“She’s willing to allow you and the children and your mother enough to live on, after she’s married?”
“Yes, indeed. She’s most generous. Her allowance to us is all we could ask. I wish I knew her ideas about it all.”
“Poor child, I don’t believe she has any ideas as yet. It’s an awful shock to her, and it came so suddenly. I wonder she bears up at all.”
“Oh, that’s Elsie. You’ll see. Tomorrow, she’ll be ready with all sorts of plans and suggestions about hunting up Kim. They won’t amount to anything,—they can’t, but she’ll try every possible way to find him!”
“Hopeless task,—hunting for him, I mean. If he can,—he’ll turn up of his own accord. And if he can’t—”
“Fenn! You don’t—you don’t think—he’s—dead, do you?”
“I haven’t any reason to think that, Gerty. Yet it must be considered among the possibilities. You know, there’s the question of that diamond pendant. Kim had it with him at the dinner, and he had it after he reached home, last night, for he showed it to his mother, they say. Well, suppose a burglar got into his room to steal that,—it must be worth ten thousand dollars?”
“Yes, it is,—or a little more.”
“Well, isn’t a burglar a more plausible supposition than a practical joker, after all?”
“How did he get in?”
“That question, Gerty, must be asked regarding any intruder. Moreover, how did he get out? must be asked in connection with an intruder,—or with Kim alone. Anyway, the diamonds are not to be found,—”
“Kim probably has them with him,—wherever he is.”
“That’s true enough, but a probability isn’t a certainty.”
“If, as I still think, the two Webb women are behind it all,—they have the diamonds.”
“Yes, of course. Why are they so down on Elsie?”
“Oh, only because she wasn’t born in Boston!”
“Really? Is that all?”
“Yes; that is, I mean, the Webbs don’t think the Powells in their own social rank. Nobody could dislike Elsie, personally; she’s the sweetest thing in the world!”
“Of course she is, but she never seems to hit it off with Friend Henrietta.”
“It’s Henrietta’s fault entirely! Elsie has been like an angel to her, but Miss Webb is always haughty and superior. She has never been reconciled to the match and never will be!”
“Well, I hope old Kimmy will turn up, and the match will come off,—and in time to save the inheritance!”
“The matchwillcome off, if Kimball can be found, whether it’s in time to save the inheritance or not!”
This announcement was made by Elsie herself, who suddenly appeared in boudoir robe and cap. “I heard you,” she went on, “and I came in to tell you my decision,—to state my platform!”
Her eyes shone with excitement, her cheeks were flushed and she was trembling nervously.
“Elsie dear,” begged Gerty, “don’t let’s talk any more about it tonight.”
“Yes, I will; I’ve been listening to you two, and as Fenn is going over to the Webbs’ now, and he will see the police there, I suppose, I want him to know just where I stand. I shall make it my work,—my life work, if necessary,—to find Kimball. I know, as well as I know my own name, that he was taken away by force. I won’t say who I think did it, or was responsible for the deed, but I shall get him back! The police can go ahead, let them do all they can,—it won’t be much. The abduction of Kimball Webb,—for it is an abduction,—was a carefully planned, cleverly carried out scheme. I won’t say who’s at the bottom of it,—but I know.”
“You mean the Webbs,” said Gerty sagaciously.
“It’s an awful thing to say,” Elsie admitted, “but I do mean the Webbs. Who else could it be? That joke business is nonsense,—and besides the jokers would have restored him in time for the wedding. They wouldn’t be so cruel to me.”
“No; they wouldn’t,” agreed Whiting. “But, be careful, Elsie, how you accuse the Webbs. You don’t want to get into deeper trouble than—”
“I can’t be in deeper trouble than I am now! You know that, Fenn. But I’ve got sense enough to know better than to accuse the Webbs openly! I know that would be the very way to spike my own guns! No, Miss Henrietta Webb is a very clever schemer, but I’ll outwit her yet!”
“And if not?” said Gerty, alarmed at the possibilities crowding her mind.
“If not, if Kimball Webb is never restored to me, I shall live and die an old maid,—just as Aunt Elizabeth did.”
