The morning meal proved delightfully informal, Natalie gracefully presiding, and apparently in the highest spirits. West found his place reserved on her right with Miss Willis next, and, between the two, was kept extremely busy. The Colonel sat directly across the table, with Percival Coolidge just beyond the hostess. No intimation of anything wrong burdened those present, the single servant silently performing his duties to the constant laughing chatter of those about the table. Even Coolidge, somewhat distant at first, yielded finally to the prevailing humour, and joined freely in the conversation. This turned at last to the plans for the day, revealing a variety of desires, which Natalie arranged to gratify. The Colonel and two of the ladies expressed an inclination to attend church, the limousine being offered them for the purpose. Others decided on a match with the racquets, while Coolidge, rather to the surprise of the lady, suggested that Natalie accompany him into the city on a special errand of mercy. At first, amid the ceaseless clatter of tongues, West was unable to grasp the nature of his plea, or her reply, but finally overheard enough to arouse his personal interest, especially when his own name was mentioned in the discussion.
"I was not aware you ever concerned yourself in such matters," she said soberly. "Is this a particular case?"
"Decidedly so; the man before he died, was in my employ, but I did not learn until late yesterday of the condition in which his family was left. I understand something must be done for them at once. You are always interested in such cases, so I supposed you would accompany me gladly. It is extremely disagreeable duty for me."
"It must be attended to today?"
"The case is very urgent I am told."
"But how can I leave my guests—especially Captain West?"
West leaned forward.
"Do not hesitate on my account. I can easily amuse myself; or, if there is room, and it is not disagreeable to Mr. Coolidge, I might enjoy being of the party."
"Why, of course," she coincided eagerly. "Why couldn't he come along? There will be plenty of room if I operate the car. It is a case of destitution of which Uncle Percival has just learned—a widow and three children actually suffering. Surely it can do no harm for Captain West to accompany us?"
Coolidge exhibited no enthusiasm over the proposition; indeed West felt his response almost discourteous, yet this very suspicion aroused his own desire to make one of the party. The fellow evidently disliked him instinctively, and would exert every influence possible to discredit him in the eyes of Natalie. The suggestion even came that this sudden call to charity might prove only an effort on Coolidge's part to get the girl alone where she could be plainly talked to. The man was not pleased with this new proposal, that was evident enough; but the niece unquestionably desired him to accept the invitation. Not only her lips, but equally her eyes, pressed the matter, and West experienced no hesitancy in saying yes.
"Why, of course I will go," he returned heartily, "and I will be ready whenever you are."
"About half an hour then."
He retired to the room upstairs, partly for the purpose of exchanging his coat, but also half tempted to make a hasty examination of the valise which Coolidge had thoughtlessly left overnight in the closet. The conception had already taken strong hold on his mind that his visitor of the evening before had been the mysterious impersonator of Natalie Coolidge; and that she had come there with some deliberate purpose—no-doubt a secret conference with Percival. If her resemblance to the mistress of the house was as remarkable as he had been led to believe, her entrance to the place would be comparatively easy of accomplishment, and the danger of discovery correspondingly small. It never occurred to him to question Natalie's story. To be sure there were details he found it difficult to fully accept as true, but the girl certainly believed all she had told him. She denied earnestly having been the one invading his room, and he believed her implicitly; yet the person who had visited him was so closely her image as to make it still seem almost an impossibility that she could be a separate individual. Nothing less than Natalie's own word would have brought conviction. And this person had supposed she was visiting the apartment occupied by Percival Coolidge. This was the only satisfactory explanation of her presence there; whether she came that night for the first time, or as a supplement to other similar visits, it was unquestionably Coolidge whom she sought.
For what purpose? To West's mind only one object appeared probable. The man was too far advanced in life—certainly much above sixty from his appearance—to be involved in a love affair with so young and attractive a woman. Moreover in such a case she would scarcely seek him out here in this private home, where he was merely a transient guest; he would never venture to use a place like this as a rendezvous. That was unthinkable. Some other purpose, demanding immediate attention, must furnish the reason for her venturing to enter this house at such an hour, and coming directly to the room where she supposed Coolidge to be sleeping. To West's mind there could be but one answer. The two were mutually involved in a conspiracy of some nature, undoubtedly connected with the approaching settlement of the Coolidge estate. This girl, so strangely resembling Natalie, had in some way been discovered by the scheming guardian, who was now using her for his own selfish ends. The plot had been carefully perfected, and the time must now be near for execution. This girl had been selected, and trained to act a part—the part of Natalie Coolidge. Her ability to deceive had been tested in various ways. Now the moment approached when they were ready to play out the real game. Yet the nature of that game was in no way apparent. He could only keep quiet, and wait for some further development, even appear indifferent, while he secretly watched every suspicious movement of Percival Coolidge.
It was not at all probable the satchel contained any incriminating evidence, yet the temptation was strong to obtain, if possible, a hasty glance at the contents. But for this he was already too late, scarcely reaching the room indeed, before Sexton appeared, announcing his mission. West, perched on the arm of a chair, smoking, and watched the man bring forth the valise, and start toward the door.
"Coolidge tells me he usually occupied this room," he ventured curiously,"How did it happen I was put in here?"
Sexton paused, and faced about respectfully.
"It was upon orders from Miss Natalie, sir. But she did not mention the change in time to remove the bag. The truth is, I forgot, sir, that it was here."
"Oh, I see; this is not the grip he usually travels with then?"
"No, sir; this was sent down in advance, sir. Mr. Percival Coolidge is here quite frequently."
"Naturally. As I understand he has no home of his own?"
"No, sir; he was never married, sir. In the city he stops at one of the big hotels. Of late he quite frequently spends the end of the week out here, sir. Of course he is deeply interested in the prosperity of the estate."
"As the guardian of Miss Natalie, you mean?"
"Just so, sir."
"How long have you been here, Sexton?"
"Sixteen years, sir."
"You knew Miss Natalie's father then, and must enjoy the place to remain so long?"
"It has been very pleasant, sir, until the last month or so," regretfully, yet evidently glad of the opportunity to talk, lingering with one hand on the knob of the door. "Since then things haven't been just the same."
"In what way?"
"Well, I don't exactly know, sir. Miss Natalie seems to change her mind, an' we never can please her. That's the trouble mostly. Last night I waited up until you all went to bed, an' then locked the house, the way she told me to. But that didn't suit her at all, for she stopped me on the stairs, an' made me go back an' leave the side door unlocked—just said she'd attend to that herself."
