.</p> + +<p>"You'd better keep it," he said, slowly. "I'll ask you for it again, +later."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Donald, carefully replacing the letter. "And now, +tell me, Clancy, for God's sake, what it was you discovered at Hobart +Falls?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Peter, deliberately, "it wasn't so much, you may say. But +there's one thing I know you will be interested to learn: I have found +out positively what Miss Blake's own name really is."</p> + +<p>"Her own name?" repeated Morris. "And in such an unlikely place?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Peter. "It does seem strange, but I can assure you that +I'm correct. Her name is Curwood."</p> + +<p>"Curwood," Donald echoed. "Curwood."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Peter. "That's the name. I verified it carefully, and you +may be sure——" Suddenly he started violently, and his hand shot up in +a warning gesture. He leaned close to Morris, and whispered in his ear: +"What——Who is that?"</p> + +<p>A voice had come up to them from the porch below. What it said was +commonplace to a degree. Donald could see no possible reason for the +detective's evident excitement.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Helena, dear," the voice said. "I'm so glad you're here +once more. I only just heard——"</p> + +<p>There was the sound of a chair scraping on the tiled floor, and Mrs. +Atterbury said something in a cordial tone.</p> + +<p>"Who is it?" Peter repeated, insistently. "Who is that down there?"</p> + +<p>"Why," said Morris, looking at Peter in astonishment, "why, that must +be Aunt Kate. Nobody else has a voice like that," and he shook his head +with a whimsical half smile. "What in the world——"</p> + +<p>"Speak low," said Peter, anxiously. "I don't want to miss——"</p> + +<p>Again the voice came up to them:</p> + +<p>"Did Donald come up with you, Helena? I saw that thing in the paper, +and somebody told me——"</p> + +<p>Followed a low murmur in reply from Mrs. Atterbury.</p> + +<p>"Who is it?" Peter asked again, excitement apparent in every line of +his face. "A relative? What is her name? Her full name?"</p> + +<p>"No, not a relative," Donald answered, bewildered by Peter's obvious +agitation. "We've always called her that. Her name is Rutherford, Kate +Rutherford."</p> + +<p>"Good God!" said Peter, starting to his feet. "Rutherford!" Under his +breath he whispered to himself—"The voice! The voice over the wire. +I'm sure, certain. There can be no mistake. I knew I'd recognize it if +ever——"</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, Clancy?" Donald had thrown aside the rug under +which he had been lying, and had dropped his feet to the floor. "What +do you know of——"</p> + +<p>Peter interrupted sharply with:</p> + +<p>"I want to meet her. I must meet her, Morris. Fix it for me. It's +essential I should meet her at once. There's no time to explain. She +may go—oh, for the love of——Mr. Morris, I give you my word that I'm +not crazy—and I must see and talk to Mrs. Rutherford!"</p> + +<p>Staggered by the other's impetuosity, Donald got slowly to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Wait, wait just a moment," he said, passing his hand over his +forehead. "I don't understand, but of course—what shall I tell her?"</p> + +<p>"Just say you heard her voice and came down to see her," whispered +Peter. "Introduce me as a friend—if," he added, with an anxious, +questioning look, "if you think you can go that far."</p> + +<p>Morris looked him steadily in the eyes. Then he nodded slightly. +Placing his hand on Peter's shoulder, he said, "I think I can go that +far, Clancy. Come on."</p> + +<p>Peter felt Morris's weight on his shoulder as they descended the +stairs, but by the time they had reached the lower porch he was erect +and master of himself.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Atterbury started up in surprise as the two men came through the +door, but her brother gave her a warning look, and she subsided into +her chair without a word, though her eyes said plainly, "What in the +world is Don bringing that detective here for?"</p> + +<p>He ignored their puzzled question, and advanced with a smile to the +visitor.</p> + +<p>"Good to see you again, Aunt Kate," he said, cordially, as he took her +hand, and leaning over, kissed her on the cheek. "It was bully of you +to come down so soon."</p> + +<p>Peter, who was directly behind him, did not see the visitor until +Donald stepped back, and said:</p> + +<p>"Will you let me present my friend, Mr. Peter Clancy—Mrs. Rutherford."</p> + +<p>Then Peter saw, seated in a high-backed Indian chair, as on a throne, a +magnificent old lady whose impressive presence and mien were scarcely +affected by the great weight of flesh which seemed to billow all about +her.</p> + +<p>She spoke to him at once, in a voice deep, clear, and resonant. "I'm +glad to meet any friend of Donald's," was all she said, but her +exquisite enunciation made of the commonplace sentence a thing of +beauty.</p> + +<p>Morris, observantly following Peter's lead, sat down and joined in the +quiet, ordinary, everyday conversation. The weather and everybody's +health came in for their stereotyped share. Peter, watching, was quite +sure they had interrupted a more intimate talk between the two women. +He guessed what its subject had been but knew that it would not be +resumed in the presence of a stranger.</p> + +<p>How was he, himself, to get an opportunity for a private conversation +with Mrs. Rutherford, the necessity for which was uppermost in his +thoughts? And who was she, anyway? That she was a personage there +could be no doubt. Peter racked his brains to remember if he had ever +heard of her, to no purpose. She was of a previous generation, but a +personality like that——</p> + +<p>Unconsciously, Mrs. Rutherford proceeded to enlighten him. He was +so preoccupied that he only caught his own name in the middle of a +sentence:</p> + +<p>"And Mr. Clancy, judging by his name and appearance," she was saying, +"ought to enjoy the story as much as I did. We're both Irish, aren't +we, Mr. Clancy? As you may possibly know, my name was Rohan once upon a +time, and——"</p> + +<p>Rohan. Kate Rohan! Something clicked in Peter's brain. Who, even of his +comparative youth, had not heard of the old Athenæum Company, and of +Kate Rohan, its planet among stars? So! That accounted for—much—the +gracious presence, the wonderful voice—and many, many things besides, +Peter thought.</p> + +<p>He missed, almost completely, the amusing Irish story, told with a +delicate, subtle brogue and a perfect inflection, but he heard just +enough to join spontaneously in the laugh which irresistibly followed.</p> + +<p>At the end of the story Mrs. Rutherford rose majestically, and like a +great ship getting under way, started toward the door.</p> + +<p>"I must be going, Helena," she said, holding out her still beautiful +hand. "I'm coming to see you and Don very soon again. Take care of +yourself, Don, and," with a little quick shake of the head as she put +her hand in his, "don't worry about things, my dear. There's nothing +really worth wasting a lot of expensive worry upon."</p> + +<p>"I'll see you to your car, Aunt Kate," said Morris, placing his hand +under her elbow.</p> + +<p>She turned on him at that, and drew herself up with a little laugh. +"I'd have you know, Donald, that I walked down here and intend to walk +back," she said, proudly.</p> + +<p>"But, Aunt Kate!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear. The doctor says that if I don't take some gentle +exercise I'll spoil my figure" (she pronounced it "figgah"), "to +say nothing of having another heart attack. And he calls walking up +the mountain 'gentle exercise'! To be sure, I take it slowly, but +whu-u-u——!" She drew a long breath and let it go in a tragic sigh, +but her eyes were full of an inextinguishable humour.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to be long here, Mr. Clancy?" she asked, turning to say +"good-bye" to Peter, who stood close beside her.</p> + +<p>"I don't quite know," replied Peter, quietly. "It will depend a good +deal on circumstances. I ought to go back to town this afternoon, but I +haven't been around the—the Park much yet, and I promised myself I'd +see something of it—only Don"—(he referred thus familiarly to his +host without the flicker of an eyelash)—"you see, Don doesn't feel +quite up to going about with me, and——"</p> + +<p>Quick as a flash Donald Morris intuitively caught Peter's intention. +He did not know what the reason might be, but he grasped the fact that +there was some unknown necessity for Clancy to see Mrs. Rutherford +alone. So completely had the young detective won his confidence that +this was enough for him.</p> + +<p>"I do feel a bit seedy, Aunt Kate, and that's a fact," he said, +promptly, "and Peter's just crazy to stretch those long legs of his. +Take pity on him, there's a dear, and let him go along with you." +Again he ignored the questioning, perplexed glance of his sister, who +stood just behind Mrs. Rutherford. "The road up to Mrs. Rutherford's +cottage is the loveliest thing in the park, Peter. When you've seen +that, you'll agree with me that it's one of the most paintable bits in +America."</p> + +<p>"Are you a painter, Mr. Clancy?" Mrs. Rutherford asked, a few moments +later as they started up the curving road, Peter accommodating his +long stride to her stately, ponderous step. "I should hardly have +thought——"</p> + +<p>"I don't look much like one, do I?" Peter laughed. "Well, frankly, I +don't consider myself one, but I'm very fond of nature—and art. It's +one of the chief regrets of my life, Mrs. Rutherford, that I never saw +you act."</p> + +<p>She gave him a quick, almost youthful glance, and smiled. "I think you +could hardly have been born when I left the stage, Mr. Clancy. That was +over thirty years ago."</p> + +<p>"But why, Mrs. Rutherford!" exclaimed Peter, tragically, "why did you +leave the stage before I was born?"</p> + +<p>She threw back her white head with a hearty, infectious laugh, and +pausing in her slow ascent, she turned to him, making a broad, sweeping +gesture with both hands.</p> + +<p>"The answer is before you," she said. "It was this infernal—I may +say infernal to you, Mr. Clancy, may I not?—Well, then, it was this +infernal flesh that came upon me like a thief in the night, and +nothing I could do would stop it—so I had to stop—to give up my +career"—there was bitterness in the beautiful voice now—"all on +account of—oh, Mr. Clancy, who could stand a fat 'Portia'! Thank God, +I had sense enough to stop when I did. At least there are no grotesque +memories of Kate Rohan."</p> + +<p>Up to this point in the conversation they had passed several houses +and quite a number of people, to whom Mrs. Rutherford had bowed, +graciously. Now the road before them lay, for a long way, fairly level +and devoid of any sign of life. Unbroken ranks of tall trees threw +their leafy shadows across the red shale of the road, and the soft +whispering of the wind only served to accentuate the sense of solitude.</p> + +<p>In another mood, Peter would have been sensible of the wonderful beauty +of the place, but now he saw nothing in it but an opportunity, the +opportunity which he must not miss.</p> + +<p>Just ahead, in the shadow of a big pine, he saw a low, flat ledge of +rock, lichen covered on its face and strewn above with a generous +cushion of soft pine needles.</p> + +<p>"You're tired, Mrs. Rutherford," he said, gravely. "Let's rest a minute +over there."</p> + +<p>She assented, with a whimsical nod, and allowed Peter to place her +comfortably upon the rock. Peter remained standing just in front of her +and regarded her in silence for a moment. There was a seriousness in +his pleasant, homely face that caught her attention.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Mr. Clancy?" she asked, with a hint of perplexity in her +deep voice. "Why do you look at me as if—why, as if you wanted to ask +me a question and didn't quite know what to say——"</p> + +<p>"That's just it, Mrs. Rutherford," said Peter, eagerly. "That's just my +trouble. There's something I want to know—something I must know——"</p> + +<p>"And you think I can tell you?" she asked, wonderingly.</p> + +<p>"I <i>know</i> you can tell me, Mrs. Rutherford—if you will."</p> + +<p>She gazed up at him in sheer bewilderment. "I can't think what it can +be," she said, conscious of the gravity of the young face before her, +"and I won't promise to answer. But I'm curious to know. Ask your +question, Mr. Clancy."</p> + +<p>Peter bent his head and said, slowly, with pauses between the words:</p> + +<p>"Will you tell me, Mrs. Rutherford, why—on Monday, the twenty-ninth +of this May—from a pay booth in the Vanderbilt Hotel—you called Mary +Blake's apartment—and asked to speak to her sister, Anne?"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</h2> +</div> + +<h3>"<span class="smcap">On Monday, the Twenty-ninth of May</span>——"</h3> + + +<p>A slow flush spread over the face of Kate Rutherford, mounting to her +snow-white hair. Her eyes never left Peter's.</p> + +<p>"On Monday, the twenty-ninth of May, from the Vanderbilt Hotel," she +repeated, slowly. "Yes, I did call—I did call her apartment, one day, +about that time. Well"—a slight pause—"well, what of it? What of it, +Mr. Clancy?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you know—why, you must know from yesterday's paper, Mrs. +Rutherford, that it was on Sunday, the twenty-eighth, that Mary Blake +disappeared."</p> + +<p>"And you think"—she studied his face intently—"you think I may know +where she's gone?"</p> + +<p>"It would seem on the cards, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't." She threw out her clenched hands and looked up at him. +There was deep concern in her eyes. "I wish to God I did."</p> + +<p>Was she acting? Peter thought. And if so, why? Aloud he said:</p> + +<p>"How was it that you happened to call her on that particular day, Mrs. +Rutherford? And why did you cut off so suddenly when——"</p> + +<p>"It was you—it was you who answered the call!" she exclaimed, a little +light breaking in upon her. "What have you to do with this affair, Mr. +Clancy? Why should I answer your questions? I don't see——"</p> + +<p>"You're a friend of Donald Morris's, an old and intimate friend," said +Peter, gravely. "You must be affected, deeply affected, I should think, +by the sight of his unhappiness."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said at once. "Yes—and I didn't know—I didn't realize +completely until this morning. But," she broke off, and cast a keen +glance at Peter, "forgive me, Mr. Clancy, but I don't see what concern +it can be of yours. I know most of Donald's friends—and I never saw +you before."</p> + +<p>"Yet I think I can truly say that I am a friend to Donald Morris," said +Peter with evident sincerity. "And, aside from that, Mrs. Rutherford, +I'm a professional detective. I——"</p> + +<p>"Clancy—Peter Clancy," she exclaimed, quickly. "I thought I'd heard +that name! Why, you're the man Dick Schuyler told me about, several +years ago."</p> + +<p>Peter nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Rutherford, and it was Mr. Schuyler who +recommended me to Donald Morris. They both trust me, I think I can +safely say. Won't you trust me, too, Mrs. Rutherford?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him for a long time in silence. Then she said:</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so.... I think, perhaps, I must.... It's a terrible +responsibility I have upon me. I didn't realize how serious it was +until to-day.... And now, I don't know.... I can't be sure what I ought +to do. But let me see. Ask your questions, Mr. Clancy, and I'll see if +I can answer them. What is it you want to know?"</p> + +<p>"I've already asked one question that you haven't answered, Mrs. +Rutherford," Peter said with a little smile. "Perhaps you don't realize +that you haven't."</p> + +<p>"No," she said, her straight black eyebrows drawn together in a +thoughtful frown. "What was the question?"</p> + +<p>"I asked you how you happened to call Miss Blake's apartment on the day +after she disappeared?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. I remember, you did ask me that. Well," she spoke slowly, "it +was because of a letter I'd just received from her. It had just come +in, and I got it at the hotel desk when I turned in my key. I was so +worried about it that I went immediately to a booth and called her up."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but what was in the letter?" asked Peter, eagerly. "Did she say +where she was going, or why?"