“But, Elsie,” Gerty cried, “think of mother! think of me, and the children! Surely, you have some generosity, some loyalty to your people?”
“Not to the extent of selling myself for them,” said Elsie, sternly. “If anybody in this family is to marry for money, you can do it, Gerty. You have several rich suitors, to my certain knowledge—”
“Nothing of the sort, Elsie! I think you’re disgraceful!”
“No more disgraceful than for me to marry some one I don’t love, in time to secure Aunt Powell’s money! And, anyway, I can look after mother,—I can work—”
“Yes! What could you do?” Gerty scoffed.
“Oh, I don’t know; stenography or something. Anyway, I could take care of mother, and you certainly could do as much for yourself, Gerty. If you don’t want to marry, you could work, too.”
“Oh, Elsie,—and leave this house,—this apartment—”
“Yes; I’d far rather, than marry anybody,—anybody except Kimball. But, understand this; I’m going to find that man—”
“Elsie!” exclaimed Whiting; “you speak as if he were held somewhere in durance vile!”
“Not durance vile, but held,—yes! And by his mother and sister.”
“With his own consent?”
“Most certainly not!”
“Then your theory is rubbish. How could they hold him against his will?”
“I don’t know—but I shall find out! Good-night.”
Elsie Powell’s nature was generous. She gave of herself to all with whom she came in contact, and gave freely and willingly; time, thought, and sympathy as well as more material gifts. Her disposition was so free from selfishness that not always did she sufficiently guard her own interests.
But when need arose, she promptly rose to the occasion.
And the morning after the day which was to have been her wedding-day, she awoke with a saddened heart but a mind alert and ready to plan and execute action of some sort that should bring about the end of her troubles. She wasted little time in grieving,—indeed her mental attitude was that of dumfounded amazement rather than grief.
Lying in her pretty room, partly dismantled by reason of her anticipated flight from it, she sized up the situation to herself.
“If I go to pieces,” she mused, “it will do no good, and will be small comfort to me. Therefore, I will brace up, put my wits to work and do my part toward solving the mystery. And I’ll do more than any fool detective. I never had much opinion of their cleverness, anyhow. To begin with, they’d never dare suspect Henrietta Webb, and if they did, she’d pull the wool over their eyes. But she can’t bamboozle me, and I’m going to start out by assuming that in some mysterious way she has hidden Kim and means to keep him hidden until I marry somebody else,—which, of course, she thinks I’ll do, in order to get my inheritance. But I shan’t! How would I feel, married to John Doe, and then have Kimball come home and look at me reproachfully! Not much. If I don’t marry Kimball Webb, I marry nobody at all,—and that settles that!”
Her decision arrived at, Elsie hopped out of bed, and dressed and went to breakfast quite as usual.
“Why, Elsie,” exclaimed Gerty; “you needn’t get up! I’ll look after everything,—I suppose there will be reporters and, later on, callers in shoals—”
“Yes, Gert, you may attend to those; I’m going on the warpath!”
“Meaning?”
“I’m going to solve the mystery of Kim’s getaway,—though it’s no mystery to me! But I’m going to get him back. That’s all aboutthat!”
“How are you going to set out?”
“Dunno. First, I’m going over to the Webb house, and see what they’ve got to say. I didn’t get any satisfaction out of them yesterday, but I’m going to make them surrender. They owe me one Kimball, and I’m going to collect!”
“I don’t think you ought to go out today, Elsie.”
“Rubbish! You talk as if Kim were dead! I’m not a widow, to stay in seclusion. No, ma’am; I’ve thought it all out and I’ve made up my mind.”
Gerty protested no more. She knew from experience, when Elsie’s mind was made up, nothing could shake it.
At the Webb house, Elsie found her prospective relatives-in-law closeted with a detective. He was a City Official, from the Bureau of Missing Persons, and he was deeply interested in the case.
Often missing persons were merely placed on record, and little was done by way of effort to discover their whereabouts. But in the case of Kimball Webb a big story was anticipated. Moreover, the absolute insolubility of the puzzle of how he managed his flight,—or how it was managed for him, gave an added interest.
Elsie’s arrival, also, thrilled the detective, and he turned eagerly to question her.
