“Well, Miss Webb,” Hanley began, “you advised me not to be too much impressed by Miss Powell’s statements, so I’ll ask you for a bit of explanation right here.”
“There is nothing to explain,” Henrietta began, calmly; “I deny everything she has asserted. I may have been in my brother’s room during the past week, I may have left some white marks from my shoes on the carpet, but I do not recollect such an occasion, nor do I think it at all pertinent to the matter in hand. As to the matter of the housemaid, that is pure fabrication. I am not in the habit of conniving with servants, as Miss Powell seems to be.”
“Which shoes of yours are so whitened that the marks on the carpet are usual,—and where are the shoes?” Elsie demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Miss Webb.
“I really don’t know,” Henrietta shrugged her shoulders. “You must ask Janet, she looks after my wardrobe.”
“Come, come, Miss Powell,” said Hanley, impressed more by Henrietta’s indifference than by Elsie’s “clue.” “I don’t think you’re adapted to detective work. You overestimate the importance of trifles.”
“Nothing is a trifle if it points the way to discovery,” said Elsie, her brown eyes flashing and her red lips quivering as she looked from one to another for help or sympathy.
And it came, from Fenn Whiting.
“I think, Miss Webb,” he said, a bit shortly, “that you owe us a little information. Doesn’t the maid clean the rooms each morning?”
“Certainly.”
“Then white marks, as of chalked shoes, early in the morning would seem to me to imply that youwerethere the night before. Why not own up to it? It couldn’t have been on any secret errand?”
“Of course it couldn’t. But I wasn’t there at all. The marks, if they existed outside of Elsie’s imagination, must have been made by one of the maids. They wear white shoes sometimes.”
“Then call the maid, and let her produce the shoes,” cried Elsie. “I tell you, Mr. Hanley, this is a clue, and a real one. If you let it slip, you are not doing your duty.”
Hanley became angry.
“It isn’t for a man twelve years on the force to be taught his duty by a chit of a girl who ought to be in school herself!” he exploded, and the nod of approval from Henrietta decided him to go on. “I’m sorry, indeed, for you, Miss Powell, and it’s a small wonder that you’re nearly distracted, but I must insist that it isn’t right for you to imagine that Miss Webb is implicated. It seems to me much more likely that we ought to look in the direction of this Mr. Courtney. If he is the sort of a man to stop at nothing in the furtherance of his own schemes, I can believe that he has somehow secreted Kimball Webb in order to get his play done first.”
“How could he?” Elsie cried; “how could he get into the house? How could he get Kimball out?”
“Those questions are unanswerable at present, no matter who the suspect is,” the detective returned, imperturbably. “Now, look here, Miss Powell, I want to know about this will business. I’ve only heard a vague story. Is it true that if you are not married by a certain date, your fortune is taken away from you?”
“It is,” she replied; “and the date is the thirtieth of June. This gives us three months, nearly, to find Mr. Kimball Webb.”
“And that’s about time enough for Mr. Wallace Courtney to finish his precious play! I predict that you will not see Mr. Webb until Mr. Courtney’s play is finished!”
“And you’re going to let him get away with it!” cried Harbison. “Can one man put another aside in that fashion, at will, without prevention or even protest?”
“Well, hardly; but after all, it may not be Mr. Courtney at all. Here’s another point I want cleared up. In the event of your not marrying by the given date, Miss Powell, what becomes of your aunt’s money?”
“It will go to a cousin of hers, who lives out West somewhere. I don’t know exactly where.”
“A relative of yours?”
“No; my aunt was my father’s half sister. This man is a connection of her mother, and is no relation to my father or myself.”
“You know him?”
“Only his name, Joseph Allison. I’ve never seen him, never heard from him. You see, there was no question of the fortune not being mine, as I expected to marry Mr. Kimball well within the prescribed time.”
“I see; and may we not assume an interest on the part of this young man as to the disposition of the estate, in the event of your not marrying?”
“Hullo!” exclaimed Harbison, “that opens up a new field of conjecture. May not the young man have been sufficiently interested to go to the length of removing Kimball Webb from the field of action altogether?”
