CHAPTER IX.
Crossroads.
The rain was falling in torrents, hard driven before the gusty March wind, and turning the gutters into miniature foam-crested freshets when Betty struggled up the steps of the Egyptological Museum, with the completed translation beneath her arm.
The attendant who took possession of her dripping umbrella stared curiously at her unveiled face and his gaze followed her as she ascended to the upper floor, but Betty was oblivious to the interest her presence created. Her thoughts were travelling ahead of her down the corridor to the office numbered nine, and the friendly, laughing-eyed young man who awaited her there.
The hour of her previous visit was the one bright spot in the gloom and mystery which had surrounded her since she made her entrance into Mrs. Atterbury's service, and his protective concern when she had rushed blindly into his arms at that unexpected meeting almost at the gates of her new home, lingered comfortingly in her memory.
As she entered, Herbert Ross rose from behind his desk with extended hand and a beaming smile of welcome.
"You are punctual, Miss Shaw, in spite of the rain. How is the work coming on?"
"It is finished." Betty laid the roll of manuscript upon the desk before him. "I hope that it will prove satisfactory, Mr. Ross."
"You found it difficult?" He spread the papers out, glancing over them rapidly as he spoke.
"No. I have translated almost literally as you can see—But I forgot that you were not an Egyptologist yourself."
"Nevertheless, I am sure this will be an admirable addition to our collection of translated papyri. What sonorous, mouthfilling phrases the old chaps used in those days!" He quoted from her page: "'Hail ye living ones upon earth, ye who pass on the Nile, scribes all, readers and priests of the ka all, this the great Pharaoh and royal Xerxes, triumphant.'—I will place this at once in the hands of the keeper of antiquities."
He pressed a button in the wall beside him, then abruptly swung his chair around until he faced her. His eyes had narrowed slightly and there was no longer a hint of a smile about his firm lips.
"Miss Shaw, you told me when you were last here that your time was not wholly your own. Does that mean that you are employed at indeterminate hours? I ask this in reference to future work, of course."
Betty nodded, and moistened her lips nervously.
"I did most of this translating at night."
"Ah! You are free, then, in the evenings? What is the nature of your work, if I may ask? Are you a teacher?"
A knock upon the door saved her from an immediate reply. A uniformed attendant entered and to him Herbert Ross entrusted the manuscript with instructions to take it to Professor Carmody. When the door had closed once more he turned to her inquiringly, and noted a swift pallor which seemed to have blotted all the wind-blown color from her face.
"You teach?" he repeated.
Betty shook her head. She dared not risk his asking where she taught if she took refuge in that evasion. The truth, or at least as much of it as was possible under the circumstances, would be safest.
"I am a—a visiting secretary."
"Indeed. That explains your presence on the North Drive the other day when you literally ran into me." His lips relaxed. "You told me you were late for an appointment, I remember. You are not living at present at the address which you gave me, Miss Shaw."
It was neither question nor accusation, but a mere statement of fact casually uttered, and yet a bomb-shell could not more effectively have stunned the girl. Could her former landlady have betrayed her? Her head whirled and it seemed another voice than hers which replied quietly:
"No. I am staying temporarily at the home of my employer, but I have my mail sent to my permanent address."
"I see. You are not a native of the city, then? Your home is not here?"
What did this continued catechism portend? In so far as the translating provided an excuse for this insistent young man's questions she would reply, but her personal affairs and former life were surely no concern of a museum director.
"No, my home is not here." She paused deliberately. "Perhaps, if this translation proves satisfactory and you have other work for me, Mr. Ross, you will mail it. I will arrange to have it forwarded—"
She got no farther for the door was suddenly flung wide and a shrivelled grey little man precipitated himself into the room. With bent shoulders and head thrust forward, he peered eagerly at the younger man through thick tortoise-shell glasses and demanded in a high voice crackling with nervous excitement:
"Ross, who is she? The young woman you said had undertaken this translation for you? I must see her—"
"She is here." The young man rose. "Miss Shaw, allow me to present Professor Carmody."
The girl bowed distantly, but the little professor advanced to her with outstretched hands.
"My dear young lady, I want to congratulate—" He stopped abruptly, amazement and a dawning recognition in his eyes. "It can't be—is it possible——?"