However, he found himself the questioned one instead of the inquirer.
“I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Hanley,” Elsie smiled at him; “tell me, won’t you, just how you’re going to set to work on the case? For I mean to help you, and I want to do so intelligently.”
She glanced at the two Webbs for a nod of sanction but she received no such encouragement.
Indeed, Henrietta gave a scornful sniff, and Mrs. Webb remarked:
“Don’t be forward, Elsie. You can’t help, and it would look very queer if you tried.”
“It’ll be queer if I don’t try,” Elsie returned, but with a smile that freed her words from rudeness. “I’m most certainly going to work on the case, and if Mr. Hanley doesn’t want my help, I’ll work on my own lines.”
Hanley looked at her with growing respect. Here, he decided, was no silly society girl, but a young woman of brain and, perhaps, initiative.
“You know nothing that will throw any light on Mr. Webb’s absence?” he asked, gazing intently at her.
“No, indeed; if I had I should have told it without being asked. I’m here to learn, to seek, to solve,—not to inform.”
“Yes,—oh, certainly.” The detective was a little flustered.
Miss Webb had been haughty, even condescending,—but Hanley knew that sort. Elsie’s attitude was a new one to him, and he had to adjust himself.
“Well, Mr. Hanley,” the sweet voice went on, “which is it to be? Do we work together, or, each for himself?”
“Together, miss, by all means. I’ll be only too glad of any help you can give me.”
Hanley had decided; it would certainly be better for him to be in with the one most nearly affected, and he considered that Elsie was.
Although, to be sure, the Webbs had called him in, and he was responsible to them. Nor did it require an abnormally acute mind to discern that the Webbs and Miss Powell were not entirely at one.
This impression of his was deepened when Miss Webb said, severely, “I must beg of you, Elsie, not to disgrace us by any public effort in this distressing matter. We are already sufficiently embarrassed at the unfortunate publicity it has gained, and I want to keep further disclosures entirely to ourselves.”
“Can’t be done, Miss Webb,” said Hanley; “the thing is out,—why, ma’am, it had to come out! And now, you can no more stop the press notice of it than you could dam the Hudson! Better take that part of it calmly, for the papers will be full of it for nine days, at least. Now, ma’am, I’d like to see Mr. Webb’s room.”
Dejectedly, Henrietta Webb led the way. Elsie followed, as a matter of course, and soon Hanley was silently but carefully scrutinizing the furniture, walls and floor of the room in question.
“No exit but the door,—so far as appears on the surface,” he remarked, at last. “You don’t know of any secret entrance, I suppose!”
“Certainly not,” said Henrietta, positively. “Those things occur in old country houses,—not in city homes.”
“Well, we must think of everything,” Hanley said, and he proceeded to tap walls, and partitions in a knowing manner.
“Nope, nothing of that sort,” he concluded, after exhaustive experimenting.
“You’re sure?” asked Elsie, her eyes shining with eagerness. “I had thought there might be something like that.”
“No, ma’am,” declared Hanley; “I know a lot about building, and I can tell for sure and certain, there’s no entrance through these walls of any sort. Why, look at the wall paper,—intact all round. And, not only that, but I can tell by tapping, there’s no chance of a secret door or panel.”
“Mr. Whiting is an architect, and he said the same,” observed Miss Webb, coldly, as if to disparage Hanley’s would-be superior knowledge.
“There, you see!” said Hanley, taking the snub in good part. “If a smart architect and a smart detective agree there’s no secret passage or entrance or exit, you may depend on it there isn’t any.”
“What about the chimney?” asked Elsie. “I’ve thought this all out, you see.”
“Quite right, miss.” But Hanley’s investigation of the chimney that he made by looking up inside the big, old-fashioned fireplace, showed him at once the impossibility of any one entering or leaving the room by that means.
“A monkey couldn’t negotiate that,” he stated, “let alone a man.”
The bathroom gave no hint of help. The little window had been found closed and fastened, and save for the entrance door there was no other break in the walls.
In a word, Hanley expressed his positive assurance that nobody could by any chance enter or leave Kimball Webb’s room, except by the door that opened from the hall.