“Oh, no,” Elsie said. “You see, it’s this way. Mr. Allison tried to break the will at the time of my aunt’s death, four years ago; but there wasn’t a chance of it, and so, as the lawyers told me, he gracefully gave up the matter and has never been heard from since.”
“That doesn’t prevent his still being interested,” persisted Hanley. “You see, Miss Powell, I’m an experienced detective. I’m no story-book chap, but I’m a good plain worker, and I keep my eyes open, with the result that I see a hole through a millstone, now and then. And, I think I’ve learned about all I can pick up here, just now. I shall look into the matter of Mr. Courtney and his play; also into the affairs of Mr. Joseph Allison. And let me advise you, Miss Powell, not to put your inexperienced fingers into pies that you don’t understand. A girl of your age and ignorance of these things can’t be a detective,—even an amateur one. So leave it all to those who know the ropes.”
Hanley went away, and the others remained for a time.
There was a silence at first, and then Henrietta said, “I’m not going to reprove you, Elsie, I feel too sorry for you to do that, but I am going to ask you not to trump up any more such foolish yarns as the one you spun about the white shoes!”
“What became of the shoes, then?” asked Elsie, bluntly.
“What shoes? There are no especial shoes to be considered. Drop the subject, dear. Such harping on it makes it seem as if you were not quite calmed down yet.”
“And I’m not, and I never shall be, until Kimball is given back to me! I’m going to find him, myself, I don’t care what that detective says. Who is going to help me?”
“I, for one,” said Henry Harbison, promptly. “I’m mighty sorry for you, Miss Powell, and you may command me as you like.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harbison; I know you’re a firm friend of Kimball’s and I gladly accept your friendship also.”
“I suppose you know you can depend on me to see you through, without any definite avowal,” said Fenn Whiting, smiling.
“Of course, Fenn, you are my right-hand man. But I want all the help I can get.”
“We’ll help you, Elsie,” Henrietta began, but Elsie only gave her a scornful glance.
“When you are ready to help, Henrietta, begin by telling me about your white shoes.”
Miss Webb made a scornful gesture, as of one powerless to aid such a wilful girl, and Mrs. Webb began on her hobby.
“You can all search and detect and deduce all you like; there is nothing that can explain Kim’s disappearance or solve the mystery of his absence except supernatural forces. Carp as you will, object as you see fit, you must admit there’s no other way out!”
“You’re right, to a degree, Mrs. Webb,” said Fenn Whiting slowly; “there’s no other way out! I don’t for a minute believe in spooks, but—I’m ready to agree there’s no other way out.”
“Then we must stay in,” said Harbison.
“Not we!” declared Elsie; “not I, at least. And you men have promised to help me. Now, first of all, is there any chance of Joe Allison being implicated? I hadn’t thought of it,—but it must, as Mr. Hanley said, be looked into.”
“How could he manage it?” asked Whiting. “Courtney looks more possible, if you ask me.”
“I do ask you,” said Elsie, “I ask you all. I want your help, your counsel, your advice. Iaminexperienced, I’ve no knowledge of police work or detective work, but I have courage, hope and a will that is unbreakable and unshakable! I will go through fire and water, I will move heaven and earth, I will face danger of any sort, I will suffer or endure anything,—if it will help in the least degree to get Kimball back.”
“Never mind the theatrical demonstration, Elsie,” said Henrietta, scoffingly, “we all want Kim back, but we don’t announce it from the housetops!”
“Nor am I doing so,” Elsie spoke quietly but with flashing eyes; “I will omit all personal remarks, hereafter, but I must still insist upon my determination and my perseverance,—which, after all, are my stock in trade!”
“Good for you, Elsie,” and Whiting smiled at her. “I’m with you, and we’ll never let up until we find the boy! Harbison, you’re in on this?”
“To a finish! Now, how do we begin? I’m all for looking up Courtney. It’s too much of a coincidence that he should want Kim out of the way,—and, immediately, Kim is out of the way! Isn’t that a bit curious?”
“It is, now you put it that way,” and Whiting looked visibly impressed. “Let’s run him to cover first of all.”
And then, the telephone bell rang, and Detective Hanley informed them that Wallace Courtney had disappeared as suddenly and as inexplicably as Kimball Webb had himself!