"Miss Natalie told you? You are sure, Sexton?"
"Oh, it was her, sir; there was a light burning in the hall, an' she was all dressed up as though she was goin' out. 'Taint the first time, either. I ain't got no right to say anything, but it puzzles me what she wants to go out for at that time o' night. And I thought maybe I ought to speak to Mr. Percival Coolidge about it."
"No. I wouldn't, Sexton," said West quietly. "It would likely enough only get you into trouble. Probably she cannot sleep well, and so walks in the garden. Anyway this is none of our business, my man. Where are Miss Natalie's apartments?"
"In the other wing, sir; the first door beyond the head of the stairs."
"And the door you were asked to leave open?"
"At the farther end of the hall."
As West made no further effort to continue the conversation, but began to carelessly roll a cigarette, Sexton slipped silently through the opening, the valise in his hand, and closed the door behind him. West touched a match to the cigarette, scarcely aware of the action.
This attempt to dig information out of a servant was not a pleasant experience, yet he felt that in this case it was fully justified. To be sure he had gained little, yet that little helped to clear away the fog, and sustain the girl's theory that she was being impersonated by another even to her own servants. If West had retained any lingering doubt as to what had occurred the previous night, this doubt had entirely vanished in the face of Sexton's testimony. His visitor, and the one who had ordered the servant to leave the side door unlocked, had been the same—not Natalie Coolidge, but strangely resembling her. Whoever she was, she knew the house well, and possessed some means of entrance. Whatever else her purpose might be, one object was clearly connected with the presence there of Percival. She had sought his room, fleeing immediately on discovering it to be occupied by another. Very well! this meant that he already had two distinct lines of investigation opened to him—the woman, and the man. The first was like pursuing a shadow, but Coolidge was real enough. He determined to keep in touch with the fellow, confident that he would thus be eventually led to a discovery of his companion. Beyond all question, they were involved in the same scheme of conspiracy. West had deliberately arrived at this conclusion, rather pleased at his success, when a gentle knock sounded at the door.
"What is it?"
"Sexton, sir. Miss Natalie has the car at the door, and is waiting for you."
"All right. I will be down immediately."
The guests had either retired to their rooms, or were wandering about the spacious grounds; at least none were in evidence when West emerged on to the side terrace, where Miss Natalie and Percival Coolidge waited. The car was an electric runabout, the single broad seat ample for the three, and West found himself next to the girl who took charge. Few words were exchanged until they turned into the main high-way, headed toward the city. Even then conversation scarcely touched on the special object of their trip. Indeed, Coolidge seemed inclined to avoid the subject entirely, turning the conversation into other channels whenever the matter was broached. This was so persistently done as to arouse West's notice, but Natalie appeared indifferent, interested only in her guidance of the car. It was not a long ride, the point sought being a short submerged street in the southwestern section of the city. To West this district was entirely unknown, even the street names being unfamiliar, but he learned through the conversation of the others that they were in the neighbourhood of some of the Coolidge factories, many of the surrounding houses being the homes of employees. Percival called his attention to a few of these, more substantial than the others, as evidence of the wages paid in their establishments, and also expatiated to some extent upon the benevolent oversight shown their workmen. The girl, however, remained quiet, her attention concentrated upon the street.
Indeed it needed to be if they were to escape accident, for the streets traversed were, on this Sunday morning, evidently filled from curb to curb with children engaged in all manner of games, with their elders massed on the steps in front of the houses, watching them apathetically. The runabout felt its way cautiously forward through the jostling throng of screaming youngsters, and finally turned into Arch Street, only two blocks in length, with low, two storied, wooden cottages on either side. Percival, plainly nervous at the surroundings, indicated the place sought in the middle of the first block, and Natalie ran the car up against the curb.
"Is this the place?" she asked doubtfully, eyeing the rather disreputable cottage, which seemed deserted. "I have never been here before. What a mass of kids! Do they always play like that in the street?"
Coolidge unfastened the door, and stepped out.
"Yes, it's all right," he answered sharply. "You might wait here, West; we'll only be gone a few minutes. Come along, Natalie,"
The girl hesitated, evidently not altogether satisfied.
"Is it necessary that I go in?" she asked.
"That was why I asked you to come," impatiently. "Because you understand these matters, and, being a woman, can judge better what steps should be taken. Come; it will only require a few moments—West won't mind."
"Certainly not," the younger man said heartily, "I shall be very comfortable; don't bother about me."
He had a distinct impression that Coolidge did not desire his company any further, yet this suspicion aroused no resentment. This was a matter with which he was in no way concerned, and the only interest he felt was strictly impersonal. His eyes followed the two as they advanced up the board walk to the front door of the cottage, and he felt a measure of surprise at seeing Coolidge calmly open the door without knocking. Both disappeared amidst the darkness within, and he dismissed the whole affair from his mind almost instantly. Sinking comfortably back in the seat, his gaze centred on the maze of children playing in the street. Their antics amused him for some time, but, at last, he began wondering at the delay of those within, and his mind drifted to the peculiar conditions with which he was confronted. Over and over again he reviewed the facts told him, and compared these with his own observations. That something was wrong was beyond doubt; he could no longer question this, but no satisfactory clue to the mystery had yet presented itself. If some conspiracy was on foot against Natalie, what could be its object? and who were directly involved? There was apparently no way to settle this, except to wait patiently for some move on the part of the others. Any attempt at guessing would only lead him astray. Seemingly, Percival Coolidge was the only person who could be directly interested should misfortune occur to his niece; he was the guardian of her inheritance, and responsible for what remained of her father's estate. Undoubtedly he also was the next heir at law. His interest in the matter was therefore easily figured out. Yet there was nothing to prove that the fellow was a villain at heart, or had any reason to attempt desperate methods. The mere fact that some other woman amused herself in pretending to be Natalie proved nothing criminally wrong. It might be a mere lark, with no vicious object in view. Indeed, but for the deep interest West already felt in the girl herself, he would have dismissed this angle of the problem entirely from consideration. It seemed far too melodramatic and improbable to be taken seriously, although, from mere curiosity, he purposed to round up this masquerader, and satisfy himself as to why she was thus publicly impersonating the girl. Yet this appeared a matter of minor importance, his real task being to learn the condition of the Steven Coolidge estate, and whether or not, Percival had administered it justly. Once satisfied upon that point, he would know better what further steps to take. His whole mind had unconsciously centred upon a distrust of the man. He believed him to be a sneaking scoundrel, at present engaged in seeking some means for gaining possession of the trust funds left in his care. And yet, West had to confess to himself that this belief was largely founded upon prejudice—confidence in Natalie, and a personal dislike of the man himself. He possessed no proof of the fellow's perfidy, nor had he even determined in his own mind the means to be employed for learning the truth. He had nothing to build upon but the statement of the girl, which was extremely vague in detail, and largely mere suspicion. The more thoroughly he analyzed the situation the more complicated it became, and the less confident he felt regarding an early solution. If Coolidge was engaged in some criminal scheme the man was certainly shrewd enough to carefully cover his trail. It was no sudden temptation to which he had yielded, but a deeply laid plan, formed, perhaps, as long ago as his brother's death, and now just coming to a head. Even the books of the estate might have been so carefully manipulated as to leave no clue. Besides West possessed no authority by which to examine the books, or even question the bankers in whose hands the funds were supposed to be. The only immediate hope of striking a trail apparently lay in his discovery of the strange woman who was impersonating Natalie Coolidge, and learning her object in carrying on such a masquerade. Of course, even that might lead nowhere in particular, as she might be merely amusing herself, and have no connection with Percival whatever; yet such an investigation offered a chance not to be neglected.