"You find my translation satisfactory then, Professor Carmody?" Betty darted a swift glance at him, and then turned her head sharply as if to gaze from the window. This move presented her profile to the nearsighted eyes bent upon her, and brought the birthmark out with cruel distinctness upon her cheek.
Professor Carmody halted, stammering, and the look of expectancy died from his weazened face.
"I beg your pardon. I fancied for a moment that I had met you before. I intruded just now, Miss—Miss—"
"Betty Shaw." The girl prompted him steadily.
"Miss Shaw, I wanted to tell you that your work is admirable! The translation is masterly and I doubt if even my friend Professor Mallory himself could have improved upon it. You have kept to the text with extraordinary fidelity, and retained the spirit as well as the letter to a marked degree!"
"Thank you." In spite of herself Betty flushed at the fervent praise, but she kept her face averted. "The work was intensely interesting, but I feared I had forgotten a great deal."
"Miss Shaw studied with an associate of Professor Mallory," Ross remarked.
"Really. I should have believed her to have been a pupil of the great man himself." Professor Carmody's eyes still glistened with enthusiasm. "I shall be happy to show you several original papyri of profound interest, if you will call some morning, my dear Miss Shaw. In this intensely modern age, it is a genuine pleasure to encounter a young person who appreciates the wisdom and greatness of the past."
He bowed and had turned to the door when Herbert Ross stopped him with a reminder.
"You, er—you have the check, Professor?"
"Bless me, of course!" The little man fumbled in his pocket for a moment, then drew out a narrow slip of paper which he laid upon the desk. "There are one or two inscriptions from tombs of the eleventh dynasty, I believe, which have been awaiting translation. You will find them in that drawer, there. Good afternoon, Miss Shaw."
When the sound of his quick, nervous footsteps had died away down the corridor, Ross handed the check to Betty. It was made out for fifty dollars and signed by the secretary of the Egyptological Society. Murmuring a conventional expression of thanks, the girl placed it in her handbag and rose.
"Would you care to undertake some more translation immediately?" the young man asked, opening the drawer tentatively.
"I should, very much," Betty responded, her eyes alight with eagerness.
"In that case, it will be necessary for me to have your present address, Miss Shaw." There was no mistaking the businesslike finality in his tone, and Betty hesitated. If she refused, she would not only forfeit the translating which was a fascinating study, but she might never again see this young man, her only link with the world beyond Mrs. Atterbury's forbidding gates. On the other hand, her reticence would undoubtedly arouse his curiosity and suspicion and if he were sufficiently interested, he might institute awkward inquiries and precipitate the very crisis she sought to avoid. Would frankness be her wisest course? She hesitated only a moment.
"Mr. Ross, I gave you the address of my boarding house because I have undertaken this translation unknown to my present employer. I work at it only in my leisure hours, but I do not think she would approve of my doing anything which lay outside of her own immediate interests. She is Mrs. Atterbury, of Three Hundred and Thirty-five North Drive. However, I should like all communications sent to the first address I gave you."
Herbert Ross drew his hand quickly across his forehead and there was an odd, repressed note in his voice.
"I quite understand. You will remain for some little time in your present position? I believe you said it was temporary."
"I—I cannot tell." Betty's tone was very low and her eyes wandered restlessly to the door. "I shall have finished this translation, at any rate, before I leave."
"Very well." He arose and held out his hand to her. "Bring it to me, please, when it is completed. The terms will be the same as before. I wish you the best of luck with it, Miss Shaw."
When she had gone he dropped back into his chair and sat for some minutes lost in a profound reverie which, judging by his frown, was not a happy one. At length he struck the desk an emphatic blow with his fist as if to register some vital decisions and springing to his feet, he started precipitately for the sanctum of Professor Carmody.
"My dear Ross!" The grey little man glanced up in mild deprecation from a heap of yellowed parchments as the other burst in upon him. "I trust my abrupt intrusion on your conference did not complicate matters for you. I had completely forgotten, in my enthusiasm over the young woman's remarkable work, that she was a subject for your own especial study."
"On the contrary, Professor, your entrance was fortunate; it lent verisimilitude to the little farce I have been playing with your valuable assistance. But I want to ask you a question upon which much depends. For whom did you mistake Miss Shaw, when you first saw her?"
Professor Carmody pondered for a space.