“That settles it!” declared Harbison, jumping up and grasping his hat. “I’ve got to get in on the ground floor! Good-bye, all!”
He left the house hastily, and Fenn Whiting was eager to follow. But he spoke first to Elsie.
“Shall I go,” he asked, “or stay with you?”
“Go!” she cried, with shining eyes. “At last, we’re beginning todosomething! Go and find out all you can about Mr. Courtney, and report to me at my home. I’m going over there,—as soon as I have this matter out with Henrietta!”
“Well, I’m a red-blooded young American, and I’m not denying that a fortune of a few millions would come in mighty handy in my business!”
The speaker was Joe Allison, and he was paying his first call on the Powells.
They liked him at once, for one could scarce help liking the breezy mannered light-hearted chap, and his frankness and straightforwardness won Elsie’s heart.
“Of course,” he went on,—they were talking of Miss Elizabeth Powell’s will, “the whole thing is pretty ridiculous,—freak wills are,—but it’s none of my quarrel that she should run me in as an afterclap. You have the inside track, Cousin Elsie,—let me call you that,—but I have a right to feel an interest in your doings. And I’ve heard,—I may as well speak frankly,—I’ve heard it rumoured that you’re determined to marry nobody,—nobody in the world,—except Mr. Webb. Who is, I understand, unavailable for the moment.”
“That’s all true,—” Elsie admitted, but Gerty spoke up:
“Only true in part, Mr. Allison.”
“Oh, call me Joe. I’m not really related, but it makes me feel good to be connected in any way with the Powell money.”
“I fear you’ve a mercenary spirit,” said Mrs. Powell, smiling at the boyish face.
“No more so than the average man. I’m no dollar-grabber, but when I’m up against a possible inheritance, I want to know how strong a probability there is.”
“A decidedly strong one, Joe,” Elsie said, looking at him, but Gerty again interrupted.
“Don’t take her too seriously,” she begged. “Elsie doesn’t realize her own position. And there’s considerable time yet for her to come to a true sense of things as they are,—”
“And time to find the missing man,” suggested Joe, cheerfully. “I am not going to pretend I don’t want to be the old lady’s heir, for I do,—but not at the expense of Elsie’s happiness. I’ve known you less than half an hour, Cousin Elsie, but, by George, I’m for you!”
“Why?” said Elsie, with a real curiosity.
“First, because you’re so pretty; second, because you’re so plucky; and third, because the whole thing is so much of a gamble,—it would be an awful pity for you to lose out,—even if it would be nuts for me!”
“You’re a good sort, Joe; and, truly, if Kimball Webb never reappears, and you inherit Aunt Elizabeth’s money, I’ll be glad for you—”
“Come, come, Elsie,” said her mother, pettishly, “that’s all right in Sunday-school books, and Uplift pamphlets, but we live in a practical world, and I don’t propose to let you do yourself the injustice of losing your rightful fortune for a bit of misplaced sentiment. You’re young,—too young to realize what it would mean to you to go through life alone and poor. And that’s what your life will be if you refuse to marry any one except Kimball. You must know that hemaynever return. Of course it is possible that he will,—but he maynot. And in that case, I shall insist on your marrying some other good and worthy man,—if only for the sake of your financial well-being in the future.”
“And that of your family,” added Allison, sagaciously, quite sensing the undercurrent of Mrs. Powell’s thoughts.
“That, too,” she admitted. “Elsie knows that our happiness depends upon her course in the matter. Gerty’s husband, a well-to-do lawyer, was killed in action; for myself, I am practically penniless. It is, therefore, Elsie’s duty to sacrifice herself to some extent for those dependent on her. I am an invalid, Gerty has the care and support of two tiny children, and I am sure we are not unduly selfish in our attitude.”
“And it isn’t,” Gerty took up the tale, “as if we were asking anything wrong or unusual of Elsie. There is some time yet for her to look around and choose among her various suitors,—and she has lots of them,—”
“Naturally,” said Allison, dryly.
“Oh, I don’t mean fortune-hunters! There are plenty of men who love Elsie for herself alone. And they are first class, desirable men, who would make delightful husbands.”
“Gerty, you give me the shivers!” exclaimed Elsie. “I’m merely an investment, it would seem! I can tell you, Mr. Allison,—Joe,—I do not propose to marry somebody in order to secure a fortune for my people! I am fond of them, I will work for them, but I refuse to sell myself for them!”