</p> + +<p>"That was what puzzled, worried me," said Mrs. Rutherford, frowning +still more. "It was a—a sort of wild letter. I couldn't understand +it. She said she was going away. That she might never come back.... It +sounded desperate.... She thanked me for all I had been to her. Asked +me to forgive her.... Not that I had anything to forgive. The whole +thing was my fault, if there was a fault." She paused, and added, "And +that was all, Mr. Clancy. There was nothing else in the letter. I give +you my word, that was all."</p> + +<p>Disappointment was written large on Peter's face.</p> + +<p>Kate Rutherford went on: "I thought that possibly she might not have +gone, so I called her apartment at once. I wanted to see her, to +dissuade her, if possible. Her career ... it seemed a shame—a terrible +waste. I couldn't understand why, when she had reached the height +we all crave, she should——And then I found she wasn't there. That +there were strangers in the apartment. I couldn't imagine why. I was +frightened, and rang off. I knew it would be no use to go down there. +She had said definitely, in her letter, that she was going away at +once. It was only on a bare chance that I called up——"</p> + +<p>"I—see," said Peter, slowly. He thought in silence for a moment. Then +he dropped down upon the rock, bringing his face on a level with the +clever, mobile face of old "Kate Rohan."</p> + +<p>"You said, a few minutes ago—" he hesitated—"I think you admitted, +Mrs. Rutherford, that you felt concerned for Donald Morris."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, quickly. "I had no idea, until I read that article +in the paper last night—and saw Donald this morning—I knew, of +course, that he was interested in Mary Blake. He made no secret of it. +But Don has had a great many women friends, and he had the artist's +enthusiastic way of speaking of them—I didn't realize that this was +really serious."</p> + +<p>"But you do realize it now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied, sadly. "Yes. I think there can be no doubt. The +poor boy——"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Rutherford," Peter said, leaning forward and watching her face, +"do you know of a reason why Donald Morris should not marry Miss Blake?"</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. The majestic old lady leaned slightly +forward, her tightly clasped hands resting on her ample knees. Her +white head was bent, her eyes fixed on the ground. After what seemed to +Peter a long time, she said:</p> + +<p>"I—I think she would have—must have felt—that there was a reason."</p> + +<p>"And do you feel that it was a reason, Mrs. Rutherford? A sufficient +reason?"</p> + +<p>"I"—she raised her head, and threw out her hands in an expressive +gesture—"I don't know. I don't know how I would have felt, Mr. Clancy. +Knowing Donald as I do—no, I don't know how I would have felt," she +repeated, disconsolately.</p> + +<p>"Will you tell me the reason, Mrs. Rutherford?" said Peter, with deep +seriousness in his tone. "I know a good deal. But I need to know +more. I can't form a definite plan until I'm sure. I've made some +guesses—just to-day and yesterday—that have sent me off on a new +tack. If what I've suddenly come to believe turns out to be true, +I think there's a chance, possibly a remote chance, of finding—of +finding Miss Blake."</p> + +<p>"You think—you think there is?" There was an eager light in the +expressive old eyes.</p> + +<p>"I think there may be," said Peter, evasively. "But I can do nothing +without your help, Mrs. Rutherford. That's my trouble. I must know +the whole story, as I am sure that you, and you only, can tell it. +All I am certain of, at the present time, is that Rosamond and Anne +Curwood (whom I first heard of as Mary and Anne Blake) were the twin +daughters of a man called Winthrop Curwood, who lived somewhere up in +the mountains, between here and Hobart Falls."</p> + +<p>"Winthrop Curwood! You know, then, of Winthrop Curwood?" exclaimed Mrs. +Rutherford, sitting up straight, and looking at Peter in surprise.</p> + +<p>"I know that he was the father, and that he was blind," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"Yes, blind," sighed Mrs. Rutherford. "Poor Win!"</p> + +<p>"You knew him, then?" said Peter, quick to note the familiar use of the +name.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. I knew Win Curwood well. Very well, indeed," said Mrs. +Rutherford, sadly. "You're too young to remember, but he was leading +man at the Athenæum and I played opposite to him for two seasons."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I—see," said Peter. "An actor. That explains—but go on, +Mrs. Rutherford. Tell me about him. How he came to be here, in this +out-of-the-way part of the country—who he was—everything. He was an +Englishman, wasn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and well known in England. Arthur Quinn saw him play in London +and made him a big offer to come over here. He joined the company while +it was still at its best, and he was a great addition. A wonderful +actor, and handsome almost beyond belief. He was younger than I by a +number of years but we soon became great friends. I was jealous of him, +of course," with raised eyebrows and a whimsical smile, "but not so +much as I might have been, perhaps. He was very generous and tactful, +and after all, at that time, I didn't have much need to fear a rival in +popularity." There was an expression in the great, dark eyes, half sad, +half amused at the recollection.</p> + +<p>"He was with us only two seasons," she continued. "I remember it was +in the middle of the second winter that I began to notice that he +wasn't quite himself. He hadn't quite the same certainty of movement, +and once, during performance, when he stumbled against a low table and +overturned it, I felt sure that he had been drinking. I said nothing at +the time, but afterward I spoke to him—and he told me. He was going +blind! Think of it, Mr. Clancy. Going blind, with no hope!... I don't +think he confided in any one but me until the very end. He managed to +get through the season—it would have left Arthur Quinn and the company +in an awful hole if he hadn't, and with my help—I played up to him +and helped him as well as I was able—he saw it through.... And then, +simply disappeared. He did tell Arthur Quinn (the manager, you know) +why he would not be able to play again.... And that was the last any +of us ever saw, and the last for a great many years that I ever heard, +of Winthrop Curwood."</p> + +<p>The deep tones ceased, and Peter saw that there was a mist in the fine +old eyes. After a moment he said, gently:</p> + +<p>"And then, after many years, you met Anne Curwood."</p> + +<p>She roused herself at that and looked at Peter.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, slowly. "I don't know how you found that out—but it +doesn't matter. Yes, I saw Anne Curwood, and curiously enough, too, it +was at Helena Atterbury's house that I saw her first."</p> + +<p>Peter started in surprise. "At Mrs. Atterbury's house!" he exclaimed. +"Why, then, Morris must have seen her—must have seen Anne Blake!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rutherford shook her head. "I don't know whether he ever saw her, +or if he did, whether he noticed her or would have given her a thought +if he had. She was doing menial work—Win Curwood's daughter: I can +hardly bear to think of it.... And, too, she was painfully shy and +self-conscious."</p> + +<p>"On account of that birthmark," Peter interjected.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rutherford gave him a quick look, but went on at once, as if he +had not spoken—"You see, she appeared to be only a servant, after all. +She came in to do cleaning by the day. There was a great scarcity of +help here that year and we all had to manage as well as we could. That +was how I came to speak with her. I was telling Helena about a lot +of trouble I was having with the servants, and she said she thought I +might be able to get Anne Curwood for at least one day a week. At the +moment I thought nothing of the name, but when I saw her and heard +her speak—well, I became interested and engaged her at once for two +days a week. After a time, when she became used to me and my ways, I +asked her, point blank, about her father—and established, to my own +satisfaction, that she was, really, the daughter of my old friend, Win +Curwood."</p> + +<p>"Did she tell you, at that time, about her sister, Rosamond?" asked +Peter.</p> + +<p>"No, it was later, much later, that I learned about the sister," she +answered, quietly.</p> + +<p>"You found her after you'd taken Anne to New York as your companion?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rutherford slowly turned her head, and looked long into Peter's +eyes. Then Peter did a curious thing. They were all alone, in the deep +solitude of the leafy woods. There was no one, apparently, within miles +of them, certainly no one within earshot, but Peter leaned forward, and +with his keen eyes fixed on Kate Rutherford's face, he whispered, just +above his breath, one sentence—only one—but the effect was electrical.</p> + +<p>She started forward and grasped his arm with clutching fingers. Her +face was white.</p> + +<p>"How—how did you guess?" she asked, breathlessly.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">A Midnight Errand</span></h3> + + +<p>Donald Morris paced nervously back and forth, back and forth, upon +the wide, ground-floor veranda of his sister's house. He could look +out along the road up which Clancy had gone, hours before, with Mrs. +Rutherford.</p> + +<p>As the slow minutes dragged themselves away, his impatience mounted, +but he kept himself in hand. Clancy knew his business—of that he +was convinced—but what possible connection it could have with Mrs. +Rutherford he was at a loss to determine.</p> + +<p>The luncheon hour had come and gone, and it was after three o'clock +when Donald, eagerly watching, saw Clancy make the turn which brought +him into sight, and saw him coming at a run down the sloping road.</p> + +<p>"What has happened, Clancy?" Donald cried, impetuously, as they came +close. "Where have you been all these hours?"</p> + +<p>Peter's face was red with hurry and excitement.</p> + +<p>"I—I can't stop to explain," he panted. "I've only just time to make +the train. I must be in New York to-night." He caught Donald's arm. +"Is there a taxi I can get? The train leaves Tollenville in fifteen +minutes. There's only barely time. Oh, Mr. Morris, for the love of God, +don't stare at me like that. Tell me how to get a taxi. Quick!"</p> + +<p>Peter's excitement communicated itself to Morris. He was bewildered, +astonished. He longed intensely to ask the questions for which there +was no time, but Peter's insistence was overpowering.</p> + +<p>"I'll get a car for you here," he said, swiftly. "Saunders will make +the train if it's a possibility. Your bag's still on the porch. Get it, +while I——"</p> + +<p>He dashed across the lawn and around the corner of the house. In a +moment, Peter heard the thin buzz of a starter, followed instantly by +the heavy, rhythmic hum as the engine picked up, and in a few seconds +more a big car rolled around the corner of the house.</p> + +<p>Donald Morris was standing on the running board. He dropped off as the +car slowed down, and Peter, bag in hand, jumped into the seat beside +the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>"Give her gas, Saunders," cried Morris. "You haven't a minute to spare. +Good-bye, Clancy! For God's sake write or wire me."</p> + +<p>"I'll let you know! I'll let you know the minute——" Peter's voice was +drowned by the roar of the engine as the car swung away.</p> + +<p>Down the broad road and through the great park gate the big car honked +and whirred. Past picturesque artists' cottages and white-painted +farmhouses it fled, and then, with slightly slackened pace, it rolled +between ugly ranks of mountain boarding houses, down to the busy, noisy +little station, where the train stood, panting to be gone.</p> + +<p>It was already in motion when Peter leaped upon the step, breathless, +without a ticket, but thanking his lucky stars that he was in time.</p> + +<p>The train was crowded, and Peter had to wedge himself in beside a fat, +jewelled lady, who ate frequently and copiously from greasy paper +packages all the way to the junction, but Peter did not even notice the +discomfort, so occupied was he with his own thoughts.</p> + +<p>They were briefly broken in upon when the conductor demanded a ticket, +but after Peter had paid for one, and ascertained that he would have +time to send a telegram from the junction, he relapsed again into +depths of intricate speculation.</p> + +<p>At the junction he sent a telegram to O'Malley:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Made peace with D. M. Returning to-night. May have to leave again at +once. Will call up if time.</p> + +<p class="ph3"><span class="smcap">Pete.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>He had considered telegraphing Morris from the same place, but had +decided against it.</p> + +<p>"I only have a hunch that I know where to look," he thought. "Better +not raise hopes till I'm sure. It's a damn shame to keep him in +suspense, but I don't see any other way.... No, I'll let it ride as is +for the present."</p> + +<p>The afternoon waned, the sun went down in a mass of soft clouds, and +night came stealing on. The train was badly lighted, but Peter did not +mind. He had no wish to read. He had plenty to occupy his mind, and +it did not matter to him that the train was not due until after ten +o'clock. What he had to do in town would better be done late at night.</p> + +<p>"Just so I get there before midnight," thought Peter, glancing, +absently, at his watch—"Nine-forty-five—Nine!——Why, we must be——"</p> + +<p>He had changed cars at the junction and had been able there to get +a window seat. It had become cold and damp after sunset, and he had +closed the window. Now he made a shadow, with his hand, upon the glass, +and looked out. He could see nothing; not a light or other sign of +human habitation, and suddenly he realized that the train was running +very slowly.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what's up?" he thought, slightly troubled but not yet +anxious. "Guess I'll see if I can find out."</p> + +<p>He stepped cautiously over the feet of an elderly man who was +slumbering noisily in the other half of the seat, made his way down the +dull and smoky aisle, and gained the platform. Stepping down one step, +he clung to the hand rail and leaned far out.</p> + +<p>Fog. Fog everywhere, thick and gray. The lights from the coaches fell +on it as on an opaque veil of floating gauze. Peter, cursing inwardly, +went forward into the smoking car. Here he found men hanging out of +open windows, looking down the track, and exchanging speculations. Just +then the conductor came through, a lantern swinging by his side.</p> + +<p>"What's up?" said Peter, addressing him anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Little foggy," said the conductor, passing rapidly forward.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he won't tell you nothing," said a man in the seat near which +Peter was standing. "They're always mum as an oyster when there's any +trouble. They say there's a wreck ahead."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my God!" ejaculated Peter, in a tone which was half profanity, +half prayer.</p> + +<p>He looked again at his watch. They were due in five minutes now, but +were still, obviously, far from their destination.</p> + +<p>"The doors will be closed at twelve o'clock," thought Peter, "and if +I'm too late——"</p> + +<p>Just then the train came to a grinding stop.</p> + +<p>Peter hurried to the door and down the steps. He paused on the bottom +one and, hanging on to the hand rail, swung out so that he could see +down the line.</p> + +<p>Ahead of the engine a red lantern bobbed along beside the track, close +to the ground. Still farther ahead another red light, apparently +suspended in mid air, winked through the mist. He could hear raised +voices in the smoking car behind him, and several men came out on +the platform, talking excitedly. Minutes passed and then, to Peter's +infinite satisfaction, in a breath, the light against the foggy sky +changed from red to green.</p> + +<p>"Thank God," said Peter, as, with the successive jerk of couplings, the +train moved slowly ahead.