His glance took in the surroundings, but with no conception that they would have any direct bearing upon the mystery he was endeavouring to solve. It was a block of irregular houses, a tenement on the corner, a dirty looking brick, the other houses of wood, mostly two stories in height, rather disreputable in appearance, but the one before which the machine waited, was a frame cottage, well back from the street, and rather respectable in appearance, although it must have been some years since last painted. Its original white was dingy, and the tightly closed blinds gave an appearance of desertion. The door was shut. The chimney indicated no sign of smoke, the front yard gave every evidence of long neglect.
An urchin, chasing a ball, plunged recklessly beneath the auto, emerging with the sphere in his grimy fist. West stopped him with a question.
"Who lives in there?"
"I do' know."
"You don't know? Live 'round here, don't you?"
"Sure; but these folks just come in. They ain't got no kids. G'wn; what yer asking me fer? Here ye are, Micky!"
"Wait a minute. Here's a dime for you. You say these people just moved in?"
"Yep."
"When?"
"Couple days maybe. Shucks, mister, I do' know. Hooligans moved out 'bout a week ago, an' then, a while after that, these guys moved in. I ain't seen nobody round, but a sorter middlin' ol' woman. Maybe Micky knows who they be—he lives in that next house. Hey, Micky; here's a guy wants to ask you som'thin'!"
But Micky refused to be interested, beyond a derisive wiggling of his fingers at his nose, and West, having abstracted all the information possible, made no further effort. The knowledge thus obtained as to the present occupants of the cottage did not exactly coincide with the story Coolidge had told. He had spoken of a widow with three children in destitute circumstances following the father's death. The boy asserted there were no children in the family. And they had just moved in, within a very few days, during which time the neighbourhood had only glimpsed a "middling old" woman. It was strange at least, adding distinctly to the puzzle of the whole affair. West grew nervous, wondering why the two should remain so long within, out of sight and hearing. If this was merely a charitable visit, it surely did not need require such a length of time. He had been waiting now for three-quarters of an hour. He opened the door of the car, and stepped out upon the curb, almost tempted to investigate the cause of delay. As he stood there undecided, the two emerged from the cottage, and descended the steps together. Through the opened door he caught no glimpse of any one within, yet some unseen hand closed it quickly behind them.
They came down the narrow board walk together, Percival carefully holding the lady's arm to prevent her tripping over the loosened planks, but neither exchanging a word. The man was smiling, the fingers of one hand toying with the curl of his moustache, but Natalie appeared somewhat sobered by her visit, and West noticed that she had tied a light veil over her face, which slightly shadowed her features. It was only as they reached the curb that she spoke, her voice rather low and listless.
"Would you mind driving the car back?" she asked Coolidge. "Really I feel quite unnerved."
"No wonder," he returned sympathetically, "I have never witnessed a sadder case; the conditions were even worse than I imagined. I should never have brought you with me, my dear."
"Oh, I am not sorry I came; but it has been a lesson to me. I do not think before I ever realized what such poverty meant."
The words trembled from her lips, and were spoken slowly as though chosen with care. "The sad plight of the children particularly appealed to me."
"There are children then?" West questioned, as Coolidge assisted her into the car. The latter cast a swift glance of inquiry into the younger man's face.
"Children!" he exclaimed, "Of course; we spoke of them on the way down."
"I know; that was what made me wonder when one of the lads playing out here in the street said there were no kids in the cottage."
"Oh, I see," a bit sarcastically. "So you have been amusing yourself questioning the neighbours, have you?"
"To a very small extent," West confessed, keeping his temper. "One of the players chased a stray ball under the automobile, and I asked him a question or two. The cottage appeared so deserted, and you were absent for such a length of time, I became somewhat curious."
"And what did he tell you?"
"Only that the occupants had moved in within a few days, and that he had seen no kids about; no one in fact but a middling old woman."
"Did he mention any names?"
"No; I didn't ask. It was nothing to me."
"I should say it was not. So the kid told you there were no children, did he? Well, you heard what Natalie said just now—which are you going to believe?"
"The lady, of course," smilingly. "Surely this is no matter to quarrel over."
"No, Captain West," she broke in, leaning forward in the seat, and speaking again in the peculiar strained voice. "The boy was merely mistaken. He had not seen the children because they were kept closely in the house. They were turned out of their former home, and have absolutely nothing; no furniture even; only straw to sleep on. It was most pitiful."
"Do not think of it any longer, Natalie," Coolidge insisted rather gruffly. "They are all right now. I shall telephone for a doctor as soon as we get back, and attend to the rent the first thing tomorrow."
"I know, Uncle, but I cannot forget so easily. Do you know anything about poverty, Captain West?"
"Nothing very direct. Of course, in a way I have occasionally come in contact with suffering of that nature. I have been hungry enough in the army, but usually I have experienced little need. I regret," he added apologetically, "that what I said was taken as criticism. I had no such meaning."
"Criticism!" Coolidge turned the car around as he spoke. "Be as free with that as you please; what I object to is your intruding at every opportunity. It looks as though you were trying to find out something—is that your game?"
"Not at all. I naturally spoke to the kid, and the only topic which occurred to me at the moment concerned the people you were visiting. I see no occasion for any misunderstanding."
"And there is none," she asserted cordially, her eyes meeting his own frankly. "So let's drop the subject, and enjoy our ride. I am not going to have the whole day spoiled because of these people. They are all right now. What is that big building over there?"