“The windows are out of the question,” he asserted. “To begin with, they’re third story windows, with a sheer drop to the street.
“Next, they were opened only at the tops for a few inches, and fastened in that position. Nobody could get through one of those narrow apertures.”
This was so evident, there was no use dwelling on it.
“Then,” said Elsie, slowly, “the problem comes down to this; how did Mr. Webb get out through the door, and leave it fastened behind him,—not only locked with a key, but bolted with a strong, firm bolt?”
“That’s the problem,” and the detective looked at her in admiration.
He had never seen a young woman,—a mere girl, who could so succinctly state a case.
“But, granting that,” urged Henrietta Webb, “where is he now? The front street door was fastened with heavy bolts, all of which were intact in the morning. The rear door, the same.”
“Then,” said Elsie, turning on her quickly, “he must be in this house still!”
Henrietta Webb turned pale. “What nonsense!” she cried. “In that case, Elsie, are you smart enough to find him?” and with a suppressed exclamation, half shriek and half gasp, she ran from the room, and they heard her go downstairs to her mother’s room.
“Good!” cried Elsie. “I’m glad she’s gone! Excuse me, Mr. Hanley, but though she is his sister, I am Mr. Webb’sfiancée, and I have really more reason to want to find him than anybody else on earth. And I’m going to find him, too! But, first, canyouform any theory? Can you make any suggestion?”
“I can’t. I’ve never seen a case that ran so hopelessly up against a blank wall. There’s foul play, somewhere,—that is, unless—you don’t think—”
Elsie read his thoughts.
“No, Idon’tthink Mr. Webb went away of his own volition. I know he did not! And quite aside from his love for me, and his wish to marry me yesterday, if those things hadn’t been so, Mr. Webb is too much of a gentleman, too kind-hearted a man, to go away and leave his mother and sister, to say nothing of myself, in this fearful predicament.”
“That’s right! No decent man could do such a sneak! Well, then as it’s perfectly clear you suspect Miss Webb of being complicated,—why do you?”
“I don’t want to say anything against Miss Webb. I’ve nothing to say against anybody. But,—oughtn’t a detective to suspect everybody? Or at least, to investigate the possibilities of every suspect?”
“Yes’m; that’s right. Never mind why. I’ll bear in mind that Miss Webb’s part in the matter must be inquired into. Any more hints?”
“Oh, that isn’t a hint. What sort of a detective are you, asking for hints? Why don’t you get busy? Hunt for clues, or something definite like that!”
“Clues? Why, it isn’t a murder!”
“You don’t know,—it may be! And, anyway, there are clues to other crimes than murder.”
“But it isn’t a crime. Leastways,—”
“Leastways, you’re absolutely useless! Go away, I’ll hunt for clues myself. And, first of all, where are those white marks that were on the floor yesterday?”
“White marks? What sort of marks?”
“Just some white daubs. They showed clearly on this plain green carpet, and now they’re gone.”
“Anything else been disturbed?”
“No, except that the whole room seems to have been cleaned, the bed made, and the chiffonier tidied.”
“Oh, well, they told me about that. The condition of the room only went to prove that Mr. Webb had retired as usual on Wednesday night, and then he went away either in his evening clothes and carried his night clothes with him; or he went wearing his night things and carrying his dress suit.”
“Either of which suppositions is absolutely ridiculous! As he had been to bed, why dress again in his dinner clothes, and why take his pajamas with him? Or, if he went away in his night clothes,—why in the world wouldn’t he carry a morning suit with him,—and not full dress?”
“Right you are,—it all don’t get us anywhere!”
“But it ought to! The very fact that the conditions are ridiculous,—inexplicable,—ought to make it easier to get up a theory. If he had gone away in a business suit and carried his night things in a bag, it would be easily believed he had suddenly been called on some important matter. But to go off with evening clothes and no other suit is so ridiculous, that it ought to point to some inevitable conclusion,—even if not a definite one!”
“My! You sure are a thinker, Miss Powell! But,—let’s hear that indefinite conclusion you’d draw from the facts!”
“I haven’t drawn it yet,—but I shall,—and, I want you to help me.”