</p> + +<p>Peter regained his seat in an anxious frame of mind. He had reached +a point in his intricate problem where his impatient spirit could +brook no further delay. The train did not again come to a complete +standstill, but its progress through the fog was agonizingly slow. +Many times he looked at his watch, many times he shaded the glass of +the window to peer outside. The fog had changed to heavy mist, and it +became more and more difficult to form any idea as to where they were.</p> + +<p>And then, when it seemed as if time had ceased, and that a lost train +was wandering wearily through the fogs of the ages, a big arc light +flashed through the window—another, and another. Lighted windows were +all about. The train roared and rumbled into a cut, and Peter, with a +sigh of relief, realized that he was near his journey's end.</p> + +<p>He was the first person to alight from the train when it clanked +and hissed into the station. He stood on the forward deck of the +ferry boat, and impatiently watched the slowly nearing lights of the +great, dim city, wherein all his hopes were centred. He was the first +passenger to reach the rough block pavement of its streets, and in a +moment he was whirling through them as fast as, and perhaps faster +than, the traffic laws permit.</p> + +<p>He dismissed his cab at a dark corner of Washington Square, and once +more, a little before midnight, in a dripping mist, Peter crept along +the south side of Waverly Place.</p> + +<p>His soft whistle, twice repeated, brought the faithful Rawlins from the +shelter of a doorway.</p> + +<p>"Is it yourself, back again so soon, Mr. Clancy?" he asked, +superfluously. "And have you come to tell me that I can go home and to +bed this cheerful night, please God?"</p> + +<p>Peter ignored the question.</p> + +<p>"I'm in a hurry, Rawlins," he said, quickly. "Is the coast clear? I +want to go up to the apartment again."</p> + +<p>"You can chase yourself right along then," said Rawlins, promptly. "I +seen the dago go out half an hour ago, and he hasn't come back yet. If +you hustle——"</p> + +<p>Peter did not wait to hear more. He slipped across through the mist and +up the worn brown steps. He found the vestibule door open. The inner +door was closed but not locked. He was in time.</p> + +<p>Softly, soundlessly, he ascended the dim stairs, one flight, two +flights, three. Again he inserted his duplicate key in the lock, as he +had two nights before—only two nights, but what a difference there was +in the feeling with which he listened to the soft click of the lock as +the bolt threw back. Then it had been a forlorn hope. Now——</p> + +<p>He closed the door softly, and went without hesitation into the living +room, in the front, setting down his handbag just inside the door. +Again he pulled down the shades at the three big windows, but this +time there was no uncertainty in the movements which followed.</p> + +<p>Flashlight in hand, he went quickly over to the desk and turned on +the small electric lamp. Then, slipping the flash into his pocket, +he immediately crossed the room and took down with care the pile of +magazines which were in the corner of the top book-shelf.</p> + +<p>He carried them over to the desk, and in the light of the candle +lamp went through them, one by one. The pages passed swiftly through +his fingers with a soft, fluttering noise which sounded loud in the +stillness, but Peter did not hear it, so intent was he upon his odd +quest.</p> + +<p>He looked like a student, as he sat there at midnight, with bent head, +poring over the pile of magazines, but he read nothing. His swift +fingers turned the pages, one by one, without pause, until he came to +a place where an article had been cut away. Then he stopped, drew out +a little leather book from his pocket, and made an entry—the name and +date of the magazine and the number of the page. He did this with each +magazine in turn, working methodically down through the pile until all +were finished.</p> + +<p>"I may be a damfool," he said to himself, with a tired sigh as he +rose from his cramped position, and lifting the mass of magazines, +replaced them on the shelf. "If I am, I am. That's all. But it's a +bet, a good bet, Pete. Even that wise old Mrs. Rutherford thought +so—and we're not passing any of 'em up.... Now, let's see. There's +one thing more—may not be any use, but it's better to get the whole +dope now I'm on the spot. It was the <i>Planet</i>. I remember that, and +the date was—no, I'm not exactly sure—the twenty-fourth, or the +twenty-fifth—and I've no idea what page. Better make sure——"</p> + +<p>Peter never knew exactly why he turned out the light in the living room +then. Some habitual instinct of caution, perhaps. At any rate, he did +turn it out, and guided his steps by his flashlight only as he made his +way down the long, narrow hall to the storeroom.</p> + +<p>Here he proceeded again, swiftly, unhesitatingly. He lit the gas, and +dropped to his knees beside the big trunk. There was a faint jingle +as he selected a key from the big bunch which he took from his pocket +and inserted it in the lock, a click as the bolt was released. There +was not a sound when he carefully raised the lid and folded back the +garments on top, until he came to a bundle wrapped in newspaper.</p> + +<p>This he lifted out and looked again at the wrapping. "The <i>Planet</i>, +May twenty-fifth—and the page—the fourth page," he muttered. "This, +probably, has nothing to do with the case. There'd be likely to be +a notice of the closing of 'Dark Roads' that she'd have wanted to +keep—but, anyway, now I've got the whole bag of tricks—and that's all +I can do to-night, thank Heaven. Gee, but I'm tired!" He pushed his +hand up through his hair, tilting his hat, which he had not removed, +to an acute angle, and again he said, with feeling, "Thank Heaven, I'm +through!"</p> + +<p>Then he replaced the package and closed and locked the trunk. He had +just turned the key, and was still upon his knees, when his whole body +suddenly stiffened. With a spring, he was upon his feet, and with one +swift, soundless motion, he had turned out the light. Then he waited, +every muscle tense, listening.</p> + +<p>In the solid darkness, far away at the other end of the hall, he heard +the unmistakable sound of a key cautiously turned in a lock.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +</div> + +<h3>"<span class="smcap">Hands Up!</span>"</h3> + + +<p>There was silence, absolute silence, and darkness impenetrable. Peter +waited, breathless, listening, the one available sense sharpened to +preternatural acuteness.</p> + +<p>Then faintly, faintly he heard the outer door move on its hinges, heard +a tiny click as it closed again, was aware of a little gleam of light +stealing along the floor, and of stealthy footsteps, coming nearer and +nearer, as the light perceptibly increased.</p> + +<p>Inch by inch, without a sound, Peter crept behind the storeroom door. +His right hand closed firmly on the edge and he drew it toward him, +widening the crack between the door and the jamb sufficiently to be +able to see the midnight intruder, if he—or she—came that far along +the hall.</p> + +<p>Softly the cautious, secret footsteps continued their advance. The +light was a distinct ray now, and Peter drew back into the shadow, +keeping his eyes in a line with the narrow aperture. Then the light +became a small, blinding circle, and as it flashed away Peter caught a +dim glimpse of the figure behind it. The reflected light from the wall +brought out the whites of the eyes and, less distinctly, the features +of the face.</p> + +<p>Peter gave a little inward gasp of satisfaction. His right hand +slipped swiftly back, with an accustomed gesture, and when he brought +it forward again it was not empty. Silent and quick as a cat, he slid +around the edge of the door. Three long, noiseless steps—a ring of +cold steel pressed against a sweating neck, and:</p> + +<p>"Hands up, Angelo!"</p> + +<p>The voice was low and stern, filled with icy menace.</p> + +<p>There was a crash and a sobbing oath. Two trembling hands shot up into +the air and remained there, rigid, protesting mutely against any need +for violence.</p> + +<p>"Keep 'em up, and turn around," said Peter, in a fierce whisper, +pulling out his own strong flashlight to take the place of Angelo's +little, cheap one which had fallen to the floor. "So—it was you—you, +all the time, Angelo! I might have known. An inside job—yes, it was +an inside job, all right. I knew that from the start, and I've had you +watched all along. You hear! And now I've caught you—you!"</p> + +<p>The little Italian shook and shivered, blinking in the blinding +light, glancing fearfully from Peter's face to the small, blue-black +instrument of death which pointed so unerringly at his pounding heart.</p> + +<p>"Don' shoot! Don' shoot, Boss," he pleaded in a sobbing whisper. "Me do +noding, noding only justa lika you say! Oh, Santa Maria dell' Angeli, +put up dat damma gun!"</p> + +<p>Still fixing the trembling wretch with menacing eyes, Peter slowly +dropped his hand and slid his small automatic into the side pocket of +his coat.</p> + +<p>"I'll shoot you through my pocket if you make a move, Angelo," he +hissed. "And I'd rather do it than not, see! Make no mistake about +that. Now, come with me," and he seized the janitor roughly by the +wrist.</p> + +<p>"Ug-g-gh!" Angelo cringed and caught Peter's grasping hand with his +left. "Take hol' furder up," he begged. "Gotta da sore arm, me—ver' +bad."</p> + +<p>Peter loosened his fingers just enough to disclose a long, scarcely +healed cut across the inner side of the man's wrist. He looked sharply +at it and at Angelo, then shifted his hold higher on the forearm.</p> + +<p>"I don't know why you think I ought to be tender of your feelings, you +scoundrel," he said, gruffly. "But come in where we can get a light. +I want to have a heart-to-heart talk with you, you lying, thieving, +murdering——Hell! What's that?"</p> + +<p>As he turned, Peter's foot struck hard against something which lay upon +the floor.</p> + +<p>"Datta da silv'!" Angelo wailed, softly. "Come putta him back—me."</p> + +<p>"Pick it up and bring it in here," ordered Peter, sternly. "And don't +try any tricks. I warn you——"</p> + +<p>Obediently, the Italian stooped, and picking up a rather large package, +roughly wrapped in newspapers, preceded Peter to the dining room, where +Peter swiftly lit the gas.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Peter, "you sit there. And keep your hands above the table."</p> + +<p>He drew up a chair on the opposite side, and ostentatiously laid his +automatic close beside him upon the dusty mahogany.</p> + +<p>"Now, Angelo," he said, grimly, "you're going to tell me how you killed +Miss Mary Blake."</p> + +<p>"Ah, Jesus Maria!" cried the little Italian, in agony, lifting his +trembling, shaking hands in the air, and looking at Peter with staring, +panic-stricken eyes. "Me no killa! Me! Mees Mary she go 'way—sist' go +'way! Nobod' here. Nobod'! Me no killa nobod' no time!"</p> + +<p>Peter's eyes narrowed as he looked fixedly at the man's face.</p> + +<p>"Did she tell you she was going away?—Miss Mary, did she tell you?" he +asked, earnestly.</p> + +<p>Angelo nodded quickly, and then shook his head.</p> + +<p>"What does that mean?" asked Peter, angrily. "Yes or no? You're a liar +anyway, Angelo. You said you thought they were still here. Now which is +it? Yes or no?"</p> + +<p>"Non, no! Mees Mary' sist', she tella me—Mees Anne!"</p> + +<p>"And what did she tell you? Think carefully, Angelo. Your life depends +on what you say now. You've got to convince me that you didn't murder +one or both of them. I can send you to the chair if you don't, see! +Take your time, but tell me exactly what Miss Anne said."</p> + +<p>The little Italian, thus tenderly admonished, was a pitiful sight to +see. His brown face was a sickly colour, like that of cocoa with too +much milk in it. His forehead was covered with beads of perspiration to +which his dark hair clung when he removed the shaking hand which had +been pressed against it. His heart may have been in his throat, for he +gulped once or twice, spasmodically, before he spoke:</p> + +<p>"Tella you da trut' now, Boss, by da great San Michaelo an alla da +Ange'." He crossed himself fervently, and raised his tense hand high in +the air. "Tella da trut', now, sure! Tella da lie once, me—but no any +more. Dis da trut'. <i>Si. Si.</i>"</p> + +<p>He dropped his hand. Peter leaned forward, fixing him with unwinking +eyes.</p> + +<p>"All right," said Peter. "But you've got to make good this time, +understand. Come across with it. What did Miss Anne say, and when was +it?"</p> + +<p>"On Sunday morn', early, ver' early. Mees Anne she come down w'en me +wash vestabula. She say, 'Angelo, my sist' she go 'way las' night. +Me go to-day. May stay longa time. Da rent he is pay t'ree mont'. Me +fixa ev't'ing. No needa you go inna da flat. Ev't'ing alla righta.'" +He threw his hands out, palms upward. "An' dat alla she say. But she +no leava da house till five in da eve'. See her in tax' wit' bigga +da tronk. She go herself, an' sist' she go night before. Me no killa +eith' one, me! No! No! Believa me—no! Madre de Dio, Boss, me tella da +trut'!"</p> + +<p>"That sounds all right, Angelo. You say it easy," said Peter, still +glowering. "But I've only your word for it. And how about all that +blood we found, spilled around the apartment, and that big spot on Miss +Mary's scarf? How can you account for——"</p> + +<p>"Signore! Boss! Listen!" broke in the excited Italian. Jumping up from +his chair, he supported his trembling body with one hand, pressed flat +down, upon the table, while with the other he gesticulated wildly. "Me +tella you 'bout alla blood, how he come. He was alla from dis, from +dis!" He raised his right hand, and with the left struck the wounded +wrist rapidly, many times. "He cutta himself on wind' in kitch'."</p> + +<p>"On the window in the kitchen. That's a likely story," said Peter, in +apparent disgust. "Why, that was a month ago, Angelo. It would have +healed twice over in that time, if——"</p> + +<p>"Non. No!" Angelo interrupted, passionately. "He not come well. He stay +sick—all swella up. He hurta lika hell. I t'ink he punishmen'—<i>Si, +si!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Punishment for what, Angelo? If you didn't murder Miss Blake, what was +there to be punished for?"</p> + +<p>"Non. No!" Angelo reiterated the agitated disclaimer. "No murd'! No +murd'! Me tella da trut'!"</p> + +<p>"You said that before," said Peter, sternly.</p> + +<p>"Ye-ah, ye-ah! Alla right! Now I tella. See, Boss. Listen! Me gotta +sick wife. Maria. <i>Si, si.</i> She ver', ver' sick, longa time. Doc' say +she mus' go countree. Me no gotta da mon'—dat's easy. How me getta +da mon'? No good. Can do noding, me. Den, Boss, listen. Night before +Mees Anne an' Mees Mary go 'way me hava da dream—longa dream——" +His voice dropped, and his eyes were wide. "All inna da dream me see +nombre—7741. Jus' lika dat—7741.... Inna da morn' me tella Maria. She +say mus' be nombre for lot'——"</p> + +<p>"Lot?" asked Peter, frowning, and then, a light breaking—"Lottery—you +mean lottery?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Si! Si! Si!</i>" Many nods. "<i>Si</i>, lot'! Me t'ink lika Maria, ye-ah, +me t'ink lucky nombre! But," a shrug, "no gotta da mon'. Den, alla +same day, dat ver' same Sunday—Mees Anne, she go 'way.... Mees Anne +gone—sist' gone—me t'ink—lil' dev' whisp'—me bor' some lil' +t'ings—no steala, bor', see? I can—what you say?—pawna da silv', da +ringa, da necklace, da pin—an' bringa back w'en lucky nombre come, I +maka some mon', see?"</p> + +<p>"I see what you mean me to think," said Peter, gruffly. "Go on."</p> + +<p>"So-o—me come up here—late—alla dark, but me hava da lil' +flasha light, see? Come in—looka all 'roun'—in desk, in draw', +alla place.... Noding—no ringa, no necklace, no pin.... Come outa +here—fin' silv', lotta silv' in draw' an' onna da top. Me maka him in +bund', queek, queek! Me getta him all-read'! Den, presto, I t'ink—Mees +Blake, she come back—maybe somebod' come befora da lot' is draw. Who +gotta da key but Angelo? Den gotta fright', me, Boss. Gotta ver' bada +fright'.... T'ink, queek! queek!—me feex so dey t'ink t'ief, he come +fire-'scape. Sure. <i>Si, si</i>, ha! Go in kitch'—me slip queek over by +wind'—den! S-s-h! Me hear biga, longa ringa, downstair' on bell! Me +stop—listen. Know I mus' go down, queek!—Hava da big bun' of silv' +onna da arm!—What I do? All afraid dey catch Angelo! Mus' feex so dey +t'ink t'ief come from da outside, see?... Queek, queek—me smasha da +wind' right by da lock—so! Diavolo! feel cutta on da wris'. Grab him +queek—go run inna da hall. Me know he isa bleed', so pull outa da +bandan'—he red, so no can see da bleed—wind him roun' tight!