Coolidge emitted some answer, but devoted his attention to running the car, his jaw set. It was clear enough that West's explanation was not altogether satisfactory, and his dislike for the younger man had in no way lessened. The young woman, however, easily regained her vivacity, and devoted herself to making the ride homeward as pleasant as possible. West found her unusually entertaining, with a deep sense of humor he had not before suspected, and an occasional lapse into slang which rather surprised him. He had previously entertained the thought that she was rather conventional and not particularly easy to approach, but this conception vanished quickly in a free flow of conversation, to which Coolidge apparently paid small attention. Indeed, there were moments when her extreme frankness of speech rather surprised West, even her voice striking strangely upon his ears, but the happy laugh, and swift glance of the eyes reassured him. No doubt she was playing a part for the benefit of Percival Coolidge in which he must co-operate. Later all would be explained, and made clear. This belief encouraged him to keep up his end of the conversation, ignoring Coolidge entirely, and devoting his attention exclusively to her.
The returning ride seemed very brief, and, almost before West realized it, the car whirled in through the Coolidge gate, and came to a stop at the door. Coolidge by this time had recovered from his spell of ill-nature, or else chose to so appear, and the party separated pleasantly. Natalie disappeared somewhere within, while the two men strolled out to the tennis court where the guests were enjoying a spirited game. All met again at lunch, and then separated, some to motor over to the lake, the others amusing themselves as they saw fit. Both Coolidge and Natalie vanished, while West, finding himself alone, chose a book from the library, and, solaced by a cigar, sought a shady nook on the porch.
The book, however, was but a mark for his thoughts, which continually revolved about the strange surroundings in which he found himself. He was apparently making no progress, was no nearer a solution of the mystery confronting him. Thus far, at least, no direct clue had presented itself. Numerous things had occurred to strengthen suspicion, and to increase interest in the quest. But beyond this—nothing. He liked the girl and was completely enlisted in her service. He disliked Percival, and was convinced the fellow was planning evil. Several incidents had already strengthened this belief; yet there was nothing positive upon which to build; no path of adventure for him to follow. To speculate was easy enough, but real facts eluded him.
Yet, in spite of this feeling of failure, West's reflections centred more upon the young woman than upon the particular problem which he had to solve. The ride back from the city had revealed a phase of her character he had never observed before—she had shown herself vivacious, light of speech, a bit slangy and audacious. He was not altogether sure that this new revealment quite pleased him, and yet it possessed a certain charm. He had before learned to think of her as rather quiet and reserved, and now must change his whole conception. It was difficult to adjust his mind at once to the different standard. He found himself wondering why she had afforded him glimpses of her nature so strangely unlike. What could have occurred within the cottage to thus make so suddenly manifest this new side to her character? The change in her only served to increase the mystery, and, he confessed, his admiration also. Her very freedom evidenced to his mind that he was really accepted, had been taken into a new intimacy; no longer to be held and treated as an interloper, a stranger employed for a purpose. She had deliberately cast aside the conventional, and become natural in his presence—free to speak and act as the spirit moved. This was a victory, and he chose to interpret it as proof that she already really liked and trusted him. Actuated by this feeling, she no longer deemed it necessary to dissemble in his presence. It was a long step in advance.
He had arrived at this very pleasant conclusion, when Sexton appeared in the door, evidently looking for some one. The man espied him there in the shadow of the vines, and came forward.
"Miss Coolidge requests your presence, sir, for a few moments," he said gravely.
"Why, certainly; did she say where, Sexton?"
"In the library, sir; she is waiting there now."
West hesitated an instant. There was a question he was eager to ask, but immediately thought better of it. Interviewing servants was not in his line, and there were other ways of learning the truth.
"Very well," he said quietly. "I will join her at once. Thank you,Sexton," and disappeared into the cool, darkened hall.
The shades had been drawn closely to exclude the sun, and, for a moment after he first crossed the threshold of the library, West was unable to distinguish any occupant. He heard Sexton silently close the door behind him, but it was not until she moved slightly that he was able to perceive her presence directly across from where he stood. Her voice broke the silence.
"You will find a seat next to the window, Captain," she said quietly. "It was very good of you to come."
"The pleasure was mine," he replied. "Only I am blinded coming in here from the bright sunshine without."
"I have had a touch of headache—nervous, no doubt, from the visit this morning—and so ordered Sexton to draw the shades. Your eyes will soon accustom themselves to the lack of light. I see you quite well."
"Oh, I am all right now," and he sank into the vacant chair, facing her, expectantly. "You wished to speak with me, the servant said."
"Yes," she leaned back against the couch on which she rested, with face now clearly revealed, one hand nervously twirling a fan. "Although it is not easy for me to transform into words exactly what I mean. This is a very strange situation in which we find ourselves, Captain West."
"I have felt so," he admitted, surprised at this beginning. "Yet I must confess, I am now becoming quite reconciled."
She sat up suddenly, with eyes searching his face.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Perhaps I ought not to say," he answered boldly. "Yet circumstances seemingly justify frankness between us. I mean that I feel far more deeply interested in the final outcome of this affair today than I did yesterday—it means more to me."
"Indeed! Why?"
"Largely, I imagine, because I am privileged to know you much better.That naturally makes a difference."
"Does it indeed? You imply then an increased interest in myself as an individual brings with it a greater desire to serve me?"
"Assuredly, yes."
"Then you render my task doubly hard," she said soberly, yet with a certain hardness in the tone. "I had not suspected any personal side whatever. You were a total stranger to me, Captain West, and I employed you in this matter merely in a business way, as—as—a detective. Surely you understood this clearly?"
"In a measure that is quite true," feeling the sharp sting of her words. "Yet the comparison is hardly fair, is it? I am not a detective in the sense with which you employ the term. No question of pay even has been discussed between us. The appeal to my services was from an entirely different stand-point. More, you even investigated rather carefully my social and financial standing before taking me into your confidence, or admitting me to your home. Is this not true?"
"Undoubtedly. I had reason to wish assurance in these matters. I had to present you to my friends."
"Yet this very knowledge of my social position placed me on a totally different plane from that of a detective picked up at some agency. You knew I was not serving you for pay."
"Did I?"
"I should hope you did," his voice hardening slightly.
"But for what other end did you volunteer your services?"
"Perhaps that is not so easily explained. It was a spirit of adventure which first led me to answer your advertisement, I presume. At least, I can give it no other name. Then, when we met, you appealed to me personally; I felt a desire to further our acquaintance and—well, your story aroused my interest."