“Fine talk, Cousin Elsie,” the young man said, smiling, “but you won’t last out. Let me see, Mr. Webb has been missing three days now,—isn’t it?”
“Yes; three days, now.”
“And you have three months in which to find him,—you see I know the main facts. Well, I hate to be discouraging, but I don’t believe you’ll ever see that man again,—and you may as well begin to pick his successor.”
“I started out by liking you, Joe, but you’ve changed my attitude,” Elsie exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with anger. “How can you speak like that?”
“I’m a hardheaded Westerner, Elsie, and I look things square in the face. It’s out of all thinking that Webb was kidnapped! Such things aren’t done! And, too, how could it be possible?”
“How could his departure be possible, anyway?”
“Far easier, if he went of his own accord, than if he were forced to go against his will. In fact, my girl, you must see that he couldn’t have been taken unwillingly. Granting the mystery of the locked room, it can be,—itmustbe explained in some way,—but, only if Webb went away of his own volition. You must see that?”
“I do,” declared Gerty, “and Elsie does too, only she won’t admit it.”
“I don’t,” Elsie denied; “but I refuse to discuss the subject at all. I find it does no good. Nothing does any good! Here, three days have passed; a detective has done his best,—and it amounted to nothing at all! Two of my friends,—Mr. Whiting and Mr. Harbison have done their best,—and it has amounted to nothing at all; Kimball’s mother and sister have done their best—”
“Are you sure of them?” Allison broke in; “I mean, are you sure they are hunting him,—or, are they foxy enough—”
He paused and looked from one to another to guess their attitude toward the Webb ladies.
“I don’t think they know anything more about Kimball than I do,” said Elsie, slowly. “Ididthink Henrietta engineered the whole thing,—and I had reason to think so,—I still have,—but, not enough to make me feel sure of it.”
“I’m keen on the mystery part of it,” said Allison. “I’ve a fondness for mystery and I’d like to know just how Mr. Webb did get out of that room,—that is, if it was as securely locked as the stories made it out.”
“Oh, it was;” Elsie nodded her head, positively. “That is, if Henrietta’s story is true. And it must be, for she couldn’t make all the servants stick to a made-up tale, after all the grilling they’ve been through by the detectives and by all of us. Yes, I do believe that Hollis and Oscar,—they’re the two men servants,—broke in, just as they say they did.”
“Then it’s the mystery of the century!” young Allison exclaimed. “I’m going to take a hand at it!”
Elsie smiled with an indulgent air. “All right, Joe, go ahead. But, the very simplicity of it all is the baffling part. Door and windows fastened on the inside, and the man gone, with no trace of how he got out, where he went to, or where he is now.”
“Can you beat it?” and Allison’s round face fairly glowed with interest. “No secret passage?”
“No; everybody’s tried to find one, but there’s no unexplained space in the walls, or between partitions, or anything of the sort. Mr. Whiting is an architect, and he showed the police detective how he could see there is no chance for any secret exit. The walls are intact and solid,—oh, I don’t know how to express it, but there’s absolutely no chance of a sliding panel or secret staircase or passage.”
“Makes it still more interesting. What theories have been suggested?”
“Nothing definite, except Kimball’s mother’s idea that spirits wafted him away!”
“Oh, I don’t mean idiotic talk, like that! Is the maternal Webb a Spookist?”
“Of the deepest dye. She really believes Kimball was carried bodily through a closed door—”
“Don’t waste time on that. What does the detective think?”
“Can’t think of anything,—that fits all conditions. But he says Kimball must have gone away purposely, and, in some unexplained fashion, locked the door after him.”
“Street door open?”
“No; locked and bolted as usual.”
“Beautiful case! Finest mystery I ever heard of! I’m going to imperil my chance at the fortune and try to get your man back for you!”
“That’s nice of you, Joe, but I wish I had more hope of your success.” Elsie’s disconsolate face did not brighten at her cousin’s offer.
“Look here, Elsie; what say to offering a reward? Make a nice big sum,—contingent on the restoration of your lover,—and then if I can find him for you, I lose the fortune,—but I get the prize money.”