—All I +do, fas', fas'—alla tima da bell ring——</p> + +<p>"I know it is da groun' floor. Dat lady, she alla time forgetta da +key—so I run down queek, an' leava da bun' in dark onna da stair.... +I go open da door—it is da groun' floor, lika I know—an' t'inka me +alla right now!—Santa Maria!" It was a bitter wail, and overcome by a +succession of troubles, the poor wretch laid his head down on the table +and sobbed.</p> + +<p>The grim austerity of Peter's face softened.</p> + +<p>"And what is this, Angelo?" he asked, touching the newspaper-wrapped +package which was lying beside him on the table.</p> + +<p>"Da silv', da silv'!" moaned Angelo, without raising his head. "Me +tella you, it was da silv'."</p> + +<p>Peter drew the package toward him and pulled off the string which held +it fast, disclosing a number of pieces of flat silver and a small +coffee service.</p> + +<p>"Is it all here?" asked Peter, quietly.</p> + +<p>The rough head upon the table moved up and down in assent.</p> + +<p>"But how did you get it back?" Peter's voice had taken a new tone. "I +thought you lost out when the lottery was drawn."</p> + +<p>Angelo was too far gone to notice this evidence of Peter's omniscience.</p> + +<p>"Playa da same nombre twice—two day'," muttered Angelo. "Firs' +day—lose; secon' day he come alla right, lika dream."</p> + +<p>"And as soon as you won you took the silver out of hock and brought it +back?"</p> + +<p>Again the silent nod.</p> + +<p>Peter sat back in his chair and looked for a long time at the rough, +bowed head. At last he spoke, and in his voice was a half-quizzical +kindliness.</p> + +<p>"You're a great rascal, Angelo, and a stupid fool to boot, and you've +made me a lot of trouble, dammit. But I believe you've told me the +truth at last——"</p> + +<p>Angelo raised his stricken head. A gleam of something like hope shone +in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Peter went on, "I believe you've told me the truth, and I +will say it's helped to clear things up. But now, listen. One thing +more—how did Miss Blake's scarf come to be stained with blood, and +how did it happen to be just where we found it?" Peter was thinking +aloud more than he was addressing Angelo. "It fell down behind the +trunk, and nobody noticed it. The cabman pulled it along the hall when +it caught on the bottom of the trunk, and he shook, or kicked it loose, +just at the hall door.... And afterward, that same night, you chanced +to walk over it, and it must have caught—that sort of soft, fringy +thing would catch on anything—a rough place on your shoe, perhaps.... +You dragged it across the sill, and when the door shut, it held the +scarf fast.... But the blood on it? If you bound up your wrist I don't +quite see——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Si, si!</i>" cried Angelo. "But looka, looka, Boss. Listen! Me feex da +bandan' 'roun' him—so, an' hol' him fas', but w'en I comma to da door, +mus' use bot' han', see? Lika dis——" He made the motion of turning +two knobs at once, and Peter remembered that it was necessary to do +this in order to open the hall door. "I mus' let him go, an' da blood, +he jumpa out an' fall onna da door. You showa me da place, Boss! You no +remember?"</p> + +<p>"And it fell on the scarf just below," Peter nodded, slowly. "Yes, I +see. I guess that's right, Angelo. I guess that explains—well, and +that's that," he added, rising to his feet. "Put the silver back where +you found it, Angelo—so—that the way it was? All right. Now," he laid +his hand heavily on the Italian's shoulder, "come with me."</p> + +<p>Angelo drew a deep sigh, and slowly twisted his head to look up into +Peter's face. What he saw there caused him to start—to cry out—and +then, with head bent before the array of silver he had been honest +enough to redeem, to sob out his heart in a long string of thankful, +reverent profanity.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">A High Wall</span></h3> + + +<p>The doors of the great columned façade of the New York Public Library +were scarcely opened, on the following day, when a young man with eager +Irish blue eyes and very red hair might have been, and probably was, +seen, at least by the doorkeeper, making his way toward the Periodical +Room.</p> + +<p>Probably, too, he was remembered for some little time by the young +librarian in charge of the magazines, for not only was he of +exceptionally pleasant address, but his wants, though definite, were +astonishingly varied.</p> + +<p>He spent some time in going over the magazines which were brought to +him, made several notes in a little worn leather-covered book, and +once, when he referred back to places he had marked with cards in two +previously examined periodicals, and compared them with the one in his +hand, there was a gleam of satisfaction, triumph, perhaps, in his eye.</p> + +<p>At last he rose, and passing into the newspaper department, consulted a +file of the New York <i>Planet</i> for May. After that he left the library +and proceeded, as rapidly as possible, to a small office building near +Broadway, where the sign "Clancy and O'Malley" was modestly displayed +in bronze upon the side post of the entrance.</p> + +<p>"Well, O'Malley," said Peter, plunging into his partner's private +office, "I've had one hell of a time!"</p> + +<p>"That so?" said the old man, looking up with a hearty, welcoming glance +into the face of his young colleague. "I got your wire, Pete. Glad you +fixed it up with Morris. Sit down, lad, and tell me all about it."</p> + +<p>"Gee, O'Malley, I'd like to," said Peter, wearily, "but I can't tell +yet whether I'll have the time. Oh, there you are, Jack," he broke +off as a boy came into the room with several time-tables in his hand. +"That's quick work, son. Now, let's see——"</p> + +<p>He dropped down upon a chair beside the desk, and began running through +the time-tables at a rapid rate.</p> + +<p>"Are you off again, Pete?" asked O'Malley, anxiously. "You look done +up, boy. I know your wire said that you might have to——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and it spoke the truth," said Peter, hurriedly. "I've got to get +the next train for Chicago that will connect with one going down to +Cordenham. Cordenham," he repeated, running his finger down a column of +names. "Here we are—Cordenham——"</p> + +<p>"For the love of Mike, Peter," said O'Malley, "what the devil, and +where the devil is Cordenham?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know yet what the devil it may turn out to be," said Peter, +still intent on the time-table, "but Cordenham is a little place +somewhere south of Chicago—and it's destined to be famous one of +these days if what I've learned this morning turns out to be true. You +can take it from me——Oh—leave Chicago," he was reading now, "leave +Chicago one-twenty-six, arrive Cordenham four-seventeen. That can't be +right—nearly three hours—yes, it is. Leave Chicago one-twenty-six, +arrive Cordenham four-seventeen. Gee! Must be a rotten little road.... +I say, O'Malley, how would you rather go to Chicago?"</p> + +<p>"In a coffin," replied the confirmed and prejudiced New Yorker, +promptly.</p> + +<p>Peter chuckled. "No, but I mean it, O'Malley. Which is the best train?"</p> + +<p>"The one that takes longest to go and the one that's quickest coming +back," answered O'Malley, and Peter was forced to decide his route from +his own, more limited experience.</p> + +<p>He chose a train which left the Pennsylvania Station at eleven o'clock, +and reached Chicago at nine on the following morning. This would give +him ample leeway, in case the Western train was late, to make the +connection for Cordenham. After his last night's experience he wished +to run no risk.</p> + +<p>When he had made his decision, he threw the time-tables down on the +desk and turned to his partner.</p> + +<p>"I only have a little time, O'Malley," he said, "but I want to put you +wise to something I turned up last night. It was a peach of a piece of +luck, and explains a lot, as you'll see for yourself."</p> + +<p>And he proceeded rapidly to relate the story of his having surprised +Angelo in Miss Blake's apartment.</p> + +<p>"I put the screws on him after I'd caught him," Peter said. "You may be +sure of that, O'Malley. I made him believe that I thought he'd murdered +one or both of the sisters."</p> + +<p>"But you couldn't have thought that, Peter," interrupted O'Malley, +quickly.</p> + +<p>"No, of course not," answered Peter, readily. "I sized the situation up +pretty well, from the minute he told me there was silver in the bundle +he was carrying. But I wanted to get the dope straight, and the best +way, of course, was to scare him into it, poor devil." Then he went +on to tell of Angelo's confession. "I let him off easy," he said, in +conclusion, "what else could I do, O'Malley? If either of us had a wife +who was desperately ill, and we needed the money for her—well, all I +said to him was, 'It's a poor bet, Angelo. Nobody gets away with it for +long. Promise me you'll never try it on again.' And he promised by all +the saints in the calendar.... And that was that."</p> + +<p>O'Malley was silent for a moment when Peter had finished. Then he said:</p> + +<p>"So—our murder theory's knocked into a cocked hat. At least it seems +that way to me, Pete. Doesn't it to you?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Peter, eyeing his partner meditatively, "you mustn't +forget that the only person seen to leave the apartment took with +her a big trunk. That the large sum at the bank could be drawn out by +Anne as well as by Mary—that, apparently, only Anne's clothes are +gone—oh—and all the rest of it. We've only solved the one problem, +that is, as to why there was blood in several places in the apartment +and why the rooms were all upset."</p> + +<p>"Do you believe Angelo's story, Pete?" asked O'Malley, earnestly.</p> + +<p>"I do." The answer was sharp and to the point. "I think even an old +hand like you, O'Malley, would have been convinced. I think you may +take it for granted that the only blood spilled was Angelo's.... Now, +where do you go from there?"</p> + +<p>"Are you kidding me, Pete?" asked O'Malley, with a little twinkle in +his sharp old eyes. "Are you trying to draw me so as to get the laugh +on the old man? Have you got something new, boy?" eagerly. "You have, I +can see it in your eye! What is it, Pete? What——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, lord!" After a hasty glance at his watch Peter had jumped to his +feet. "I've got to clear out this minute, O'Malley," he said. "I've +just time to get my ticket and catch the train. Send up a prayer that +I'll get a night's rest on the train, if you think you have any pull +up above, for I need it, old top. Yes, I was kidding you." He laid his +hand on the old man's broad shoulder. "I've got something, and I think +it's good, but I can't tell you till I'm sure. It may be a pipe dream, +after all. And, anyway, I can't stop now. Good-bye, old scout. Wish me +luck."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye and good luck, Pete," said O'Malley, gravely, as their hands +met. "I'll be thinking about you, boy. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>He turned back when Peter, in his tumultuous exit, slammed the door.</p> + +<p>"Youth," he said, shaking his gray head. "Youth and courage—and +brains—brains!"</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>A day and a night and almost another day passed uneventfully for +Captain O'Malley. For Peter the time was marked only by the click +and rumble of swiftly moving wheels, the roaring and shrieking of +the train; a few hours' respite in Chicago, and then on again, more +slowly and with lessened comfort, in the dingy, red plush-covered seat +of a day coach, counting the little stations as they passed—and, at +last—Cordenham.</p> + +<p>At the tiny way-station he alighted from the train and proceeded to +make his inquiries.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. You can find it easy enough," said the old expressman in +answer to Peter's question, eyeing him a trifle curiously, Peter +thought. "It's about half a mile straight down the road. You'll know it +by the high wall all 'round the place. The old Mayhew place, we calls +it. It was a crank of an Englishman that built it. He died a spell ago. +But you'll know it by the stone wall. You can't miss it. It's only +about half a mile, and ask for the Mayhew place. Anybody can tell you."</p> + +<p>With these explicit directions Peter set off down the flat and lonely +road. The day had been hot and breathless, but now, in the early +evening, a cooling breeze was springing up, rippling the fields of +standing grain and rustling in the trees along the dusty road. Peter +bared his head to the refreshing air, and strode forward with swift and +determined steps.</p> + +<p>He passed few houses along the way, and fewer people. One of these, a +bright-looking boy, in torn overalls, he stopped and asked if he was on +the right road to the Mayhew place.</p> + +<p>The answer was a nod and a pointing finger, and the boy passed on, +kicking up the soft dust with his bare feet.</p> + +<p>Just after this Peter crossed a wooden bridge over a thread of water +running between wide, eroded banks, and came to a small, dark wood. +The wood passed, he came suddenly upon a long stretch of high stone +wall, incongruous in such a setting, and behind the wall, at some +little distance, he could see the top of an old stone house which +appeared more incongruous still, for it was on the lines of an old +English castle, with high, crenelated walls. On the top of the roof, +most incongruous of all, was a modern super-structure, largely of +glass, and, as Peter looked, a strange, brilliant light of a queer +bluish purple flared out through the windows—died down—flared once +again—and was gone.</p> + +<p>Peter muttered something to himself, and went on along the wall, +stopping quietly on the closely trimmed grass which lay between it +and the road. Soon he came to a closed gate, a high gate of heavy +wrought-iron work. He paused here only long enough to look down a +well-kept driveway shaded with dark trees and thickly planted with +shrubbery. There was not a soul in sight. Then he continued on about +five hundred feet to the visible end of the wall.</p> + +<p>He had hoped that the wall had simply been built to ensure privacy from +the road, as is the case in so many American homes, but he found, to +his disappointment, that the wall continued at right angles, probably +enclosing the entire estate.</p> + +<p>Peter was rather at a loss how to proceed. He had wished, if possible, +to make sure of one point before coming out into the open, and the +height of the wall bade fair to defeat even the possibility of +accomplishing his purpose.</p> + +<p>He stood for a moment at the corner thinking how best to proceed. As +he glanced about him, he noticed a rough though well-worn path leading +away from the road and, following the turn of the wall, through a wood +of tall trees and thick underbrush.</p> + +<p>"I'll take a chance," thought Peter, and quietly entered the path.</p> + +<p>He had walked far enough to be certain, though he could not see it, +that he had passed the house, when suddenly he came to a stop. On the +other side of the wall he could hear voices. Two women's voices he +made them out to be, though he could not hear the words. It was the +first sign of life he had found around the odd, lonely place.</p> + +<p>"I <i>will</i> have a look in," he thought, determinedly, and glancing +swiftly about, he saw a tree tall enough and near enough to the wall +for his purpose.</p> + +<p>Quick and light as a panther, he was up among the leafy branches in +a second. He had chosen well; for below him, clear to view, were the +lawns and garden of the queer old house.</p> + +<p>Just beneath, to the left of the tree he had chosen, were the two +women whose voices he had heard. One was dressed in the crisp white +of a nurse. The other Peter could not see well, for she was in a +wheel chair, the back of which was toward the wall. He could hear +the voices a little more distinctly now, though the words were +still indistinguishable. The nurse's voice had the usual cheerful +professional ring, the other spoke in a high, thin, "society" drawl. +Both voices dimmed as the women moved slowly away across the lawn.</p> + +<p>"Nothing doing," thought Peter to himself, and immediately losing +interest in the couple who had been so near him his quick eyes roamed +farther afield.