"I do not know," he responded at length, thoughtfully. "I cannot recall her name, but I was forcibly reminded of a young girl whom I had met in Cairo some two years ago, who was studying under Professor Mallory. When Miss Shaw turned her head I realized my mistake at once, for the girl I speak of had no blemish upon her face. It is rather odd, as the translation bears unmistakable earmarks of Professor Mallory's tutelage, but the association of ideas is undoubtedly responsible for my misapprehension."
"Undoubtedly," echoed Ross. "Nevertheless, if you can recall the name of the young woman in Cairo, by any chance, I shall be grateful."
It was Professor Carmody's turn to halt his visitor at the door.
"This Miss Shaw to whom you just presented me—I trust that, er, she is not under your professional interest as a suspect? A young person of such a high order of intelligence, of intellectuality——"
"By no means, Professor. She is merely an unimportant witness in a civil case; rather curious, but with no criminal features. I'll look in on you tomorrow. Try to remember the other girl's name for me; the one in Cairo."
Twenty minutes later, when the young detective was ushered into the presence of Madame Dumois, even that astute lady could read nothing in his grave non-committal face.
"You have found her?" The aged voice quivered with the tension of her control, but there was no hint of a tenderer emotion. "The young person you suspected, is she the original of the photograph I showed you?"
Ross shook his head.
"I have been unable to determine." His voice was very low. "She has succeeded in eluding me, Madame Dumois. I am sorry to be obliged to confess it, but I was too confident. Either I have underestimated her intelligence and inadvertently put her on the defensive, or circumstances have combined to effect her disappearance a second time. She has slipped from my grasp."
The old lady uttered an exclamation of bitter disappointment and anger.
"Why did you not take me to her at once?" she demanded. "A fig for your conscientious scruples, sir! Had she not proved to be the young woman I am looking for, what harm could it have done?"
"None, save precipitate the notoriety you wish to avoid, Madame Dumois." He leaned toward her with a ring of passionate earnestness in his tones. "Why will you not be frank with me? What is your interest in this girl? What do you mean to do with her when you have found her?"
"I repeat, that is solely my affair." She fixed him with a shrewd glance. "I might answer your question by another, young man. What interest have you in my motive for instituting this search? You have found someone whom you believe to be the one I wish to see, yet you claim to be unable to produce her. What has my object to do with your chances of locating her once more?"
His interrogator's keen directness took the young detective by surprise, but he countered swiftly.
"Everything, my dear Madame! If I were assured that her disappearance was a purely voluntary one, resulting from inclination alone, rather than any sinister or criminal cause, I could prosecute my search along far different lines than those I am compelled to adopt, as long as I am working in the dark."
"You have not entirely lost track of your suspect, then?" The old lady leaned forward in her chair. "You will be able to find her again?"
"I firmly believe that I shall, but it may require some little time," he responded cautiously.
Madame Dumois straightened herself with an air of conscious triumph.
"In that case, Mr. Ross, our original compact holds, unless you voluntarily relinquish it. Find her with the information I have already given you, or drop the case. That is positively my last word in the matter. I decline to take you or anyone into my confidence. What I have to say to that young woman shall be said to her alone, and what disposition I shall make of her will be strictly according to her deserts. If I did not believe you to be above suspicion, upon my soul, I should accuse you of knowing more than you will admit and actually trying to shield her!"
"My dear lady!" He raised protesting hands. "I shall not refer you to my chief, or call upon my record to witness my utter singlemindedness in this, as in every other case I have handled. It is one of the generally accepted prejudices against those engaged in my profession that we are devoid of any finer feeling and insensible to injustice, but I had believed myself immune from such a suspicion, especially in the eyes of a person of your rare discernment."
"I haven't accused you of bribery, young man!" There was a softer, almost contrite note in her dry tones. "But a baby stare has forced many a hasty conclusion. However, we won't quarrel about it. I can assure you of one thing; in placing that young woman in my hands you'll be saving her from far worse ones. Whether she has dabbled in crime or not, the quicker she is located the better for her."
"I shall do my best," Ross said earnestly. "Be assured that I have no interest in this but to serve you. My questions may have seemed impertinent, but they were not prompted by idle curiosity, you know. I shall not intrude again until I have something definite to report."
He bowed over her hand and her withered fingers tightened about his in a cordial clasp.
"I hope it will be soon, Mr. Ross," she added in impulsive candor. "Call whenever you wish and I shall be at home. I won't promise you any further information, but I am a lonely old woman and I find our little tilts highly diverting. If you have not yet succeeded in my quest you have at least brought me a new interest in life, and I positively look forward to your visits."