"Is that all?"
"It might have been had not you chosen methods of procedure which led me to other thoughts."
She laughed.
"Oh, I see! All this has happened because I introduced you to the others as my fiancé. Why, that is positively funny. Didn't you know that was only a part of the game being played?"
"Yes," he said, ignoring the humour of it, and feeling oddly sober, "I understood, and was playing, the same as you. Only both of us, I think, forget an important fact."
"What, please?"
"That we were young, socially on a level, and that you were an exceedingly charming young woman."
She laughed again, yet this time with more restraint.
"That is quite ridiculous, Captain West. Surely, you are not actually making love to me?"
"No, I am not. I am merely facing the situation very frankly. It would be useless for me to claim lack of interest in you. From our very first meeting, you have appealed to me strongly—more so than any other woman of my acquaintance. Then, perhaps, the peculiarity of our relationship, with the trust you seemed to impose in me, tended to deepen that interest. I confess I began to care for you—as a woman."
"Really you are quite flattering. I never dreamed I possessed such marvellous powers." She remained silent a moment, her eyes shaded by their long lashes; then uplifted them again to his face. "This makes it all the more necessary that I now speak plainly," she went on at length. "That I should explain to you it has all been a mistake. That was why I asked you to come here now."
"All a mistake! Not the trouble you were in surely?"
"Yes. I must have dreamed most of it, I think. I have just had a long confidential talk with Percival Coolidge, and we understand each other perfectly. Everything has been explained. So there is no necessity for our pretending any longer."
West rose to his feet, comprehending her full meaning, yet unwilling to yield his position without further explanation.
"Your words are certainly plain enough," he said slowly, "yet I trust I may be pardoned if I ask a question or so."
"Is it necessary?"
"Perhaps not, but I feel my curiosity is justified. You told me a rather remarkable story and requested my aid in the solving of a strange mystery. Now you abruptly dismiss me from that service. Do you mean the mystery is already solved without my further assistance?"
"I am convinced there was no mystery; that it was only imagination,Captain West. My calling you was a mistake."
"Percival Coolidge assures you of this?"
"Positively; we have discussed it from every angle, and all that appeared mysterious has been made clear."
"There is no one else impersonating you?"
"No."
"The checks at the bank; the strange person using your name; all these were myths?"
She laughed.
"Of course. I really believed all I said to you at the time, but everything has been explained since, and I realize how very foolish I have been. Uncle Percival has been very nice about it. He simply didn't understand before how worried I was."
"No doubt. You sent for me then merely to say I was dismissed?"
"Yes."
"And you told Coolidge, of course, how I came to be here?"
"Yes."
"And the others? What will they think?"
"Why, that can make no difference. They can be told that you were suddenly called away. Let them suppose we had a quarrel, and that our engagement is broken," and she laughed again, evidently vastly amused at the idea.
"But you, personally?" he insisted.
She sobered instantly, also rising, and facing him.
"Captain West, let us be sensible. I invited you here for a certain purpose. You were employed as much as any of my other servants. Is that a sufficient answer?"
"It certainly is. I will depart at once."
"Thank you. The limousine will be at the door. You will return to theClub, I presume?"
"Temporarily, until other arrangements are made."
He bowed and left her standing there in the shadows, the expression of her face veiled, but there seemed no response, no softening in the rigid attitude of her figure. She did not care; was only interested in his immediate departure. The change had occurred with such abruptness, West was unable as yet to realize its full significance, but, with no attempt to combat her decision, left the room, closing the door behind him. In that moment his mood changed. The dismissal had been so curt, his pride rose in rebellion. Finding Sexton in the front hall, he addressed him crisply.
"My bag will be ready in ten minutes."
"Yes, sir; you are going away, sir?"
"Immediately. A call to return to the city at once."
"I am very sorry, sir," he said respectfully, yet in a tone of such earnestness, as to cause West to glance toward him sharply. For an instant it was upon the lips of the younger man to ask a question, but Sexton turned away, and it remained unasked. Promptly at the time mentioned came the servant's soft rap on the door.
"I came for the bag, sir."
West handed it over with a glance at the rather expressionless face.
"You said you regretted to see me leave, Sexton," he remarked jovially."I presume you meant nothing in particular by that remark?"
"Oh, no, sir," standing motionless, bag in hand. "Only you have been very kind, sir, and—and—of course, it is none of my business, but I hope there is no quarrel, sir?"
"Quarrel! With Miss Natalie, you mean? Why should you suspect that?"
"I—I spoke, sir, very thoughtlessly, sir," he stammered. "You will pardon me, sir."
"Yes, but you must have had a reason, Sexton?"
"Only that she has seemed very much out of humour, sir, since her trip to town," he explained rather lamely. "I have never known her to be so hard to please, sir. I'm sure something is wrong, but that is no reason why I should say what I did, sir."
As the car whirled West down the circling driveway, the only sign of life visible about the house was the motionless figure of Sexton on the steps. If either Miss Natalie, or Percival Coolidge, took interest enough in the proceedings to witness his departure, they chose to remain carefully concealed within. His glance searched the front of the mansion vainly; no window revealed an occupant. From behind where the guests were at play, sounded a distant murmur of voices, and laughter, but the house itself expressed only calm indifference. There was no pretence even at speeding the parting guest. He had simply been dismissed, turned out, decently enough, perhaps, considering his status, yet with a certain measure of contempt which rankled nevertheless.
The young man could not altogether reconcile this style of treatment with his preconceived conception of Miss Natalie Coolidge. He had been too deeply impressed by her to easily relinquish his previously formed opinion of her character. This latest action did not at all coincide with her former open friendliness. He had not gone to her as a servant, nor had she in any way treated him as such. What could account for so remarkable a change? Even if she had felt his present usefulness was ended; that she had made a mistake in ever admitting him to her confidence, the dismissal could have been much more pleasantly achieved. She could still have exhibited friendliness, and an interest in his departure. Her words and manner had been extremely abrupt, and her explanation far from satisfactory.