</p> + +<p>On the lawns and about the garden, gay with flowers, several other +figures moved. They were mostly in couples, a nurse, and with her +another woman, some walking about and some being wheeled in chairs.</p> + +<p>At some distance from the rest one woman walked alone, a slender figure +dressed in black. She walked swiftly, with long, even, purposeful +steps. She was opposite the house and moving away from Peter when he +first saw her. The instant he caught sight of her there was no one else +in all the grounds for Peter. His eyes followed her every movement. +She reached the shrubbery which closed the view on the opposite side +of the lawn. Peter held his breath. Would she enter the shrubbery and +disappear from sight? No. She had turned, and was coming slowly toward +him.</p> + +<p>When the dark figure again reached the house, Peter had another bad +moment, but, without pause, like one who paces a deck for exercise, the +woman rapidly advanced. Nearer and nearer she came. Now she skirted the +end of a flower bed and was on the lawn just beneath Peter's tree.</p> + +<p>In his excitement, Peter's foot slipped a little, and a small, dead +branch broke with a sharp snap. The woman looked up—and Peter +knew—knew without shadow of doubt, that he was looking into the face +of the woman he had so long and so earnestly sought—the woman who +called herself—Anne Blake.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Woman Shultze</span></h3> + + +<p>The hours which followed Peter's abrupt and unexpected departure from +Fennimore Park passed long and heavily for Donald Morris. He waited +for nearly twenty-four hours, hoping to get a wire, and all the while, +though he was physically better for the change, his mind chafed at his +distance from the scene of action.</p> + +<p>Soon after Peter had gone Morris had motored up the hill to Mrs. +Rutherford's cottage, only to be told that she was suffering from a bad +headache and had gone to bed. In the morning he had called her up on +the telephone, to inquire as to her health, and to ask if he might see +her, but found, to his great surprise, that she had gone to town on the +morning train.</p> + +<p>Disappointed and anxious, he felt that he could stand it no longer. The +momentary collapse, of which his sister had taken advantage to get him +away from town for a time, was practically over. He felt considerably +better, but the uncertainty and inaction, combined with Peter's odd +behaviour and Mrs. Rutherford's sudden return to New York, made him +feel that he must follow them. He had no means of knowing that Clancy +was no longer there. He hoped to see him not later than that evening, +for he had determined to take the noon train from Tollenville.</p> + +<p>"I'll be just as comfortable at home as I am here, Helena," he said, +when she remonstrated with him. "I'm taking Hobbs back with me and +he'll look out for me as well as you could. Don't worry, dear, I'll be +much better off at home."</p> + +<p>He kissed her, gently, and went out to the car which was already +waiting to take him to the train.</p> + +<p>On the evening of the day, then, when Peter arrived at Cordenham, but +at a somewhat later hour, Donald Morris reached New York. Late as it +was, his first action on arriving was to call Peter's office on the +telephone, and he was lucky enough to find O'Malley still there.</p> + +<p>The old man told him briefly of Peter's sudden departure from the city, +and added:</p> + +<p>"He was in a devil of a rush, and I don't, myself, know what he's up +to, Mr. Morris. But he did give me some information which I think would +interest you. I've got to go out just now, but I'll be back here by +eight o'clock. Lot of work I must make up—and if you could find it +convenient to come over after dinner—or I'll come to your house——"</p> + +<p>"No, no. I'll come to you," said Morris, hastily. "I can, perfectly +well, and I think I'd rather be there than anywhere else. Clancy +probably thinks I'm still at Fennimore Park, and you'll be likely to +get any news there is before I would. I'll come over a little after +eight. It's good of you to take the time——"</p> + +<p>"Not at all, not at all," said O'Malley, cordially. "Wish I had some +real good news for you—not that this isn't good, as far as it goes——"</p> + +<p>Donald therefore made ready to leave his sister's house in Gramercy +Park a little before eight that evening. Somewhat encouraged by +O'Malley's cheerful tone, and the fact that news, good news as far as +it went, awaited him, he had dined with more appetite than he had known +for several days. As the hands of the tall clock in the hall marked the +hour of seven-forty-five, having noted from his window that the taxi he +had summoned to take him to O'Malley's office was already drawn up at +the curb, he descended the stairs from his room, expecting to leave the +house at once.</p> + +<p>He had seen the cabman run up the steps, and after a short colloquy +with someone at the door, return to his cab. He was surprised, +therefore, as he passed his sister's apartments on the second floor, to +hear the sound of voices in the hall below. Since he had dismissed his +valet for the night, he knew that, besides himself, there was no one +in the house except an old coloured woman who had been in the family +for two generations, and who always took charge of the house when the +family were away for the summer.</p> + +<p>Fearing that it might be a casual friend who would detain him, Donald +waited, out of sight, in the upper hall, until he could determine +who the unexpected caller might be. As he paused to listen, he heard +Susan's soft old voice:</p> + +<p>"I don' think you can see Mistah Morris to-night," it said. "He jus' +goin' out."</p> + +<p>"But I must see him." It was a woman's voice, sharp, thin, and nasal. +"He'll want to see me when he knows who I come from. You tell him, and +tell him quick, that there's a lady here waiting to see him that can +tell him something he wants, most particular, to know. Tell him that I +seen the piece in the paper Monday and that I know where the lady is. +You tell him that, and——"</p> + +<p>"It's all right, Susan," cried Donald, running swiftly down the stairs. +"I'll see her. Just go out and tell the cabman to wait, please." As +Susan quietly disappeared, he spoke quickly, breathlessly, to the other +woman. "Come in here," he said, leading the way into a small, formal +reception room at the right of the hall, and switching on the lights as +he entered.</p> + +<p>The woman followed obediently. She was a large, stout, middle-aged +person, dressed elaborately in a cheap imitation of the latest mode. +There were many gaudy rings on her ungloved hands, and in her ears +were earrings of such size and weight as to make one fear for her +equilibrium should she lose one of them. Her face, which must once +have been handsome in a common way, was slack-skinned and puffy, and +covered heavily with powder and rouge. As she walked, her fluttering, +scanty garments exhaled a heavy perfume.</p> + +<p>Donald was too much excited to be seriously affected by her +unprepossessing appearance.</p> + +<p>"Please sit down," he said, quickly, "and tell me what you have to say."</p> + +<p>She sank luxuriously into a soft-cushioned chair, and with a keen, +observant eye took in her surroundings and the appearance of the man +who remained standing before her.</p> + +<p>"You're Mr. Morris—Mr. Donald Morris?" she asked, looking sharply up +at him. "Yes. Well, then, I'll tell you—and if there's anything in +it——"</p> + +<p>"There'll be something in it for you," Donald hastily assured her, "if +you can give me the information I'm looking for."</p> + +<p>"How much?" asked the woman, tersely. Her eyes were little points of +avaricious light.</p> + +<p>Donald recoiled a little, and hesitated. The woman, keenly observant, +hastened to retrieve her mistake.</p> + +<p>"Not that I care for myself," she said, softening her nasal voice. +"It's the poor thing I'm thinking of. She needs care and attention +that I can't afford to give her, but if some of her friends would come +across I could do for her as any one would wish to, the poor, beautiful +young thing."</p> + +<p>"Of whom are you speaking?" asked Donald, rendered somewhat cautious, +in spite of his keen desire to hear more.</p> + +<p>"Why, you know, of course, Mr. Morris. Who would I be speaking of to +you like this? It's Miss Mary Blake I'm talking about, though I wasn't +sure, myself, at first, and never would have known at all, if it hadn't +been for that piece in the paper."</p> + +<p>"Mary! Miss Blake?" cried Donald, starting forward. "Do you mean to +tell me you really know where she is?"</p> + +<p>"I certainly do, Mr. Morris," said the woman, confidently. "Why, she's +been in my house for about a month now. She come the first of June, or +a day or two before."</p> + +<p>"Mary!" muttered Donald to himself. "Here, all this time we've been +looking—hunting the country over——" Aloud he said, eagerly: "And +she's there now?"</p> + +<p>"She is that, Mr. Morris. I come straight from her."</p> + +<p>"Did she send you to me?" The question was anxious, but filled with +wondering hope.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the woman, slightly evasive, "you can't exactly say she +sent me. Not exactly. But she'll be all right when she sees you—I'm +sure of that."</p> + +<p>"All right?" asked Donald, quickly. "What do you mean by 'all right'? +Is she ill? Is anything the matter——"</p> + +<p>"Now, now, don't get excited, Mr. Morris," she interrupted, +soothingly. "She's all right. She's well and comfortable. Just a little +queer, maybe, but nothing to speak of, and when she sees you——"</p> + +<p>"But I don't understand——" Morris began, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"No, probably you don't, and I'd better tell you the whole story," said +the woman, easily. "I'd better spill the whole dope, and then you'll +see just how the land lays."</p> + +<p>Donald sank into a chair near by and the woman, leaning forward, spoke +confidentially:</p> + +<p>"My name's Shultze, Mrs. Gertrude Shultze, though all my friends call +me 'Trudie'," she said, in what she evidently considered a society +manner. "I keep a very classy boarding house for ladies and gentlemen +at 111 West Forty —— Street. Well, that's me. Now, about the first +of June, a young lady comes to my house, a very beautiful young lady, +I think you'll agree, Mr. Morris. She's very quiet, respectable, and +ladylike"—Donald shuddered—"keeps herself to herself, and at first +she paid right along, as a real lady should. I thought, from the +start-off, that her manner was a bit strange, but I didn't really begin +to notice nothing till just a week or so ago. I hadn't seen much of +her, to tell you the truth, Mr. Morris, for the simple reason that +she paid to have her meals sent up until a short time ago, and after +that, she only took the room, and had her meals out, I suppose, though +I never seen her go out that I can remember, but, of course, I'm that +busy what with all the gentlemen taking up my time and that——"</p> + +<p>Donald was frowning heavily. His interruption was rather brusque:</p> + +<p>"What name did this young lady give when she came to your house, +Mrs.—Mrs. Shultze?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, didn't I tell you? She gave the name of Curwood."</p> + +<p>Donald caught his breath. "Curwood?" he asked, sharply, and, +remembering the name Clancy had discovered at Hobart Falls, he repeated +it again—"Curwood."</p> + +<p>"Of course I'm aware now that it wasn't her real name," the woman went +on, knowingly. "As soon as I seen her photo in the paper, it set me +thinking. I couldn't get it out of me head, and the more I thought, the +surer I was. But this child don't go off half-cocked, believe me! So, +thinks I to myself, I know a place where they sells pictures of actors +and actresses, and I slipped over to Broadway this very afternoon, and +I buys three of Mary Blake, all different views. I studies 'em, you +may be sure, and when I goes up to see if she can come across with the +bit of money she's owing me, I give her the once-over—and there ain't +no doubt left in my mind. There couldn't be. It's Miss Mary Blake, all +right, all right"—confidently. "You can put all your money on that +horse, Mr. Morris."</p> + +<p>Donald Morris shut his teeth together. He could not bear to think +what this month had been to Mary, shut up in the sort of house this +woman would have. Why had she hidden there? What reason could there +have been? As to her identity, he had no doubt. The woman, Shultze, +was sharp and keen enough—and there was the name—Curwood. It was an +unusual name, and Clancy was sure that his information was correct. No. +There could be no doubt.</p> + +<p>It was horrible to his sensitive nature to be obliged to make use of +this woman, but he saw no other way. Something she had said——</p> + +<p>"I think you told me you noticed something strange in the lady's +manner, Mrs. Shultze." His voice was abrupt though he strove to speak +in his usual tone. "Just what did you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>"Why," the woman hesitated slightly, though Donald was under the +impression that she was not trying to be evasive, "I don't quite know +how to put it, Mr. Morris, but between friends, it seemed to me that +Miss Blake—or Miss Curwood, as she calls herself—has kind of—lost +her memory."</p> + +<p>"Just how do you mean?" asked Donald, groaning inwardly. If the woman +was right, if Mary's mind were affected——</p> + +<p>"She doesn't even seem to remember who I am," answered Mrs. Shultze, +quickly. "And when I asked who her friends were, and if some of +'em mightn't stake her for awhile, she looked at me, kind of +blank-like, and she says, putting her hand to her head, like this, +'Friends—friends? I don't believe I have a friend in the world.' And +you know, Mr. Morris, that's all nonsense. Of course a young lady like +her's bound to have all the friends she wants. And then, when I found +out who she was, why, 'twas only natural I should come to the gentleman +the paper mentioned, thinking that any one that knew the poor thing +would be glad to help her. But, if you don't see your way to that," her +raised eyebrows and lifted chin were slightly aggressive, "why, the +paper give the name of her manager, Mr. Frederick Jones, and I can go +to him. I don't believe he's no tightwad, and I guess——"</p> + +<p>Donald Morris leaped to his feet. His subsequent actions were almost +automatic, so poignant were his emotions.</p> + +<p>"Wait one moment, Mrs. Shultze," he said, hurriedly. "I'll go with you +at once. Just wait one moment."</p> + +<p>He dashed through the hall and into a big library at the back of the +house. Seating himself at a telephone desk, he called O'Malley. When +the connection was made:</p> + +<p>"I can't come to your office to-night, Captain O'Malley." He spoke +rapidly, and the old man at the other end of the wire caught the +excitement in his tone.</p> + +<p>"Why, what's up, Mr. Morris?" he asked, quickly.</p> + +<p>"I know where Miss Blake is, O'Malley," Donald cried. "She's staying +with a woman who's here in the house now. I'm going to her at once. +I——"</p> + +<p>"Don't you want me to go with you, Mr. Morris? I can as well as not, +and I'll keep in the background if you say so. Don't you think it would +be advisable? Where is she?"</p> + +<p>"The address is 111 West Forty —— Street...." O'Malley whistled under +his breath, but Donald did not hear him. "I don't quite know——" He +hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Pick me up at the northwest corner of Broadway and Thirty-ninth +Street," said O'Malley, crisply. "I'll be there before you are and it +won't cause any delay. If you don't need me, I'll just stay in the cab."</p> + +<p>"All right, O'Malley. I think I'll be glad to have you along," Donald +agreed, and with a caution born of his estimate of Mrs. Gertrude +Shultze, he added, swiftly, "Don't mention your—your profession before +the person you'll find in the cab with me. I'll say you're a friend of +Miss Blake's."</p> + +<p>"I'm on," said O'Malley, briefly, and Morris hung up the receiver.</p> + +<p>He went swiftly back to the reception room.</p> + +<p>"I'm ready, Mrs. Shultze," he said.</p> + +<p>The woman gave him a long, calculating glance, and followed to the +waiting cab.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">111 West Forty —— Street</span></h3> + + +<p>Gertrude Shultze listened attentively while Donald instructed the +cabman to go to number 111 West Forty —— Street, but to stop on +the way and pick up another passenger on the northwest corner of +Thirty-ninth Street. She looked at him shrewdly from the corner of her +eye as the cab started forward, and after a moment she said:</p> + +<p>"Who's your friend, Mr. Morris? I shouldn't think Miss Blake would be +any too crazy to have a crowd——"</p> + +<p>"It's a friend of Miss Blake's," said Morris, shortly. "Someone who is +almost as interested in finding her as I am."