“Oh, I’ll do that, Joe! Gladly. How much shall I make it? Ten thousand dollars?”
“No; fifty thousand. You see, I want a slice of the money and,—to be honest,—I don’t think you’d let the fortune slip for want of a bridegroom.”
“Indeed she won’t!” cried Gerty. “She’ll see reason before the thirtieth of June!”
“That’s what I think,” agreed Joe; “so, Cousin Elsie, you’ll never miss fifty thousand from your millions, and it’ll do me a power of good!”
“You haven’t solved the mystery yet,” said Elsie, but her face had brightened at the mere idea of Joe’s success.
“Then, if I don’t, you won’t have to pay me.”
“Also,” said Mrs. Powell, “if some one else wins the reward—”
“That’s all right,” said Joe, casually. “If so, Elsie’ll be mighty glad to pay it!”
“Of course I will! I’d pay it to anybody who will restore my lover!”
“And a good investment, too; the return of the man means the assurance of the money.”
Fenn Whiting did not altogether approve of the plan of a reward.
When he came to see Elsie, after Allison had left the house, he advised against it.
“You see, dear,” he said, “it is all right to offer the money to your cousin, but the lure of a big reward will attract all sorts and conditions of men, and you’ll get involved in devious bothers.”
“Such as what?” demanded Elsie. “I don’t care who gets the money if Kimball is found. You know, Fenn, Kim must besomewhere! I don’t for a minute believe he is dead, do you?”
“No; there’s no reason to think that. Who would have any motive for killing him?—that is,—except,—oh, Elsie, can’t you see an inch in front of your nose? The only one with a possible motive for taking Kim away from you is that precious cousin of yours,—though why you call him cousin, I don’t know.”
“Joe Allison! Why, Fenn, if you saw that boy, you’d never associate any wrong doing with him! He’s the frankest, most honest—”
“Elsie! how innocent you are! Surely, child, you must have intelligence,—if not experience enough to see that a scamp would assume honesty and frankness of demeanour—”
“But you haven’t seen Joe!”
“No matter. I know he’s the only one with a motive,—if we except Wally Courtney.”
“Haven’t they found him yet?”
“No; but they’re on his trail. He is hiding somewhere, but I don’t believe he’s responsible for Kim’s disappearance. How could he be?”
“He could be,—as well as any one else. How could anybody be the means of,—and yet somebody was!”
“Nobody but Kim himself,—Elsie. The method of his disappearance is still a mystery, but a motive for any one is more dubious still. I merely mentioned this Allison, but after all, I can’t believe he came here to New York from Chicago, got into a strange house, abducted a strong, able-bodied man, and spirited him away, leaving the doors locked behind him! Your theory of Miss Webb’s connivance is more plausible than that!”
“You mix me all up, Fenn! I thought at first you suspected Joe.”
“I suspect no one, because, as yet, I’ve found no real motive. But this Allison can be said to have a motive,—and still, my reason won’t let me suspect him. We’re all of us at sea, Elsie. We all speculate, and wonder and assume,—then, when it comes to a positive suspicion, we can’t find a logical one.”
“Then I am sure I’m right in offering a reward,—and a big one. You see, if Kim isn’t found in time, I won’t have to pay it,—and if he is found, I shall marry him at once and so have plenty of money to pay it!”
“You mean, make the payment contingent on his restoration before your birthday?”
“Of course. I shall never marry any one else. I’ll wait for ever for him. If he never comes back to me, I shall never marry. If he comes after my birthday,—then Joe Allison will have the money and I will be a poor girl.”
“How foolish you are, Elsie!”
“You think so?”
“No, dear, not really. I appreciate your loyal love, and I know you can’t dream of marrying another man. But,—you may change your mind later. And, remember, Elsie, I have always loved you. I’m not asking you to marry me, now; but if Kimdoesn’treturn before your birthday, and if the money goes to Allison, and if you’re, as you say, a girl dependent on your own efforts,—for I suppose you wouldn’t accept an allowance from Allison?”
“He hasn’t offered one, I never thought of such a thing! Yes, I would accept it for mother and Gerty and the children! Not for myself.”