Perhaps it was the influence of Percival Coolidge which accounted for the sudden change in the girl. This explanation seemed probable. The man had in some way regained her confidence, and then, through trickery, had succeeded in poisoning her mind. There was no doubt he would do this, if possible, and the probability was that he had finally discovered a way. From the very first, West had felt the antagonism of the other; there had never been any love lost between them. Coolidge disliked him instinctively, and made no effort to conceal his feelings; he resented the intimacy between him and Natalie, naturally enough, and would use every means possible to get the younger man completely out of the house. No doubt he looked upon him as dangerous. But why? There could only be one answer to this query. His own dishonesty; his secret knowledge of some trickery relative to the funds of the estate. He had convinced the girl of his honesty, but, more than ever, West believed the fellow a rascal. His very helplessness to intervene rendered him the more convinced.
These thoughts flitted through his mind, yet not consecutively, as the car left the grounds, and turned on to the main road, leading citywards. They were still skirting the Coolidge estate, although the house behind was concealed by shrubbery. The road descending into a ravine spanned by a concrete bridge, and a rather dense growth of trees shut out the surrounding landscape. Nothing moving was in sight. Suddenly, just as they cleared the bridge, and began to mount the opposite grade, there came a sharp report, sounding so close at hand the chauffeur clamped on his brake, and glanced anxiously over the side of the car.
"Blow-out, wasn't it, sir?"
"No," said West shortly, staring himself out into the thicket of trees at their left. "It was a shot fired over there; a revolver I should say. Wait a second, Sanders, until I see what has happened."
It was largely curiosity which led him to leave the car. The very conviction that it was a revolver which had been discharged brought a desire to learn the cause of the shot. The sound of either a rifle or a shot-gun in that lonely spot would have been instantly dismissed as natural enough, but a pistol was different. That was no place for such a weapon. It somehow had a grimly sinister sound. Led forward by a dim path, he plunged down the sharp incline of the hill, and pressed his way through the thick fringe of trees beyond. Behind these ran a wire fence, guarding a stretch of meadow, the high, uncut grass waving in the wind. Nothing was in sight except this ripening field of clover sweeping upward to the summit of an encircling ridge. The silence was profound; the loneliness absolute.
It was this fact which startled West from curiosity into suspicion. Surely there had been a shot fired—a revolver shot—almost on the very spot where he stood. He could not doubt the evidence of his own ears. Yet who had fired? For what purpose? and how had the party disappeared so completely during that narrow margin of time? There was no place where a man could hide unless he lay flat in the clover; and what occasion would any one have to thus seek concealment? Even if the shooter knew of the passing automobile, or heard his approach through the trees, there could be no reasonable cause for concealment. Determined now to learn exactly what had happened, West pressed his passage forward through the vines of the fence, and emerged into the field beyond. A half dozen yards and he found the clover trampled, as though a man had passed that way. The trail led into a shallow depression, past a rather large boulder, near which the trampling of the grass was even more plainly revealed, as though the stranger had remained here for some time, had even seated himself, and then, abruptly ended a few yards away. Evidently the fellow had turned back at this point, and retraced his steps.
West, now thoroughly puzzled, and already convinced that some mystery hovered over the place, began to circle through the untrampled clover, but without any defined purpose. All at once, at the lower end of the gully he came, unexpectedly, upon another trail, this one well marked, apparently frequently used, which led straight across the field, and terminated at a small gate leading through the wire fence. Evidently here was a short cut to the road, well known to the servants on the estate, and possibly others. The discovery, however, told nothing further than this, and contenting himself with another glance about the unchanged field of rustling clover, West proceeded along the course of the path, intending to thus rejoin the automobile, waiting his return behind the trees.
Within a few steps of the gate, which was closed, he came to a sudden, horrified pause, staring ahead at a strange something huddled in the path. It was a shapeless thing, bearing no resemblance to a human being, until he advanced closer; then he recognized the form of a man, curled up as a dog sleeps, face down hidden by his arm, and limbs drawn up, as if in a sudden spasm of agony. A hat was in the path beyond, where it had fallen, and a revolver lay glittering in the sunlight a few feet away. There was nothing familiar about either figure or clothing, yet unquestionably there lay the body of a suicide. The single shot they had heard, the tell-tale revolver close to the dead man's hand, were clear evidence of what had occurred.
The unexpectedness of this discovery, the peculiar position of the dead man, the loneliness of that deserted field in which he lay, shocked West and, for a moment left him strangely hesitant. Who was the man? What could have led up to the pitiful tragedy? Yet he advanced step by step nearer to the hideous object in the path. The man had been shot directly behind the right ear, killed instantly, no doubt, as the deadly bullet crashed through the brain. West lifted the arm which concealed the face, already shrinking from the suspicion, which had begun to assail him. Then he knew who the dead man was—Percival Coolidge.
Affairs progressed far too rapidly for some hours for West to reflect seriously over this experience. He could only act swiftly, answer questions, and do all in his power to assist others. The real meaning of the tragedy he made no effort to solve; for the time being, at least, he must leave that to others.
He stood guard beside the body until servants came and bore it to the house, but made no effort to follow. Instead he gave his address to Sexton, and continued his journey into the city. After what had passed between them he had no desire to again encounter Miss Natalie; and under these circumstances, actually shrank from meeting her. Just what this man's death might mean to the girl he could not safely conjecture, yet deep down in his own heart, he felt convinced that this act of self-destruction would later prove to be a confession of guilt. Yet, be that as it may, he was already definitely ruled out of the matter. Not, unless she personally sent for him, could he ever venture to go to her again in any capacity. To his mind this decision was final.
He was called for the inquest and gave his testimony. The hearing was brief, and the facts ascertained so clear, there remained no doubt in the minds of any one, but what this was a case of suicide. No particular attempt was made to probe into the cause, the personal affairs of the dead man being left for later investigation. West saw Natalie at the inquest for the very few moments she was upon the stand, but their eyes did not meet, nor did the girl give any evidence of recognition. She was pale, yet calm, answering the questions asked her quietly. These pertained entirely to her last meeting with Coolidge, and had no direct bearing on the verdict. The moment she was released she retired from the room; and West merely lingered long enough to learn the decision of the jury. Somehow the impression the young woman had left upon him in those few moments was not a pleasant one. He could not clearly analyse this result, yet she was either acting a part to conceal her true emotions, or else she was really indifferent.
It was not until the following day that reason began to reassert itself, and he succeeded in marshalling the facts of the case more clearly in his own mind. He even began to doubt and question his own testimony, yet, before he reached any real conclusion, one of the Club servants approached his chair.
"Captain West, there is a man out here asking to see you."
"A man! Where?"
"I had him wait in the anteroom, sir. He would give no name, and seems to be of the working class; so I thought I better tell you first, sir."
"Very well, Mapes. I'll soon find out what he wants."