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the woman, and remained silent for several minutes, much to +Donald's relief.</p> + +<p>She started talking again (it was obvious that she could not be +silent for long), but she said nothing of any consequence to Donald. +Her chatter annoyed him because it gave him no time to think, and he +was relieved when he saw O'Malley's bulky old figure standing at the +appointed place.</p> + +<p>O'Malley jumped in, with surprising agility for one of his age and +figure, almost before the cab came to a standstill, and after being +introduced to Mrs. Shultze, he bore the brunt of the conversation. Even +then, Donald had little opportunity for concentrated thought for his +attention was distracted by the clever way in which the old man drew +the woman out, making an excellent impression by the interest he showed +in her personal concerns. The adaptable old fellow had no difficulty, +apparently, in meeting her on her own ground, and in the few minutes +which elapsed before the cab stopped in front of her house he had +gained such headway that she made no difficulty whatever about his +accompanying Mr. Morris.</p> + +<p>With her own latch-key she opened the door of the big, somewhat shabby +house, and requested the gentlemen to follow her upstairs.</p> + +<p>Donald hesitated to go up unannounced, but she imperatively overruled +his objections.</p> + +<p>"Your best bet is to go in sudden, Mr. Morris," she said. "It may be a +shock, but if you ask me, I think a shock is just what the poor thing +needs."</p> + +<p>O'Malley cast a sharp, questioning look from one to the other, and +Mrs. Shultze told him at once of Miss Blake's loss of memory. When he +understood:</p> + +<p>"I think she's right, Mr. Morris," he said. "I've had some +experience—I mean I've seen a case of this sort, and it was just the +shock of seeing someone well known in the past that brought the memory +back. It's worth trying."</p> + +<p>Donald agreed to that, and all three, Mrs. Shultze in the lead, went +up the heavily carpeted, dusty stairs. When they reached the top floor, +she pointed to a door and placing her finger on her lips, knocked +softly.</p> + +<p>"Who's there?"</p> + +<p>Donald started forward at the sound of the voice within the room. +O'Malley put his hand on Donald's arm.</p> + +<p>"Wait," he said, in a low whisper.</p> + +<p>"It's only me, dearie," said Mrs. Shultze in honeyed accents. She tried +the door, and finding it locked, added more sweetly still, "Won't you +let me in?"</p> + +<p>There was no answer except the sound of a key turning in a lock. Mrs. +Shultze cast a warning glance at the two men, opened the door and +stepped quickly inside, leaving it ajar.</p> + +<p>"How are you to-night, dearie?"</p> + +<p>"I'm very well, I think. I'm not sure. What is it you want? You've been +here before about something, but what is it, I can't remember."</p> + +<p>At the first words Donald started again, convulsively. He stepped close +to the door and listened intently to that voice, that beloved voice, +now so uncertain, so strangely altered, yet the same—the same.</p> + +<p>"Oh, forget it, dearie," Mrs. Shultze had responded at once, with +exaggerated cheerfulness. "We won't talk about that now. I've brought a +friend to see you, sweetie. That's the way little Trudie looks out for +them she takes a fancy to. I've brought an old friend——" There was a +low murmur and the woman, evidently replying to it, said: "You look all +right, dearie. He won't mind." Donald knew that she had turned toward +the door, for her voice was louder as she added, "Come in, Mr. Morris."</p> + +<p>"I'll stay here," whispered O'Malley in Donald's ear. "Leave the door +open. I'll keep out of sight."</p> + +<p>Scarcely hearing, with heart beating wildly, Donald pushed open the +door.</p> + +<p>"Mary," he cried, chokingly. "Mary! At last!"</p> + +<p>She was seated on the other side of a small table, leaning slightly +forward, her cheek resting on her right hand, in a position poignantly +familiar; but the exquisite face—oh, how changed and ravaged it was! +Only the great, gold-gray eyes burned with the old fire.</p> + +<p>Donald cried out again, "Mary!" and threw himself on his knees beside +her. Mrs. Shultze, keeping herself well in the background, watched with +calculating eyes.</p> + +<p>O'Malley, in the hall, saw the woman at the table draw back, turning +sidewise in her chair.</p> + +<p>"I—I don't understand——" The voice was sweet, low, and troubled, +"Ought I to know you? I can't think——" She passed her hand across her +forehead, pushing back the lovely curves of soft dark hair.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mary," there was heart-break in the tone, "don't you remember? +It's Donald. Donald. You must——"</p> + +<p>"I can't remember," she said, gently drawing her rather worn silk +négligée closer about her. "There was someone—someone once, who spoke +to me like that.... But it was long ago—long ago, I think." She looked +at the upturned face steadily, trying to thread her way back through +the darkness of her mind. "Who was it? There have been so many—so +many faces.... They come and go—in dreams—but they have no names.... +They're like scenes in a play. The curtain comes down ... and it's all +dark—all dark——" The beautiful voice trailed off into silence, and +again she dropped her cheek on her hand.</p> + +<p>"But, Mary, Mary——" Donald strove, in agony, to regain her attention +by the reiteration of her name.</p> + +<p>She roused herself a little, and looked at him again.</p> + +<p>"Why do you call me that?" she asked, confusedly. "My name is Rosamond, +Rosamond Curwood."</p> + +<p>"I know, dear," he replied, gently. "But you were called Mary on the +stage. Try to remember. Mary Blake. That was the name you used. Can't +you——"</p> + +<p>She shook her head, slowly, wearily.</p> + +<p>"Don't—don't confuse me," she said. "I can remember that my name is +Rosamond Curwood. It's all I can remember. Don't take that away from +me."</p> + +<p>But Donald could not give up. Again and again he tried to call back to +her remembrance something out of the past. But she only shook her head, +blankly, becoming more and more troubled and uncertain, until at last +he dared not go on. With a hopeless gesture he rose to his feet, and +before he had reached the door, she had relapsed into the old position, +her eyes staring absently before her.</p> + +<p>In passing, Donald made a sign to Mrs. Shultze, and together they left +the room, softly closing the door upon the sad and apparently hopeless +figure.</p> + +<p>Without a word, O'Malley put his kind old hand under Morris's arm, and +realizing the young man's need of physical as well as moral support, he +led him quickly down the stairs, Mrs. Shultze following close behind.</p> + +<p>As soon as they reached the ground floor O'Malley said:</p> + +<p>"There's just one thing to be done, Mr. Morris, and the quicker, +the better. What we want is a doctor—an alienist"—he felt Donald +wince—"I know it's hard, but it's got to be faced. And you know +there's always hope in a case of this kind. Most of 'em recover sooner +or later, I think. But we want a specialist, the best in town, and I +would suggest——"</p> + +<p>"Stevens," Donald interrupted, with eagerness. "I'd rather have John +Stevens than any one else."</p> + +<p>"The very man I was thinking of," agreed O'Malley. "There's nobody like +him in the country."</p> + +<p>"And he's a personal friend of mine, too," said Donald. "There's hardly +anything we wouldn't do for each other, and——"</p> + +<p>"Got a telephone here?" O'Malley turned sharply to Mrs. Shultze, who +had been silently listening.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, sir. Just at the back of the hall." She pointed, and O'Malley +started toward the instrument which could be dimly seen in the shadow +of the stair.</p> + +<p>Donald checked him. "It would be better for me. It's late, but he'll +come for me," he said, and went quickly to the telephone.</p> + +<p>While he was talking, Mrs. Shultze came up close to O'Malley, and spoke +in a soft, wheedling voice.</p> + +<p>"You won't let Mr. Morris forget that it was me that found Miss Blake +for him, will you?" she said. "A gentleman like him would be sure to be +grateful, I should think. And there's the matter of a week's rent, too. +Of course, there's no hurry about it, now I know who her friends are, +but you'll see he doesn't forget, like an old dear, won't you? I'd hate +to be speaking to him myself, when the poor young man's in such trouble +and all."</p> + +<p>"You needn't worry, Mrs. Shultze," said O'Malley, gruffly. "You'll be +paid and paid well, if you're good to the poor young thing upstairs."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you can be sure of that, sir," she said, beaming at him. "I'll +treat her's if she was my own dau—sister, I mean. Yes, sir. Anything +that Trudie Shultze can do for her is the same as done. I'll——"</p> + +<p>"Stevens is coming right down. He'll be here in a few minutes," said +Donald, advancing quickly from the other end of the hall.</p> + +<p>"Won't you gentlemen come into my parlour and wait there?" said Mrs. +Shultze, hospitably. "It's right here handy, on the ground floor."</p> + +<p>Donald shook his head and O'Malley declined politely.</p> + +<p>"We'll be all right here," he said, motioning to a plush-covered settle +which stood against the wall. "And we won't keep you any longer, Mrs. +Shultze."</p> + +<p>He said this pointedly, and the woman, realizing that she had no +further excuse for lingering, only said sweetly, "If you need me, I'll +be right on the job"; and went down the hall, disappearing through a +door at the back.</p> + +<p>They were forced to recall her, however, when the doctor came.</p> + +<p>"Better have some woman, Don. I hadn't time to get hold of a nurse," he +said. "Better have the woman of the house, especially since the patient +is used to seeing her."</p> + +<p>So it was that Mrs. Shultze, as well as Donald and O'Malley, +accompanied the doctor to the top floor. The woman knocked softly and +went in alone. Presently she came back to the door, and beckoned to +Doctor Stevens. Morris and O'Malley remained in the hall. The door was +partly open, and they could hear the doctor's quiet, assured voice +and an occasional low reply. In a little while they heard him speak +quickly to Mrs. Shultze, and both of them came into the hall. The +doctor was frowning, angrily.</p> + +<p>"When did she have something to eat?" he asked, sharply, jerking his +head in the direction of the room they had just left. "Speak up, woman. +When did she eat last?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know." Mrs. Shultze faltered under the doctor's steady +glare. "She isn't boarding here any longer. She just has the room, and +she owes me for that for more'n a week. I never thought——"</p> + +<p>"I guess that's the truth, anyway," said Doctor Stevens, angrily. "I +don't believe you ever did before, but for God's sake, think now and +think quick. Have you any bouillon—any milk in the house? The child's +starving. I don't believe she's had a mouthful for days. We'll have to +see about the other trouble later. She must have food now, and quickly. +Don't stand there, woman. Get down to your kitchen as fast as the +Lord'll let you, and bring me milk, some raw eggs, a little sherry or +brandy——"</p> + +<p>"My God!" groaned Trudie Shultze. "There ain't been a drop of sherry or +brandy in the house for two months—I got some gin——"</p> + +<p>"Get the other things quick," said O'Malley.</p> + +<p>"Gin won't do as well as——" With a funny little look he slipped his +hand into a rear pocket. "It's the best, Doctor." The hand came out, +holding a small flask. "I can vouch for it. The best French brandy in +New York."</p> + +<p>"Good!" said the doctor, with a little gleam in the eye he turned on +O'Malley. "Now, Don, you go to the nearest restaurant and get——" He +reeled off a list of light and delicate but nourishing edibles. "You +won't need to hurry. She'll do with the egg-nog for an hour at least. +So get 'em good, and take your time."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Donald, grateful for the opportunity for action. +"I'll be back as quickly as I can make it. But, John——"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Can't we take her out of this beastly hole? Now, at once! I can't bear +to think of her with that hyena of a woman—who left her to starve—to +starve! God! When I think of it——"</p> + +<p>"The woman will treat her well if she's paid," said O'Malley. "I can +vouch for that, at least."</p> + +<p>"Then pay her! For God's sake, pay her!" cried Donald, pulling a roll +of bills from his pocket and thrusting them into O'Malley's hands.</p> + +<p>"Better leave her here, in any case, for to-night, Don," advised Doctor +Stevens, quietly. "I can get her into my sanitarium to-morrow, if you'd +like that." Donald nodded, eagerly. "And I'll get a nurse for her here, +right away, but I think you'd better sweeten up this woman——"</p> + +<p>"This'll do it," said O'Malley, peeling off a bill of large +denomination, and handing the rest of the money back to Donald. "This +will do for a starter, with the hope of benefits to follow."</p> + +<p>"So go ahead, Don, and don't worry about anything here," said the +doctor, comfortingly. "I'm not going to leave till I see things are +right."</p> + +<p>Donald, after a grateful look at John Stevens and O'Malley, and an +anxious, longing glance at the closed door, ran rapidly down the stairs.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>When O'Malley reached his comfortable, old-fashioned bachelor quarters, +late that night, there was an almost unacknowledged feeling of +half-amused satisfaction in his mind. The situation was painful enough, +to be sure, and he was full of sympathy for young Morris, but, in spite +of all, there was a certain compensation in the fact that he had put +one over on Pete. While he had not been exactly instrumental in finding +Mary Blake, he had been on the job when she was found—and that was +incontestably comforting to his sporty old heart. He was, therefore, +in a somewhat mixed frame of mind as he undressed, but above all other +considerations one thought was uppermost:</p> + +<p>"I'll have news for you, Pete, my lad, when you get back from your +wild-goose chase," he said to himself, as he stooped, ponderously, to +untie his shoes.</p> + +<p>And just then the telephone, which was installed in the corner of his +bedroom, rang out loudly in the midnight stillness.</p> + +<p>He muttered an impatient word as he kicked off a shoe. "If it's the +wrong number again, I'll give that operator the devil," he thought, +hastily crossing to the telephone.</p> + +<p>"Is this Captain James O'Malley?" asked the voice in the instrument, +and at his gruff response it continued, "Telegram for you."</p> + +<p>"All right," said O'Malley. "Shoot."</p> + +<p>"Got the goods——"</p> + +<p>"What!" cried O'Malley. "Repeat that, please."</p> + +<p>"'Got—the—goods'——" the voice reiterated, with bored distinctness. +"'Meet us, Penn. Station, Saturday, eleven-forty-five from Chicago. Say +nothing yet to D. M.' Signed 'Pete.' Got that?"</p> + +<p>"Penn. Station, eleven-forty-five from Chicago, Saturday," repeated +O'Malley, slowly. "Yes. I've got it. Thanks."</p> + +<p>He hung up the receiver. "Saturday—that's the day after to-morrow," he +considered, and sat down heavily on a chair.</p> + +<p>"Us, meet <i>us</i>——"</p> + +<p>"Now, what in hell has Pete turned up?" he went on, wonderingly, half +aloud. "What—in—hell——"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Donald Morris Understands</span></h3> + + +<p>It chanced that O'Malley had little difficulty in following Peter's +instructions in regard to Donald Morris, for they had but a few +minutes' private conversation together during the next day, and +O'Malley cleverly filled the time by reporting Peter's discovery of the +Italian, Angelo Russo, in Miss Blake's apartment, and the subsequent +confession, which practically explained the condition in which the +apartment was found.</p> + +<p>Donald listened to the recital with little of the interest he would +have felt two days before. His whole mind was occupied with the +discovery they had made on the previous night, and his heart was wrung +by the fact that, though Doctor Stevens had reported his patient to be +physically much improved, she still insisted that she knew no other +name than Rosamond Curwood, had no memory whatever of the past, and +showed not the slightest sign of recognition when Donald approached her.