Elsie’s appealing smile brought a hearty “Sure I will, miss!” and after some further futile looking about, they both went downstairs.
Elsie waylaid the chambermaid, and stepped aside to speak with her.
“Did you do up Mr. Webb’s room yesterday?” she asked, with an ingratiating glance.
“Yes, miss,” replied the girl, a bit frightened.
“That’s all right; only, tell me, did you notice those white marks on the carpet?”
“I did, ma’am,—and I tried hard to get it all off? Did I leave any sign of it?”
“No; I wish you had! But never mind. What do you think made those marks?”
“I couldn’t say, ma’am. They was like chalk, now, and mighty hard to get off they was.”
“You remember just how they looked,—and where they were?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.”
“Very well, then, that’s all. Don’t mention the matter to anybody, please.”
“No, ma’am, I won’t.”
Elsie went on down to the drawing room, and there found Mrs. Webb making the detective’s hair stand on end, as she detailed to him her experiences with spirits and her reasons for belief that her son had been taken away from his home by supernatural means.
Hanley listened, more with a horrified interest in her talk than with any belief in its bearing on the present case, and Elsie almost laughed outright as she heard Mrs. Webb solemnly avowing that she had seen, atséances, live people wafted through a solid wooden door.
“Oh, come, now,” she said, as she entered the room. “Dear Mrs. Webb, don’t ask us to believe such things!”
“Believe or not, as you choose,” said Mrs. Webb, haughtily; “your scepticism only exposes your ignorance. Why, innumerable such cases are on record; to students of spiritism the passing of matter through matter is one of the proved facts of psychical research.”
“And you think that Kim passed through that locked wooden door? Through the panels,—and left no trace of his passing?”
“I do,—indeed I do, Elsie! For, my dear child, what other explanation is there?”
Mrs. Webb’s triumphant air impressed her hearers, even though it amused them. The trusting soul believed so implicitly in her creed that one must respect her sincerity, at least.
“Who lives next door?” asked Hanley, suddenly.
“Which side?” asked Mrs. Webb. “On the left, is the home of Owen Thorne, the banker; and on the other side, the Marsden St. Johns live. They’re at Lakewood just now; they’re always there in the spring. But they don’t own the house they live in. It’s Mr. Whiting’s. Part of the estate his father left him.”
“Are the Thorne family at home?”
“Yes, so far as I know. They were there yesterday. Why?”
“I only wondered if any of the neighbors saw Mr. Webb leave this house during the night.”
“Maybe he hasn’t left it,” put in Elsie.
“He must have done so. He couldn’t be concealed here against his will all this time, and you won’t allow that he’s willingly absent.”
“Of course I won’t!”
“Then he must have left this house between the hours of twoA. M.and, say, seven,—or, when did you call him, Mrs. Webb?”
“About eight, or soon after.”
“Very well, say he got away,—somehow,—between two and eight,—there’s a possibility that a watching or wakeful neighbor might have seen him go.”
“Oh, I see,” and Mrs. Webb nodded. “Well, make inquiries. As I said, the St. Johns are away, and their house is closed; but ask the Thornes if you like. It’s quite possible they saw something!”
The weird look came again into her eyes, and Elsie at once surmised that Kimball’s mother had a mental vision of her son, wafted by supernatural means through his own bedroom door, down two flights of stairs, and through the closed and locked street door, out,—away, nobody knew where, and the interested neighbors looking on!
Then Henry Harbison was announced, and with a sigh of relief Elsie turned to talk to him.
Harbison was to have been an usher at the wedding, and he called to see if he could be of any assistance to the family of the missing bridegroom.
After sympathetic greetings and inquiries, the young man took an active part in the discussion of the mystery.
“It’s the strangest thing I ever heard of!” he declared; “but I bet I can put you wise to a possible solution, anyway.”
“Good!” cried Hanley; “I confess it baffles me. I’m about to give up my part in it and ask the Chief to turn it over to a cleverer man.”
“Don’t!” begged Elsie; “you and I are working together, you know, Mr. Hanley,—and I like your methods.”
Hanley stared. What had she seen of his methods, as yet, he wondered.