It was Sexton, twirling his hat nervously in his hands, and still standing irresolutely in the middle of the floor. As sight of West he took a hasty step forward, eager to explain the cause of his presence.
"You'll pardon me, sir," he burst forth in apology. "But I must see you, sir."
"That's quite all right, Sexton. You have some message?"
"Not—not from any one else, sir. It's just my own business, but—but I thought you would help me, sir."
"Certainly; only too glad. Let's step in here where we can talk quietly."
He pointed the way into a private card room, closing the door behind his visitor.
"Take the seat over there, Sexton. You came in to see me from Fairlawn?"
"No, sir, I didn't. The fact is, I'm not out there any longer."
"Not there! What do you mean?"
"I've been discharged, sir, with two other servants, since the funeral yesterday."
"Discharged! Why I understood you had been employed there for years."
"Several years, sir."
"And now discharged! By whom? Not Miss Natalie surely?"
"Yes, sir. She didn't give no reason; just said we were not wanted any longer. That's one reason why I came here to see you, sir."
"But I hardly know how I can be of help. I have no house of my own, and—well, the truth of the matter is, Sexton, just at present I am not on very good terms with the young lady myself."
"I know that, sir," more confidently. "And it isn't a position I am seeking, at all. I have quite a tidy bit of money laid away, and could get plenty of work. That's not the point, sir. Why should Miss Natalie tell me to go like that? It isn't a bit like her, sir; she ain't seemed natural at all lately, and I tell you there's something wrong goin' on out there. I'm sure o' that, sir."
"Sure of what?"
"Well, for one thing, it's my opinion that Percival Coolidge never killed himself, sir."
West sat up stiffly, as though struck a blow. These words startled him; drove his own mind into sudden activity.
"What makes you think that, Sexton?" he questioned slowly.
"Well, there's more than one thing," as though glad to have made the plunge, and anxious to justify himself. "But first of all that wasn't his revolver they found lying beside him. He always had one in his valise, an' it's there now, or was when I looked to see."
"You didn't tell that to the coroner."
"No, sir; he never put me on the stand. Besides I didn't know about it then. After I thought about it, I told Miss Natalie, sir."
"Oh, you did! and what did she say?"
"She didn't think that proved anything; that he probably had the other in his pocket."
"This was before you were dismissed?"
"Yes, sir; the evening before, sir."
West whistled gravely, his gaze on the other's face.
"And is that all, Sexton?" he asked finally. "Is there any other reason why you doubt Coolidge killed himself?"
"Did you notice where he was shot, sir?"
"Behind the right ear; the wound was plainly visible."
"Not very easy for a man to do himself, sir."
"No, but possible, nevertheless. The coroner was satisfied on that point."
"Yes, sir, but the coroner overlooked one thing, sir. He was sure it was a suicide case, and wanted to get done with it in a hurry. I and Simmons, sir, washed the body to get it ready for burial, an' I combed the hair down over the bullet wound. There wasn't no powder marks on the skin, an' not a hair was singed, sir. That's what makes me say he never killed himself."
West sat silent and motionless, looking straight at the man opposite, endeavouring to decide on a course of action. Someway in the depth of his earnestness, Sexton no longer appeared a servant. He was a man, voicing a man's heart. West realized the change instinctively; here was an intelligent loyal fellow, to be met frankly, and for the time being, at least, on the ground of equality. It would be useless to try to either mislead, or deceive.
"Sexton," he began finally, "this is a pretty serious charge you make, my man, but since I have been thinking things over, I confess some suspicious circumstances have arisen in my own mind. Of course I was not aware of these facts you have just related, but they fit in nicely with some observations of my own. The truth is," he confessed frankly, "I did not tell all I knew to the coroner's jury. I meant to do so, but the right questions were not asked me, and certain details slipped my memory until too late. Do you recall a boulder of rock out in that clover field?"
"Yes, sir, to the right of the path; it is mostly hidden now by the growth."
"Entirely concealed a few yards away. Well, when I crawled through the fence after hearing that shot fired, I saw nothing, and heard nothing. I had advanced into the field several rods when I came upon the trail of some one leading directly north. It was not a path; merely evidence that a single person had passed that way. I followed, and came to this boulder. Here there was every proof visible that the previous party had remained for some time, seated and lying on the ground under protection of the stone. The occupancy was a recent one. Then evidently, whoever it was, had advanced to the right in the general direction of the gate through the fence, near where Coolidge's body was found. The marks of advance did not lead that far, or even to the marked path through the field. They ended on a little rise, some ten yards from the boulder, where the fellow apparently turned about, and retraced his steps."
"How far was that from the gate into the road, sir?" he asked breathlessly.
"Within easy shooting distance for a revolver of that calibre, I should say. Any good marksman could have rung the bell."
"And you saw no one?"
"No; not a sign; the fact is I failed at the time to put two and two together. The thought of a possible murder never occurred to me. It was only afterwards that I began to appreciate what all this might mean, and now what you have said has driven it home."
"You think it was murder then, sir?"
"Yes, I do," replied West gravely. "It has all the marks, but who committed the crime? What was the motive? It will never do for us to make such a charge, after the coroner's verdict, without positive proof."
"No, sir."
"And you know of nothing which might clear this up?"
"No, sir; I've been with the Coolidges, sir, ever since Miss Natalie was a little girl, and I ain't heard of any trouble that ought to end in murder, sir."
"How old was Miss Coolidge when her father died?"
"She must have been seventeen, sir."
"And since then Percival Coolidge had full charge of the estate?"
"Practically, yes, sir; there was another trustee, but he died; and then, as I understand, Miss Natalie had some funds of her own."
West took a cigar from his pocket, and lit it. Although not altogether clear in his own mind, he had begun to see light. For a moment he smoked in silence in an endeavour to figure out his own duty, while Sexton, nervously clinching and unclinching his hands, watched and waited.
Was this discovery anything to him? What difference could it make whether Percival Coolidge had died by his own hand, or been treacherously shot from ambush? How would it benefit Natalie Coolidge to have the truth revealed? And, if it would benefit her, why should he devote his time and labour to such an effort? She had cast him off, thrown him aside; her affairs had no further interest for him. Let her lawyer take care of them. These were West's first thoughts.
All true, yet this state of mind brought no satisfaction. He was interested; he could not escape his first impressions of the girl, or drive from him a desire to serve her, whether she wished it, or not. She might, indeed, be in equal danger from an assassin. He could not determine this until he learned the cause of the slaying of Percival. Then, on the other hand, suppose some one else's suspicions were also aroused. Who would they naturally look to as guilty of this horrible crime? There was but one answer—Natalie Coolidge. She was seemingly the only person to directly benefit by this sudden death. All these considerations urged him on, overcame his doubt and indecision. Then he desired to learn the truth himself. His eyes rested on Sexton's anxious face.