</p> + +<p>As early in the morning as possible she was removed to Doctor Stevens's +private sanitarium. She accepted, quietly and unquestioningly, all the +arrangements which were made for her comfort, and appeared grateful +for the consideration shown her, to a certain extent, but it was all +evidently like a dream to her, and her manner remained absent and +listless.</p> + +<p>All that day and the morning of the next Donald spent in the +sanitarium, or at his home in Gramercy Park, within reach of the +telephone, hoping, longing for news, but none came.</p> + +<p>At two o'clock on Saturday, as he was rising from an untasted luncheon, +he was summoned to the telephone by John Stevens, who told him, with +evident sympathy, that there had been no change whatever but that he +was preparing to try an experiment that afternoon.</p> + +<p>"And I don't want you, Don. Understand?" he said, firmly. "You can't +be of any assistance, and you'd much better stay where you are. I'll +'phone you the instant I want you, but it won't be until five o'clock, +anyway. I promise to let you know then, or soon after. And, Don," he +concluded, with a queer note in his voice, "there is hope, boy. More +than hope for you, I firmly believe. Be patient—and trust me."</p> + +<p>In a whirlwind of anxiety and emotion Donald spent that afternoon, +pacing back and forth, back and forth, the length of the great house. +Listening for the telephone's insistent ring, wondering, hoping, +doubting, and hoping again.</p> + +<p>At last he felt that he could bear the period of enforced inaction no +longer. He would go up to the sanitarium, he decided, and spend that +last, agonizing half hour before five o'clock on the spot. There could +be no harm, he argued, in waiting downstairs in the reception room. And +if there was news—good news——</p> + +<p>He summoned a cab in haste, and drove rapidly to the sanitarium, which +was on West Seventy-sixth Street.</p> + +<p>An extraordinarily neat maid answered his ring.</p> + +<p>"Doctor Stevens is in the house somewhere," she told him, "with one of +the patients upstairs. I don't think he can be disturbed just now," +apologetically.</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Donald, quickly. "I wouldn't bother him on any account. +I'll just wait here, in the reception room, if I may, till he comes +down."</p> + +<p>Accordingly, he passed into the pleasantly furnished room, to the right +of the hall—and waited—waited with every tautened nerve stretched, +it seemed, to the breaking point. Though there were many books lying +about, he could not read, he could not even remain seated for more +than a moment at a time. Restlessly, he paced about, touching various +things on the mantelpiece and table, not knowing why he picked them +up, or noticing when he put them down. And all the while he was +listening—listening for he knew not what.</p> + +<p>The big, broad, sunny house was very still. Once or twice a soft +footfall on one of the floors above brought his heart into his mouth, +but the sound passed away into silence, and no one went up or down the +stairs. Again, for the twentieth time, he looked at his watch—five +minutes of five—and John had promised——</p> + +<p>Suddenly he heard a slight commotion at the top of the house, and he +turned swiftly toward the door, his clenched hands pressed tightly +together. Mary was on that floor he knew, and he took a step forward. +Now he could faintly hear voices, several voices, speaking very low, +and once he imagined he heard a woman's sob—then steps upon the stairs.</p> + +<p>He waited, breathless, keeping himself in hand with an iron grip, +making no sound.</p> + +<p>Then, at the head of the lower flight of stairs, he heard Doctor +Stevens's voice. He was speaking to someone behind him, and there was a +ring in his tone which caused Donald's heart to leap up and his blood +to pound in his temples. He took one step nearer the door, and at that +instant Doctor Stevens saw him.</p> + +<p>"Don!" he exclaimed, with a curious note of anger—almost of alarm—in +his voice. "Don, I told you not to come here! Not to come here on any +account! I thought I made it plain——Oh!——"</p> + +<p>The expression on Donald's face had altered from confusion and surprise +to blinding, dazzling amazement. He was not conscious that there was +any one present save that one figure among several figures coming down +the stairs. He cried out—he threw out his arms——</p> + +<p>"Mary!" he said, in a choking whisper. "You know me! You know me, at +last!" And then, with a sudden cry, he recoiled in horror.</p> + +<p>The woman who, at the mention of his name, had turned toward him with +a gasp of surprise, had, at the same instant, stepped full into the +light. In her great clear eyes there were love, pain, fear—hope—and +an agonizing tenderness.</p> + +<p>Swiftly, she put up her hand and covered the right side of her face. +But he had seen—had seen, upon the smooth curve of chin and neck, a +great red mark—like the print of a bloody hand.</p> + +<p>He stood aghast, amazed. All his senses reeled. "Anne!" he cried, +incredulous, staring—"Anne!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Donald," she moaned, "I didn't mean it to be like this, dear. I +didn't mean it to be like this!"</p> + +<p>"Mary's voice," he muttered, still staring at her. "And Mary's face, +all except the mark—the mark was on Anne's face—Clancy told me. You +are <i>Anne</i>?"</p> + +<p>She bowed her head in silence. Tears filled her glorious eyes.</p> + +<p>"And Mary—is upstairs," he breathed. "And yet, when you speak, it's +impossible not to believe——"</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"It's my sister, Rosamond, up there," she faltered. "My poor, misguided +little sister that I—lost years ago—that I loved more than anything I +had left in the world—until I saw you.... I never heard of her—never +saw her again until to-day.... You never saw her, Donald. You never +saw her until—was it yesterday?... We always looked very much +alike—except——" She pressed her hand closer against her cheek. "It +was no wonder, seeing her as you did, that you mistook her for——"</p> + +<p>"I can't understand." Donald gripped his head with both hands, gazing +at her with strained, bewildered eyes. "You <i>are</i> Anne?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered, sadly. "I am Anne Curwood.... Forgive me. Oh, +forgive me, dear!" She stretched out her hands, pleadingly. "I had +planned it all so differently. You can hardly forgive me now. But try +to understand. There is no Mary Blake. There never has been. It was +I—Anne. There is no one but Anne."</p> + +<p>"No one but—Anne," he repeated, incredulous.</p> + +<p>"I tried to tell you before—before I went away—as soon as I knew +that you—that you cared, Don. As soon as I was sure.... I started to +write it in the letter I left for you—and I hadn't the courage.... +'My sister Anne, with whom I live——' I remember I wrote that far, +and crossed it out. I was going to say—I should have said—'My sister +Anne, with whom I live, is a myth. There is no such person living. I +have lived alone, through all these years, and played two parts——'"</p> + +<p>He gazed at her, now, with comprehension dawning in his eyes. His +very soul shuddered at the fearful disfigurement which seemed like a +desecration of her wonderful face. His intense, passionate love of all +that was beautiful and perfect wrought in him, for a moment, a feeling +of horror. A fearful, almost physical, recoil.</p> + +<p>And if it was thus with him, he thought, wildly, what must it have been +to her—sensitive, high-strung, with magnificent gifts—a handicap +which, in her chosen profession, could never be overcome—unless—</p> + +<p>In a blinding flash he saw the reason for her deception of all the +world—a deception which, lastly, had involved himself. He understood, +with sure, keen insight, what her temptation must have been—and, +understanding, he forgave.</p> + +<p>The expression of his eyes altered, was changed, illuminated, with a +love transcending all things. Again he stretched out his arms:</p> + +<p>"Mary," he whispered. "Mary——"</p> + +<p>With a little cry of joy unspeakable she started toward him—and +stopped.</p> + +<p>"No, no," she said, softly. "Not yet. Not yet, my beloved. I have +suffered—suffered, to come to you clean. I said I would come to you +clean, or not at all."</p> + +<p>Then, to his amazement, she drew a handkerchief from her breast and +turned away from him to a small mirror which hung against the wall.</p> + +<p>A moment—and she faced him.</p> + +<p>Radiant, glorified love was in her eyes—and on her perfect face there +was no mark or blemish.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Kate Rutherford Relieves Her Mind</span></h3> + + +<p>"It was your own fault, Don. Your own fault, boy," Doctor Stevens +remarked, with partly assumed annoyance. "If you'd waited at home until +I 'phoned, you never would have seen Miss Blake with that dreadful +thing on her face. It was part of the experiment I was trying upstairs."</p> + +<p>He looked across his private office at a stately figure ensconced in +the largest chair in the room. "It was Mrs. Rutherford who suggested +how it could be managed, and she made Miss Blake up with her own fair +hands. And Mr. Clancy backed me up in style." He glanced aside at Peter +who was sitting near him.</p> + +<p>"But," said Donald, looking down into the glowing face so near to +his, as he and Mary (as he insisted on calling her) sat together upon +a couch. "But I can't realize it all, somehow. The—mark, dear," he +clasped her hand tenderly, "was a birthmark, wasn't it? I thought that +it was practically impossible——"</p> + +<p>"And I thought so, too, Donald," she interrupted. "For the last few +years I've hunted up every report—all the experiments of this kind +that have been tried, for I wanted—oh, I wanted so to be rid of +the hideous, dreadful thing. I saw one of the best specialists here +last fall. He said something might be done by skin-grafting, but that +it would be a long and painful experiment. I was playing then, of +course, and couldn't give up the time.... And then, just after that, +there was an article in a silly magazine called <i>Beauty</i>, which told +of the wonderful discovery, made by a doctor, in a little place near +Chicago named Cordenham. It was a new kind of ray—which destroyed the +colouring matter in the skin. I subscribed for the magazine at once, +but there were only two more notices and they weren't very convincing. +In the meantime I went to the library and looked for more authentic +reports in all the current medical journals. I found the experiments of +Doctor Witherspoon mentioned, but the articles seemed to indicate that +nothing conclusive had been done at that time.... Oh, Donald, can you +imagine with what anxious longing I watched for the new numbers of that +magazine to appear?"</p> + +<p>"And when they did come out, Mr. Morris," Peter interjected, "Miss +Blake cut out some of the articles and saved them. That was how I +traced her."</p> + +<p>"You found them in her apartment?" asked Donald, quickly. "You didn't +tell me that."</p> + +<p>"No," answered Peter, promptly, "for the simple reason that I didn't +find the articles. It was like the old story of the fisherman who was +about to take a party out among some dangerous rocks. When asked if he +knew where the submerged rocks were, he said, 'I don't know where they +be, but I know where they ain't.' Well, that was my case. I found the +magazines that the articles had been cut from pretty early in the game, +but I didn't see any significance in that till I knew—well, most of +the facts. Then I went back to the apartment and made a note of every +magazine from which anything had been clipped, the date and page. After +that, I went to the library—and found that the articles all pointed +one way. Directly or indirectly, they pointed to Doctor Witherspoon and +Cordenham."</p> + +<p>"You're all right, Clancy," said Donald with sincerity. "You certainly +are a wonder."</p> + +<p>Peter looked a little sheepish. "It would have been more to the point +if I'd made my discovery a little earlier," he said. "Miss Blake was +almost ready to come back to town when I found her."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Donald," said Mary, looking at him with concern in her beautiful +eyes. "Doctor Witherspoon was almost ready to let me go, at last. +Oh, my dear, if I had known it would be so long I never would have +done what I did—have left you in suspense all these weeks. I would +have told you everything, and taken the risk.... But the very last +thing I found—it was in the <i>Planet</i>, just a few days before I went +away—an article which gave a full description of a wonderful cure made +by Doctor Witherspoon. It took only three days, and was absolutely +successful.... From previous accounts in the medical journals, I knew +that the operation was considered dangerous—but I pinned my faith to +the last thing I'd learned—and hoped.</p> + +<p>"I'd made up my mind to take the risk, anyway. I had my plans all laid, +and that Saturday morning I drew enough money to see me through.... My +only question was whether or not to tell you.... And then, that last +night—that last night, dear, my courage failed utterly. When you spoke +of 'my sister Anne' with such confidence in me in your dear voice—oh, +Donald, every time you mentioned her, I felt—I can't tell you how +beneath contempt I felt.... To deceive you! Oh, Donald——"</p> + +<p>"Don't—don't think of it, dearest," he said, gently. "I understand, I +understand."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're wonderful, wonderful," she said, with tears in her eyes. +"But it would all have been different if I had realized. Mine was a +bad case, Donald; the position and size of the mark, and my nervous +exhaustion, they all told against me, and after the very first +treatment I collapsed utterly. I knew nothing for days and days.... +They kept me under anæsthetics and the treatment went on.... When +I came fully to myself, it was so near the end, I was so close to +achieving my heart's desire, that I made up my mind to wait—just a +little while, dear—to regain my strength, and then come back and tell +you—everything.... Oh, Donald," she paused, and looked deep into +his eyes, "I wonder if you can realize, quite, what the whole thing +meant to me. I knew you loved me, but I also knew how you shrank from +anything ugly, abnormal. I had good reason to know.... And the thing +had been a nightmare to me all my life long; I could not bear it any +longer.... And, if the operation was not to be successful, I had made +up my mind, Donald, that I would never, never see you again.... That +Mary Blake should vanish. That there should be no one left but Anne, +and that she would never be found, for—there would be nothing left in +life for her, and she would have been glad to lay it down——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mary, Mary!" he cried, and unheeding the others in the room, he +threw his arms about her and held her fast. "It wouldn't have mattered +if the experiment had failed, dear. I love you, <i>you</i>—you must have +seen, just now, out there on the stairs—you must have realized that it +would have made no difference——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Donald, yes," she sobbed. "I saw—I saw it all, and I +can't help being a little glad to know that not even that hideous +disfigurement could make a difference. But I never would have caused +you that pain, not even for my poor sister's sake, if I'd had any +idea——"</p> + +<p>"And that's what made me so angry with you, Don," said Doctor Stevens, +striving to break the emotional tension of the scene. "As I said +before, if you'd only waited as I told you, you'd have been saved a +lot. You see, Don," he explained, "I have a very strong professional +interest in the case upstairs, and there was just one chance in a +million of helping Miss Rosamond Curwood to regain her memory, and the +Lord put it into my hand. I do think, now, it was that good old chap, +O'Malley, who first made the suggestion. It seems he had an experience +once with a similar case, where the patient was confronted with someone +well—intimately—known in the past."