“He wouldn’t make you any such allowance as your mother and Gerty would want. You know, Elsie, theyarea bit mercenary.”
“You sha’n’t call them that! They’ve always had lots of money,—they can’t get along without it. And Gerty isn’t strong, and mother is growing more of an invalid every day, and the children are expensive little things. Oh, Fenn, whatcanI do? Ican’tsee my people in want! And I can’t marry somebody just to get a fortune for them!”
“I’m in a sorry predicament, dear, when I try to advise you; you know how I love you,—how long I have loved you. When I found you had chosen Kimball, I never obtruded my claims. But, now,—oh, Elsie, I can’t ask you to marry me to save the fortune! I’m not such a poor thing as that! But, if Allison gets the money, and if he will look after your mother and Gerty, won’t you, dearest, won’t you let me provide for you?—I can’t offer to take the whole family,—I’m not a rich man,—but I love you so,—dear,—and all I can say is, that you must remember my only wish is to serve you,—in any way. Command me anything,—anything, Elsie!”
“Very well, Fenn, find Kimball for me.”
“I’ll do my best, dear. If I don’t succeed, you’ll know I tried.”
“You’re a good friend, Fenn; and I’ll say this. I shall never—nevermarry any other man but my Kim, but I like you best of all my friends, and I depend on you most of all to help me.”
“You may, Elsie. Now, are you determined to offer this reward?”
“Oh, yes; and if you win it—”
“Don’t! dear heart, you don’t know how you hurt me! Do you think for a minuteI’dtake it?”
“I don’t see why not, if you earn it, by restoring Kim to me.”
“Well, don’t let’s speak of reward! To give you happiness is all the reward I shall ask. I don’t want pay for that!”
A visitor was announced, and in another minute Joe Allison entered the room.
“Oh, Elsie,” he cried; “I’m finding out things! Beg pardon, I thought you were alone.”
Elsie introduced the two men, and Joe favoured Fenn Whiting with a long steady glance.
“How do you do?” he said; “I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Whiting, for lots of reasons.”
“Thank you,” said Whiting; “am I to know them?”
“You bet. But, I say, you’re in with us on this deal?”
“Rather! Still, I’d like to know more of your ideas of what the deal is.”
“Oh, yes; sure. I mean this notion of Elsie’s offering a reward for the return of her missing man.”
“Don’t speak of it so—so bluntly, Joe,” Elsie urged.
“I side with Miss Powell,” Whiting said; “seems to me, Mr. Allison, the matter might be put more delicately.”
“Oh, all right. But I’m a blunt man,—Westerners have that rep. Anyway, I’m keen on the scent.”
“What have you found out?” cried Elsie.
“I’ve found that Mr. Courtney, for one thing.”
“Where is he?” exclaimed Whiting and Elsie, too.
“He’s practically in hiding, but not for concealment at all; merely to get a chance to work in peace, I take it.”
“Where is he?” insisted Whiting.
“He’s staying with a Miss Lulie Lloyd,—only she won’t admit it.”
“Lulie Lloyd!” Elsie cried; “why, she’s Kim’s stenographer.”
“Yep; I found that out, too. Well, Miss Lloyd has an apartment of her own,—lives there with her mother,—if it is her mother,—and I believe for the present, Mr. Wallace Courtney is making his abode there also.”
“What’s he doing there?”
“Working like mad on his play!”
“Oh, then he did steal Kim away!” and Elsie’s eyes grew wide with glad surprise. “If that’s so, we can soon get Kim back! I hoped it was Mr. Courtney, but I couldn’t believe it!”
“I can’t believe it yet,” put in Whiting. “How did you get all this, Mr. Allison?”
“Just by nosing around. I found out that Miss Lloyd had been Mr. Webb’s stenographer, and I went to see her—”
“Why?”
“Just to quiz her, and maybe find out a thing or two. You know a stenographer is often a mine of information regarding her employer,—whether she lets go of it or not.”
“And did she?” Whiting was agog with interest.
“She did not! She has the tightest closed pair of lips that ever felt a lipstick! She told me just about nothing. But—I caught on to some points! I’ll say I did!”
“Go on,” said Elsie, breathlessly, “what about Kim?”
“Nothing about him,—nothing at all. But it’s my belief she has Mr. Courtney there,—in her place,—because of her—well, because of a lot of things I saw.”