“Well, here’s my theory,” began Harbison. “I was at Kimball’s bachelor dinner, you know, night before last, at the Club. Also, Wallace Courtney was there. Now, you know, Mrs. Webb, your son is writing a play,—a mighty clever one, too, founded on a satirical view of New England aristocratic tendencies.”
Mrs. Webb flushed almost angrily.
“I do know it,—and I regret it exceedingly. I strongly advised Kimball against such ridiculing of his native town and of his own family traditions and standards, but he only laughed, and said nothing was too sacred to use for material for a play. Yes, Mr. Harbison, I know all about that play. It’s nearly finished, too.”
“That’s the point. As you may or may not know, Wallace Courtney is a playwright, also, and by the merest chance, he is writing a satirical play on the very same subject. Now, he didn’t know about Kim’s play, until the night of the dinner. It was mentioned, and Courtney asked Kim what it was about,—that is, how he had treated the matter. Well, sir, do you know they’ve chosen almost identical plots! Why, whichever of those plays first reaches the public, the other will be stamped as a plagiarism. Courtney was terribly put out. He tried to conceal his wrath, but it kept cropping out—”
“Why, Kimball wasn’t to blame!” cried Elsie.
“Not a bit. But Courtney was so upset at the coincidence, and the peculiar situation. Well, he worried around until he found out that Kim’s play was nearing completion,—and then he went to pieces for fair. ‘You shan’t put it on!’ he cried, excitedly. ‘I’ll move Heaven and earth to prevent you! Why, it wipes out my every chance!’ Oh, he said a lot more in that strain, and Kimball added fuel to the fire by treating it lightly. ‘Go ahead with your play, Wally,’ he told him; ‘I’m going on my honeymoon, and I’ll be gone a fortnight or more. You’ll have time to get ahead of me.’ Of course that wouldn’t give Courtney time enough, nor any where near it,—and he sulked all the evening. We all guyed him on his ill nature, but that only made things worse. Now, here’s my suggestion. Pretty slim, I admit,—but take it for what it’s worth. Might Courtney somehow or other have kidnapped Kimmy, intending to keep him away until he can get his own play finished and on the road to production?”
“Motive all right,” said the detective, smiling, “but how about the method?”
“That’s where I get off,” and Harbison laughed. “You see, while the whole affair is pretty awful in a social way, and has made a fearful mess of the wedding, and all that, I can’t look on it as a tragedy.”
“Who does?” exclaimed Elsie. “Of course, there’s no tragedy,—if you mean any harm to Kimball, personally,—but I do call it a tragedy all the same!”
“It is,” Hanley agreed; “but, of course, the angle I get is the mystery side of it. How did Mr. Webb get out of his door, and lock it behind him? That’s what I want to know!”
“You’re right, man,” declared Harbison; “let’s tackle that problem seriously. Howcouldit be done,—no matter how absurd or unlikely the suggestion?”
“First,” enumerated Hanley, “there’s Mrs. Webb’s suggestion of spirits.”
“It would be hard to beat that for unlikeliness!” said Harbison, speaking very seriously, and entirely ignoring Mrs. Webb’s disdainful expression. “Now, see here,—how about turning the key from the outside by means of a very powerful magnet—”
“No such thing possible,” Hanley declared. “There’s not a magnet in existence that could do that. And shoot the bolt also, did you mean?”
“Yes, I did. But, of course, it’s only a suggestion. Well, what else?”
“Untruthfulness!” said Elsie, suddenly, coming out into the open. “I regret exceedingly to mention such a thing, but as there is no explanation of the alleged facts,—must we not doubt the truth of the alleged facts?”
Henrietta Webb glared at her. “Do you mean,” she cried, “that we have not told you the truth about finding Kim’s door locked?”
“That’s precisely what I mean!” and a red spot appeared on Elsie’s either cheek. “If you can offer the slightest, vaguest sort of a hint as to how your story could be true, I’ll listen; but if you can’t, you must not be surprised that I refuse to believe it.”
“Doubt my word? Let me tell you, miss, a Webb does not speak untruth!”
“Not ordinarily,—nor do most of us. But I know, Henrietta, that you would resort to any means to prevent Kimball from marrying me, and I am justified in thinking you have done so.”