</p> + +<p>"And this is how it happened just as it did, Mr. Morris," Peter broke +in, eagerly. "I'd wired O'Malley and Mrs. Rutherford, from Cordenham, +to meet us at the Penn. Station. Miss Blake didn't want me to telegraph +you. She was afraid of the shock, and it would have been impossible to +explain—well, everything—you see, in a telegram.... We got in about +noon, and O'Malley told us of the discovery you'd made. We compared +notes, and Miss Blake was certain that the person you'd found must be +her twin sister, Rosamond, who'd disappeared years ago. Miss Blake was +naturally all broken up over the whole thing, and O'Malley had a hunch +that if the two sisters were suddenly brought together, it might bring +Rosamond to herself. He called up Doctor Stevens on his own, while we +were going over to Mrs. Rutherford's hotel, where we were going to ask +you to come; and, by the time we'd seen to Miss Blake's luggage and +arrived at the hotel, Doctor Stevens was there, waiting for us. He was +keen on making the experiment, and was neither to hold nor to bind," +he glanced, quizzically, at the doctor, "until he'd tried it out. Both +Miss Blake and I wanted to get you first, but he said he wasn't at all +satisfied with Miss Curwood's condition, and that the thing should be +tried at once if it was to be any good. Miss Blake became alarmed at +that, and agreed. But then we struck a snag; Miss Rosamond would never +know her sister without the—the mark, which had been successfully +removed. Then Mrs. Rutherford came to the front. She said, 'Why not +paint it on again?' And that she did to perfection, I will say——"</p> + +<p>"So I telephoned to keep you out of the way, Don," added Doctor +Stevens, "and you upset all our plans."</p> + +<p>"But you haven't told me yet whether you were successful," said Donald, +who, with Mary's hand held close in his, had followed the conversation +intently. "Were they right, Mary? And is your sister——"</p> + +<p>She shook her head, sadly,</p> + +<p>"She knew me, Donald. She recognized me—but she remembers nothing, +nothing at all, that has happened since we were little children +together. Perhaps—oh, perhaps, Donald, it is just as well. She has no +painful memories, and her life must have been—hard, I'm afraid. Doctor +Stevens says——"</p> + +<p>"We can hope. We can always hope," said the doctor, comfortingly; but +by the look in his eyes, Donald Morris knew that there was little +hope, in this world, for Rosamond Curwood.</p> + +<p>"We'll take care of her, Mary," Donald said, gently. "We'll take care +of her together, dear."</p> + +<p>There was a moment's pause, and then Mrs. Rutherford spoke, for almost +the first time.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Don," she said, in her deep, commanding voice. "I don't +want you to blame Anne for having played a part to the world."</p> + +<p>"I don't, Aunt Kate," he said, looking not at her, but at Mary. "I +understand——"</p> + +<p>"But that's just it," interrupted the old lady, quickly. "You +understand a part. That's all. I know you've a lively imagination, +and I will say, Don, that you're—that you're a pretty satisfactory +person—take it all in all.... But I want you to understand that it +was I who put Anne up to the whole thing, and I guess I'll need a few +prayers if my poor old soul is ever to get out of Purgatory."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk that way, Aunt Kate," said Donald, smiling at her perturbed +face.</p> + +<p>"All right, Don," she agreed, "but I want you to know, just the same, +how the whole thing came about. This clever young countryman of mine," +with an appreciative glance at Peter, "figured out the whole affair. +His knowledge of it came to me like a bolt from the blue. I'd never +seen him, you know, till you introduced him to me in Fennimore Park, +and you can, perhaps, imagine my surprise when he told me who he was, +and what he was doing. I was startled nearly out of my wits, and when, +without more ado, he plunged into the very middle of the situation, and +announced, in a whisper that would have done credit to Henry Irving: +'Mrs. Rutherford, there has never been, in that apartment in New York, +but one person—and her name is Anne Curwood,' I was simply taken +completely off my feet."</p> + +<p>She glanced about to note the effect of these lines, dramatically +uttered, then she went on:</p> + +<p>"I told him, after that, what I'm going to tell you all now—you who +know some of the facts.... It was all my fault.... I found Anne slaving +her youth away in menial tasks—and I found out that she was the +daughter of my old friend, Winthrop Curwood."</p> + +<p>"Winthrop Curwood of the old Athenæum Company?" asked Donald, with keen +interest. "Why, I've heard my mother speak of him often. She knew his +people in England."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Don. That's the man. But please don't interrupt. I want to +get the whole thing off my mind. My conscience has been worrying me +so, in the last few days, that I must clear it, and take all the +blame.... This is how it was—I discovered, almost at once, that Anne +had inherited her father's wonderful gifts, and that he had given +her a perfectly marvellous training.... He had become blind, stone +blind, poor, poor Win—and teaching her had been his one pleasure and +recreation. He'd done wonders for her, and probably had great hopes +for her future. He never knew—Anne told me all this. With tears in +her eyes, she said that she could never bring herself to tell him that +there would be no possible chance for her on the stage.... When she +told me that—I had a great idea. I took her up to my room, and I made +her up with my own hands. Nobody was ever more skilful at that than +Kate Rohan." There was pride in the deep old voice. "I made her look +at herself in the glass. You could see the birthmark in the bright +daylight a little, not very much. But when I drew the blinds and turned +on the electric lights, there wasn't a trace—not a trace.</p> + +<p>"Then I thought it all out.... She couldn't be seen in the daytime, in +a bright light, without the defect being discovered. And if it was once +known, it would be talked about, and I could see that Anne would never +be able to stand the kind of notoriety it would bring her. She was +too terribly sensitive about it.... I was at my wits' end for quite a +while, and then—suddenly—I saw a way out....</p> + +<p>"I was determined that her wonderful gifts should not be lost to the +world, and I got Arthur Quinn to come up to Fennimore Park. I made Anne +act for him, after I'd made her up as she ought to look on the stage. +He was crazy—mad about her, and when I saw how he felt, I told him +everything, including my plan—which was that she should be two persons +instead of one.... I even picked out a name for her—Mary, for my own +mother, and Blake, which was part of her mother's name—Blakeslie.... +So—as Mary Blake she was to astonish and delight the world; and as +Anne Blake she was to pursue her daily round, without any subterfuge +other than the change of name, to agree with that of her 'sister.' +And, too, I suggested that she play the part, while she was about +it—play Mary with spirit and pride, standing tall and straight, as +she always did when she was taken out of herself—and let Anne be as +she was: plainly dressed, timid, quiet, retiring; stooping a little as +she walked or stood.... To me, it was an added touch to the dramatic +possibilities of the situation, but Anne looked at the whole thing +with distaste and it took some time to persuade her—but, at last, she +yielded.</p> + +<p>"I arranged everything for her with Arthur Quinn, contracts and all. We +even managed to have her photographed so that the photographer didn't +suspect. That was rather ticklish business, for the camera sometimes +sees what the eye doesn't. But we took care of the lighting, and the +results were perfectly satisfactory.</p> + +<p>"In the meantime, I found the apartment in Waverly Place, and we +furnished it together."</p> + +<p>"And had special lighting installed," put in Peter, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you noticed that, did you, Mr. Clancy?" The old, young eyes +flashed him a quick look. "Yes. You see, she had to make up for 'Mary +Blake' at home, and we were taking no chances with the gas, which was +already there. Anne was staying at my hotel, as my companion, so all +that was easily accomplished.... Then, when she began making money, +we had to get banking accommodations for her. Arthur Quinn managed +that. He took her to the Scoville Bank, where he had an account, and +introduced her."</p> + +<p>"Twice?" asked Peter, quickly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Mrs. Rutherford, giving him a keen glance. "He waited +for a cloudy day, when there would be artificial light in the bank, and +then he took 'Mary Blake,' and helped her open an account. That was +just in case of emergency. We'd planned that Anne should be the one who +would make deposits, as a general thing, and draw out money."</p> + +<p>"So you made the account subject, under all conditions, to the order of +either of the sisters," said Peter, eagerly. "I found that out almost +the first thing; and it did give me a fearful jolt, let me tell you." +He did not think it necessary to explain why, and went on at once—"I +saw the signature card at that time, and there was something about the +appearance of the two names which struck me as being peculiar. Miss +Mary's writing was large and—fluent—sort of—while Miss Anne's was +small, and slanted the wrong way. At the first glance they didn't look +a bit alike, but——Well, I didn't think so much about it at the time, +but later I happened to see a letter written by Anne Curwood to an +old friend of hers named Walter Lord, up in Hobart Falls. I—I made an +opportunity to examine it carefully, and I found that, while it was +signed 'Anne,' the writing was, unmistakably, Mary's.... Then I began +to sit up and take notice....</p> + +<p>"Here were twin sisters, who, in childhood—I had seen photographs of +both—looked almost exactly alike—save for one thing.... I learned, +from this Walter Lord, that both children had exceptional dramatic +talent; but also, to my surprise, that Anne was much the cleverer of +the two.... I knew that Rosamond had disappeared when the girls were +about eighteen years old, and had never been heard of since, but that +Anne had gone away, later, with a Mrs. Rutherford. That's how I first +got hold of your name, Mrs. Rutherford."</p> + +<p>All were following Peter's recital with breathless interest. Kate +Rutherford nodded at the mention of her name, and Peter continued:</p> + +<p>"And, on top of all this, I found that letter to Walter Lord, and +knew—yes, I was absolutely certain, that the two signatures at the +bank had been made by the same hand.... Well, I thought to myself, what +in the world does that mean?</p> + +<p>"Then I went carefully over the facts we'd turned up in New York.... +Mary Blake was a brilliant, successful actress, but she knew no one, +personally, so far as we could find out, except Mr. Morris and, to +quote the Italian janitor, 'a fine, grand lady' who sometimes came to +the apartment. There was, too, her present manager, Frederick Jones. +But he didn't appear to know her, except professionally.... From +him I found out that she associated with none of the members of the +company—and something else, which came back to me later—the curious +fact that she always rehearsed in costume—with a full make-up.... She +went out only in the daytime when it was absolutely necessary, was +always heavily veiled, and always took a cab....</p> + +<p>"But, on the other hand, Anne was well known to the janitor, to various +tradesmen in the neighbourhood, and to the people at the bank. They all +described her to me, and the descriptions were practically identical.</p> + +<p>"I remember that no one had ever spoken of the two sisters as if they +had been seen at the same time.... That only one of them, Anne, had +left the least trace when (as we all thought at the time) both of them +disappeared.... That there were many of Mary's clothes left in the +apartment and practically none of Anne's....</p> + +<p>"And always, and everywhere, I heard of Anne's fearful handicap.... I +thought of it this way and that.... And there was only one theory that +would exactly fit all the facts. It seemed absurd to me when it first +flashed into my mind—and that was at the time when I realized that +only one person had signed at the bank. You will remember, Mr. Morris, +that I had seen part of a letter to you signed 'Mary', but the writing +was identical with that of Walter Lord's letter from 'Anne'—and then +it came back to me that I had noticed a remarkable similarity in the +two signatures at the bank, and I was sure—sure!"</p> + +<p>"It seemed impossible, but I figured it all out that day, on my +way from Hobart Falls to Fennimore Park.... And when I heard Mrs. +Rutherford's voice, downstairs, there at your sister's house, Mr. +Morris, you remember—and realized that it was the same voice that had +called Anne Blake on the morning of our discovery in Waverly Place—and +that the name was the same as that of the lady who had taken Anne +Curwood away from Fennimore Park—well, you can imagine my feelings!"</p> + +<p>"And it was only on guess-work, young man, that you made me disclose +a secret I'd kept for years!" said Kate Rutherford, severely. "If I'd +known that——"</p> + +<p>"No you wouldn't, Mrs. Rutherford," Peter interposed, eagerly. "You +wouldn't have kept it to yourself. You know you were too much alarmed +by Mr. Morris's appearance to keep the matter secret any longer."</p> + +<p>"And, after all, Anne," said Kate Rutherford, holding out her hands +in a gesture almost of supplication, "it was my secret, in a way. At +least I was responsible. It was my fault altogether. You would never +have gone into it at all but for me. I had such a hard time persuading +you——"</p> + +<p>"And I never would have been persuaded, Donald," a soft voice +interrupted. "I think I would never have been persuaded but for one +thing, which Mrs. Rutherford never knew." For a moment Mary Blake +looked into the eyes of her lover. Then she went on: "You don't +remember, dear, I know. It was long, long ago, that first time I saw +you——"</p> + +<p>"At my sister's house in Gramercy Park," said Donald.</p> + +<p>"No, dear. Long before that. You were riding through Hobart Falls with +someone—a lady—on horseback.... You stopped at old Walter Lord's, +you and she, to have him take your pictures.... I remember it well." +Her voice was very quiet, full of restrained emotion. "The sunlight on +the trees, and on your face.... I was there, on the steps, and you saw +me—I saw the quick shiver of disgust when you caught sight of my poor +face. You closed your eyes for a second—and I went quickly away.... +You would not remember, but it seared deep into my soul——"</p> + +<p>Peter Clancy rose abruptly, and quietly passing over to the window, +stood with his back turned to the room. Doctor Stevens unobtrusively +joined him, and the two men stood looking out with unseeing eyes. Mrs. +Rutherford sat very still. Her great, dark, youthful eyes were full of +tears. The two fine young creatures at the other end of the room were +oblivious of all save each other. Anne Curwood was still speaking:</p> + +<p>"Afterward, Donald, when I was employed by your sister, in Fennimore +Park, I saw you often, but I kept out of sight. I watched you, from +behind the curtain at the door, working in your studio there. You were +rapt, absorbed. I had little fear that you would ever think of the +poor girl who came in to do cleaning.... But every line of your face +grew familiar to me in those days; in those brief moments that I could +snatch from my work—I learned to read your face—I knew when your +work was going well, and rejoiced with you—I saw the light in your +eyes—your smile——It was the thought of making something of myself, +of being someone—someone you would not shudder to look at, that +induced me——"</p> + +<p>He turned, and caught her in his arms.</p> + +<p>"Mary," he whispered upon her lips. "Mary!"</p> + + +<p class="ph2">THE END</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p class="ph2">BOOKS BY LEE THAYER</p> + + <p class="ph2"><span class="smcap">That Affair at "The Cedars"</span></p> + <p class="ph2"><span class="smcap">The Mystery of the Thirteenth Floor</span></p> + <p class="ph2"><span class="smcap">The Sinister Mark</span></p> + <p class="ph2"><span class="smcap">The Unlatched Door</span></p> + + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77033 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/77033-h/images/cover.jpg b/77033-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..02d82c6 --- /dev/null +++ b/77033-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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