"I've been thinking it over," he admitted quietly, "and I guess it is up to you and me to find out what this means."
"Yes, sir," hesitatingly. "You—you don't think it was MissNatalie, sir?"
"No, I do not, Sexton. I have my own reasons for saying that. Yet naturally she is the one to be first suspected. Do you know anything?"
"Only that I am sure she was in the garden, sir, when the shot was fired.I saw her there just after you drove away."
"That is conclusive then, so far as her personal actions are concerned. But there is an odd angle to this matter, and I might as well explain it to you first as last. Perhaps you can help figure the oddness out. I was not engaged to Miss Natalie, Sexton; I was not even a friend. I came to the house, employed to perform a certain task. She introduced me as her fiancé merely to explain my presence there, and make the way clear. It was the impulse of a moment."
"You don't say, sir! What, may I ask, was it you was expected to do?"
"To discover who was masquerading in this city under her name."
"Was there some one, sir?"
"So she told me; we went into that rather thoroughly. She claimed it had been going on for some months; checks had been cashed at the bank; even her servants had been approached by some one so closely resembling her as to deceive them; and she had been reported at various places she never visited. She was very much exercised over it."
"And she engaged you just to find this other woman?"
"Yes; her lawyer and Percival Coolidge only laughed at her story."
"But you believed it, sir?"
"Well, perhaps not at first altogether. It seemed too strange and impossible. I thought something must have got on her nerves and caused her to imagine things. But the first night I remained out there gave me a shock. I do not know whether I left my door unlocked, or whether a pass-key was used, but I woke up suddenly to discover a woman in the room. I only had a glimpse of her, for she slipped out instantly, and disappeared down the hall; but it was moonlight and I would have sworn the intruder was Miss Natalie. I asked her the next day."
"And she denied being there?"
"Absolutely, and convinced me it was true. There is no doubt in my mind, Sexton, but what she really is being impersonated by some one who resembles her most remarkably. Who this person is I have not the remotest idea; nor what her real object can be. Just at this moment, I am inclined to believe it has something to do with the Coolidge estate—a criminal scheme of some kind, and that Percival Coolidge had connection with it."
"I can hardly believe that, sir."
"No doubt you find it difficult. You told me yourself that had always been his room, the one I occupied."
"Yes, sir."
"That woman knew it; she came there to consult with him." He stopped suddenly. "By Gad! Sexton, maybe she came there to kill him. I hadn't thought of that."
"It is too much for me, sir," the other said soberly. "I don't know why any one should want to kill him. But there's got to be a reason somewhere. Where was it the three of you went on Sunday in the runabout, Captain West?"
"To a house over in the factory district; some charity case that Coolidge was interested in—the widow of one of his employees, I believe."
"Did you see the people?"
"No, I didn't go in; waited outside in the car; it was no affair of mine.Why?" he asked in surprise.
"Because, sir, Miss Natalie seemed like a different person when she got back. Not in looks, or nothing like that I don't mean, but in the way she talked and acted. Nothing suited her all the rest of the day. You know how she was to you, sir. Well she was just that snappy with all of us, even after we brought the body back to the house. And she wouldn't look at him, sir, not even after he was dressed proper and laid out. She just went off up stairs, and stayed there; had a bit of toast an' tea, an' that's all."
"I hardly believe," said West thoughtfully, "you can attribute her state of mind to anything that occurred on that trip. Indeed she was in high spirits all the way home."
"I can't help that, sir," Sexton insisted blindly. "It was something that happened yesterday what set her wrong, an' if I was you, sir, I'd find out what happened in that house first of all. Could you find the place?"
"Yes, I think so. I'll look it up, although I don't have much faith in your theory." He glanced at his watch. "I'll go out there now. You come back here about five, and we will talk over any discoveries I may make."
"And what shall I do, sir?"
Both were standing, West with hand on the knob of the door. The light in his eyes hardened.
"Nothing occurs to me now, Sexton, unless you can find an excuse to return to Fairlawn, after something you have forgotten, let us say. If we can learn what Miss Natalie proposes doing it might furnish a clue."
"Very well, sir, and I am to be here at five o'clock?"
"Yes, at five; I will leave word with the doorman to show you in at once."
West picked up a taxi-cab for the trip, bidding the chauffeur to drive to a certain section of the city, and then up and down the various streets until told to stop. He had no idea that his quest would reveal anything of importance relative to the death of Coolidge, yet no better suggestion occurred to him and he felt that he must do something. His conversation with Sexton had greatly strengthened his conviction that this was a murder, and he had determined to ferret out the truth if possible. Yet, thus far there was nothing to build upon, no clue, no motive, no suspicion as to who had perpetrated the deed. He simply faced a blank wall, in which no entrance was apparent, yet there must be one, if he was only fortunate enough to stumble upon it. Deep down in his heart West was conscious that he possessed a motive in this search far more worthy than mere curiosity. That motive was Natalie Coolidge. He smiled at the thought, yet confessed it true. In spite of her curt dismissal, his memory of the girl centred about those earlier hours of their acquaintance. Something mysterious had occurred to make her change so quickly, and he was unwilling to condemn her before learning the real reason. This murder must have some relation to the Coolidge estate; he could conceive of no other motive for such a cold-blooded affair; and hence its solving must prove of vital importance to her and her future. Now, when the verdict of the coroner's jury had been suicide, and when only he, and the servant Sexton suspected otherwise, it was of the utmost importance that they endeavour to unravel the crime. For her sake he could do no less, thus serving and protecting her to the best of his ability.
The chauffeur drove slowly up and down obscure streets for half an hour before West recognized familiar surroundings, and motioned for him to draw up against the curb. He had discovered the place sought, but from the street it exhibited no signs of occupancy, nor did any knocking at the front door bring response from within. He circled the building, finding an uncurtained window at the rear, which merely revealed an unfurnished room. Every door was locked, but, as he passed along the other side to regain the taxi, a man emerged from the next house, and hailed him.
"Say, what're yer snoopin' round there for? Lookin' for somebody?"
"Yes, the parties who were here Sunday. What's become of them."
"Hobart, you mean?"
"Is that his name? I met him down town, and he told me to come here,"West explained rapidly. "We had a deal on."