“What do you mean, Miss Powell,” asked Hanley; “that Mr. Webb went away voluntarily?”
“Not exactly. I mean that I think he was persuaded, forced or tricked into going away by his sister, and that the broken lock and burst bolt are fabrications to mislead investigators.”
Henrietta Webb looked at Elsie, first with amazed scorn, and then, her face changing to a gentler expression, she said, “You are not quite responsible, dear. I shall not hold your speech against you. And, really, I’m not surprised that you try to grasp at any straw, in this sea of mystery. But,” she turned to Harbison and the detective, “there is no reason to doubt the truth of the story of my brother’s disappearance. Our butler and chauffeur will corroborate it, and will tell you just how much difficulty they had in entering the room.”
At Hanley’s request, Hollis and Oscar were summoned, and they told in detail the events of the morning before.
“And you heard or saw nothing that could give you the slightest hint as to any reason for Mr. Webb’s disappearance?”
“No!” both men answered.
“You saw or heard nothing unusual or that you could not understand?” the detective continued.
“Well, sir,” Oscar began, “when I ran upstairs, and Miss Webb was waiting outside her brother’s door, I heard her say, to herself, ‘Oh, if itshouldbe!’—sort of excited like.”
“Whom was she speaking to?”
“To nobody, sir, just to herself.”
“What did you mean by that speech, Miss Webb?” Hanley inquired.
“I didn’t make it,” replied Henrietta coolly. “Oscar is mistaken. He imagined it all.”
“I told you so!” Elsie cried, irrepressibly; “I knew Miss Webb was at the bottom of it all!”
“Well, such a speech as that doesn’t prove it,” Hanley observed. “It rather lets her out. If she had concealed her brother previously, why should she say those words? And if she was merely hoping he had gone away, it goes to show she had no hand in the matter.”
Henrietta’s face was expressionless, as if the subject interested her not at all.
“You will all have to agree with me, sooner or later,” Mrs. Webb began. “There is, as you’ve seen, no normal explanation. Only the supernatural remains. And, you ought to know, that room of Kimball’s has been haunted for a long time.”
“What, haunted?” exclaimed Hanley.
“Yes, sir. Not only my son and my daughter have heard and seen strange things in it, but the maids have also had such experiences.”
“Such as what?”
“Hearing queer sounds. Once, there was a complete conversation carried on by voices that belonged to invisible people.”
“This is interesting only if confirmed by credible witnesses,” Hanley said.
“It interests me, anyway,” said Harbison. “I don’t believe in levitation and the passing of a human body through a locked door, but a haunted room always thrills me. Tell me some more about it.”
“I will,” said Henrietta. “For the last year or two, there have been times when voices were audible there. Not loud or entirely distinct,—but vaguely to be heard,—like the sound of a faraway speaker. My brother heard them,—he frequently told me so.”
“Well, not frequently, Henrietta,” said her mother, correcting her, “but two or three times.”
“Who else heard them?” asked Hanley, briefly.
“The servants,” Henrietta informed them. “One chambermaid was so frightened she left at once.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks!” cried Harbison. “This gets us nowhere! If they were really spirits it is absurd; and if, as I thought at first, they were human voices, heard through a secret passage or a hollow panel, it’s up to us to find the secret entrance.”
“There isn’t any,” declared Hanley. “I’ve sounded and tested every bit of wall in the room.”
“All the same, I’d like a try at it,” Harbison declared, and asking permission, he went alone up to the room that had been Kimball Webb’s.
“Who saw Mr. Webb last?” asked Hanley, by way of pursuing his duty.
“I suppose I did,” answered his mother. “He came to my room to say good night, as he often does, after he’s been out late. We had a little chat, and then he kissed me good night, and I heard him go upstairs.”
“Did you hear him, Miss Webb?”
“N—no; I was asleep.”
“And he didn’t wake you as he passed your door?”
“No; it was closed. I didn’t hear his footsteps.”
“But you went up to his room later!” Elsie cried, accusingly.
“N—no, I didn’t! What do you mean?”