“You went there?”
“I did. And Miss Lloyd so little expected any inquisitive intruders that I caught her utterly unprepared. I rather rudely brushed past the maid, who was taking my card to the lady, and I entered the room just as an inner door closed behind a hurried departure of somebody. I only deduce that somebody was Mr. Wallace Courtney, for these reasons. First, there was a definite odour of good cigar smoke in the room. Second, there were papers and notebooks scattered about a desk,—whose chair was pushed aside as if just vacated by its occupant. Third, Miss Lloyd, herself, who rose hastily from her typewriter table, was exceedingly flustered and absurdly angry at my intrusion.”
“Hadn’t she a right to be?” asked Whiting, a little severely, for he did not approve of the young man’s easy-going ways.
“Sure she had! I fully expected it. Well, I simply said, ‘Where’s Mr. Courtney gone?’ and she did the high and mighty, ‘I don’t know what you mean, sir!’ with a loud exclamation point after the ‘sir!’ And then with the usual tragedy queen gag, she pointed to the door. But I had caught on to the dope I was after, and casually picking up a few sheets of the copy she had just written, I saw it was a play, and I saw the characters in said play, were named. ‘Mrs. Saltonstall, Mr. Cabot and Miss Adams.’ I glanced at the notes on the abandoned desk hard by, and found the same names scribbled there. To make assurance sure, I helped myself to a page of the scribblement, and came away. That was all I did there. Then I went to theWorkers’ Club, and somehow or other I wormed myself in, and I managed to get the information from a friend of Mr. Courtney’s that the page of scribbled notes is in his handwriting and that Mr. Courtney’s play included the characters named as I have hereinbefore enumerated! That’s about all.”
“And enough!” cried Whiting. “Man, you’re a wonder! Courtney is there, of course—”
“And I see farther into it than you do!” Elsie exclaimed; “that Lulie Lloyd is giving Mr. Courtney all the points of Kim’s play! She’s Kim’s stenographer, you know!”
When Elsie arrived at Lulie Lloyd’s home, that young woman greeted her most pleasantly.
“I came to see Mr. Courtney,” Elsie said, briefly, looking about.
“Here I am, Miss Powell,” and Wallace Courtney came in from the next room.
“I was told you were here,—in hiding!” Elsie exclaimed, excitedly.
“In retreat, not in hiding,” Courtney corrected her. “I am exceedingly busy, and in order to work uninterruptedly, I’ve set up an office in this house, and Miss Lloyd is helping me.”
“But you’re Mr. Webb’s stenographer,” and Elsie turned on the girl.
“I know it, Miss Powell,” she said, good-naturedly, “but Mr. Webb is away, and nobody knows when he’ll come back, so I thought I had a right to take another position.”
“Of course she has,” defended Courtney. “But tell me, Miss Powell, have you any news of the missing man?”
“How can I have, unless you give it to me?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I think you are in some way responsible for his disappearance! I think you feared his play would clash with your own, and in some clever manner you contrived to hide him somewhere until too late to interfere with you.”
“What an idea! Miss Powell, you give me credit, then, for supernatural cleverness, for I must say, from what I’ve heard, the hiding of Kimball Webb,—if he is hidden,—is a masterpiece of ingenuity! How, may I ask, do you think I did it?”
“I haven’t the least idea, but I know nobody else had any interest in his removal; and now that you’ve gone to work at your play with such energy, and have availed yourself of Mr. Webb’s stenographer, which must be very advantageous, I’ve no further doubt that you did the outrageous thing! When do you propose to liberate him?”
“Not having him in custody, I can’t answer that question. And, I tell you frankly, Miss Powell, your suspicions are so utterly absurd I decline to refute them. If you choose to think I abducted Kimball Webb, you are at liberty to do so, but until you can produce some proof or some indicative evidence, I have no call to defend myself. Also, I am willing to admit that I’m glad he’s gone! I wish no harm to Webb, he’s a friend of mine, but his play put the kibosh on my hopes, and now that I have a chance at success, I’m taking it! As to Miss Lloyd, she is a first-class stenographer and more. She is a real help in knowing all about Webb’s play. Not that I mean to plagiarize,—on the contrary, Miss Lloyd can tell me his points, and I shall take care to avoid using them.”