"Thank you." He smiled boyishly. "I will avail myself of your invitation gladly, Madame Dumois, but remember I mean to succeed, even if I must work blindfold."
The smile did not linger as he made his way down the path to the Drive. The old lady's shrewd instinct had divined his procrastination and unerringly probed its cause, and his chief, too, would be clamoring for a report. Why should he hesitate? The girl was within reach of his hand and his duty was clear. Scar or no scar, he could not blind himself to the conviction that in Betty Shaw his search was ended. What was it that, stronger than his will, deeper-rooted than his loyalty still held him back from the step which sooner or later would be inevitable?
As the toils closed tighter about the girl and the clouds which encompassed her grew darker and more sinister, her face shone clearer before his mental vision and her steady eyes seemed to meet his in sorrowful questioning.
He was a detective, but he was also a man; must he in willful ignorance of the consequences, deliver her to the tender mercies of Madame Dumois? She had trusted him, she had replied in simple faith to the decoy advertisement and placed herself in his hands. Madame Dumois had also given him her confidence, relying upon his professional honor. Which would be the greater betrayal?
Detective McCormick was in the best of humors, and shook hands heartily with his young operative.
"My boy, that was the finest bit of sheer luck that has come our way in many a long day!" he exclaimed. "Your running into Ide hanging around the gates of that place out on the North Drive has given the whole investigation a new turn, and I shouldn't wonder if the results would be sensational."
"I wouldn't be too sanguine, sir." Ross spoke with curious repression. "It was dusk, as I told you, and I only had a momentary glimpse as I flashed past in a taxi. I may have been mistaken."
"You didn't think so the other day." The Chief turned in his swivel chair and stared up at him. "You were sure enough then of the identification, and I think myself that you were right. I've had the place covered ever since, and there's something queer doing there, as sure as shooting!"
"Doesn't seem likely." Ross shook his head. "People of the social standing of those who live on the North Drive couldn't be mixed up in any game of Ide's. What did you mean 'queer,' sir? Who's on the job?"
"Clark. The house is owned by a woman named Atterbury; lived there for years and seems to rate A1 in the neighborhood, but she's laying mighty low, too low for a person who is on the level. She's comparatively young and a good looker, but she lives like a hermit, and there's a young girl in the household, a girl with a scar on her face, who will bear watching."
"I think it's a mistake, sir, it must be." Ross spoke with all the assurance he could command. "There's nothing wrong with the Atterbury woman, and as for the girl—"
"As for her, what?" demanded his chief, as he paused. "What do you know about them?"
"Nothing, except in a general way," he hedged lamely. "But if she's the Mrs. Atterbury I imagine, Clark is barking up the wrong tree and he'll only make a fool of himself if you let him push this matter. Ide—if it was really Ide whom I saw—may have been passing by. That is a blind trail, Chief."
"Look here, Ross, what's got into you?" McCormick blustered. "You were as keen on the scent as Clark is now and all of a sudden you back down. The fellow was Ide, all right; I've never known you to make a mistake yet in spotting a man, and I tell you this Atterbury woman, whoever she is, has an ace in the hole, somewhere. What's the dope?"
"Simply that she is too well known, too prominent. You couldn't touch her, sir. It's out of the question."
"Is it?" McCormick swore a vigorous oath. "Nobody ever flew so high yet that I couldn't bring 'em down when I had the goods on them. And I'll get it, Ross, don't make any mistake about that! This is the first time you've laid down on anything, but Clark will stick like a burr and even if Ide is out of it, there's some other little game being pulled off up there, you mark my words. We'll get to the bottom of it before I call Clark off it. But what's the good word in your own case?"
"Nothing doing." Ross raised his eyes with an effort to those of his chief. "I've been stalling Madame Dumois and trying to kid her into giving me enough data to work on, but you know how it was with you. She is fighting so shy of possible notoriety that she won't loosen, but I haven't given up hope. I found one clue that looked promising, but I was on the wrong track. It wasn't the right girl."
"Well, keep after the old lady." McCormick resumed the cigar butt he had relinquished at the other's appearance. "You can get around her in time if anyone can. Let me know when something turns up."
"Very well, sir." Ross accepted the hint and departed, but long after the door had closed behind him, McCormick sat gazing reflectively before him with a startled half-incredulous query in his eyes.