Henrietta Webb spoke hesitatingly; one would have said she was prevaricating, from the manner of her speech. But she looked straight at Elsie, and demanded an explanation of her words.
“Then, you were up in Kim’s room before he came home that night.”
“No, I wasn’t. Why do you say these things?”
“When were you in your brother’s room last, before he—went away?” Elsie demanded.
“Oh, not for several days. I sometimes go up there to chat with him, but he’s been so pre-occupied lately, with his play and his wedding preparations both, that I haven’t intruded on his time.”
“You were up there the night before last, after Kim came home from the dinner!” Elsie declared, looking straight at Miss Webb, “and you sat on the little sofa between the front windows.”
“I’ve been considerate of you, Elsie,” Miss Webb said, coldly, “because I feel sorry for you, and I make allowances for your disturbed nerves and your—your natural lack of poise,—but, I warn you I won’t stand everything! Your accusations are not only false, they’re ridiculous! If I had gone to Kim’s room and talked to him after his return, why should I deny it?”
“Because you’re afraid it will incriminate you!—in his disappearance! Oh, Henrietta,whereis he? Give him back to me! I love him so—I want him so! Oh, Kimball,—my love—”
The girl gave way and burst into hysterical tears. Truly, she had not the poise of the woman before her,—but she had resiliency.
In a moment she pulled herself together, steadied her voice, and said;
“Youwerein Kim’s room that night,—and I can prove it by a witness! Stay here,—all of you!”
She ran out of the room, and they heard her go upstairs.
“Don’t put too much reliance on what Miss Powell says,” Henrietta said to the detective. “She’s not quite herself.”
“All right, ma’am,” returned Hanley, but he looked closely at the speaker.
“Any news?” asked a man’s voice from the doorway, and Fenn Whiting came into the room.
“I couldn’t keep away,” he went on. “I’ve been over to the Powells’ and they said Elsie was here.” He looked about.
“She is,” began Henrietta, but Harbison, who had returned from his futile quest, impatiently broke in.
“I say, Whiting, listen to my theory.”
He proceeded to detail the matter of Courtney’s play and recalled to Whiting the wrath that Courtney exhibited at the bachelor dinner.
“By Jove, he was mad!” Whiting agreed, his attention arrested at once by the ideas Harbison put forth.
“And, though it sounds like a cock and bull story,” Harbison went on, “suppose Wally thinks to himself, if I could only tie Kim up somewhere till I can get my play finished and accepted by a manager, it will be my salvation! Now, of course, if he kidnapped Kim it had to be done before the wedding, so—”
“It’s far-fetched,” said Whiting thoughtfully, “but I’ll say it’s the first thing I’ve heard put forth by way of a motive. You know finding a motive is a necessary step to be taken before finding the perpetrator of this thing.”
“I know the motive,” Elsie’s voice announced, as she entered in time to hear Whiting’s closing words. “I’ve found the perpetrator,—and I did have proof,—but she’s destroyed it.”
Elsie’s stern gaze at Henrietta Webb decidedly discomfited that cool, calm personality, and for the first time Miss Webb’s poise seemed about to desert her.
Ignoring the others, Elsie addressed herself to Hanley.
“I found a real clue, yesterday morning,” she said, “when I went up to look around Mr. Webb’s room. On the floor, in front of the little sofa were several white marks,—”
“How absurd!” cried Henrietta; “I beg of you don’t discuss the shortcomings of a careless housemaid!”
“White marks,” Elsie went on, as if uninterrupted, “that were made by the rubbing on the carpet of a woman’s white shoes. Shoes, I mean, that had been whitened with some of those chalk preparations that most women use,—or their maids use for them.”
A side glance at Henrietta’s face showed Elsie that it was as white as the chalk in question, but she went on: “I know that those marks were made by Miss Webb’s shoes; I know that it was at her request that the maid carefully removed the marks from the green carpet; I know she gave the maid orders to say nothing about the matter; and I know she has destroyed or concealed those shoes!”
Henrietta’s face became like a stone. Impassive, unreadable, its expression showed neither embarrassment nor fear. Only in her eyes was there a sign of perturbation. Her glance at Elsie was defiant, and a little threatening.