“You are exceedingly clever, Mr. Courtney,” Elsie looked at him curiously, “especially so in the attitude you take regarding Kim! I believe you got him away,—somehow,—and that you will not give him up until you are ready. How you did it, I can’t imagine, but I shall find out, and I shall have you punished! There is,—theremustbe a law that will reach you, and you’ll have a worse fate than the failure of a play!”
“Whew! Miss Powell, you take my breath away! If I were afraid of anybody in this matter, I should certainly fear you! You have enterprise and persistence to a marked degree. But, I’m not afraid of you, go ahead with your investigation of my criminal career, and let me know your results. You have the police back of you, I suppose?”
“I think you’re perfectly horrid, Mr. Courtney! Haven’t you a particle of sympathy for me? Don’t you think I am in the depths of misery at the loss of the man I love?”
“Oh, he isn’t lost, Miss Powell. Whatever the reason for his disappearance,—and I could suggest several of them,—his absence is but temporary.”
“You’re very sure! So sure, that I am more than ever convinced that you’re behind the crime,—for it is a crime!”
“Fasten it on me, then,” retorted Courtney, cheerfully; “I deny it, but if it’s proven on me, I’ll admit it!”
“Of course you will! You’ll have to! And I’ll get it proved, all right! Miss Lloyd, be careful. You know how Mr. Webb trusted you, you know all the ins and outs of his work, you must know that you reveal his secrets at your peril—”
“Oh, wait a minute, Miss Powell,” Courtney broke in; “cut out the dramatics. Miss Lloyd is a stenographer, and she has a right to work for any one she chooses. If her previous employer returns and calls her to account for taking another position, that’s one thing. But until he does so, no one else has a right to question her course.”
“That’s right, Miss Powell,” said Lulie Lloyd. “But, anyway, don’t you fear I’ll do anything wrong. As Mr. Courtney says, anything I can tell him regarding Mr. Webb’s play is by way of caution against plagiarism, not the means of bringing it about.”
“I don’t believe a word of that!” and Elsie’s little nose went up scornfully. “I know perfectly well Mr. Courtney will use the best of Mr. Webb’s ideas, and will so change and rewrite them that he can claim them as his own. I may be baffled but I’m not fooled!”
The brown eyes swept coldly over the flushed face of the stenographer and then turned again to Courtney.
“I’ve no desire to discuss the matter further,” Elsie said, calmly, “but I can tell you, Mr. Wallace Courtney, you’ll be sorry for what you have done. This is not the age of bandits and pirates! Citizens cannot be secretly taken from their homes with impunity! You are the man with the motive for desiring the disappearance of Kimball Webb, and so you are the man who brought about that disappearance. And I shall see to it that you get your just deserts.”
Elsie turned on her heel, and started for the door.
“Just a moment, Miss Powell,” said Courtney, and she turned.
“Do listen to me, for your own sake,” he urged; “I didn’t steal your lover away from you,—but, though you will doubtless scorn it, I’d like to give you a hint.”
“You can’t divert my attention from you in that way!” Elsie declared, but she waited for further words.
“I daresay not; still, it ought to interest you to know that Kimball was looking for something queer to happen.”
“Can you prove that, other than by your own statement?”
“So you won’t believe anything I say! Well, listen, anyway. We were talking recently at the Club about spiritualism,—”
“Oh, don’t harp on that! That’s Kim’s mother’s theory,—and of all ridiculous nonsense! Why,—”
“Now, wait a minute. This was only two nights before his bachelor dinner. We were discussing the foolishness ofséances, and talking about the people who claim to have communication with their relatives who were killed in the war,—and all that rot,—when Kim said, ‘There may be something in it after all.’
“We laughed at him, and asked him if he had any experiences worth telling. And he said he’d had one the night before.”
“I don’t want to hear it. Either you’re deceiving me, or he was hoaxing you. Kim hates everything of the sort,—his mother will tell you that.”
“It isn’t a question of his hating it,—he did,—but he told us a tale which I, for one, refuse to doubt. It bore evidence of its truth on its very face.”
“What was it?” Elsie became interested in spite of herself.