ARecordrepresentative had the pleasure, yesterday evening, of dining with Mr. Warwick Lester, the brilliant young attorney who achieved such a remarkable victory before Coroner Goldberg yesterday afternoon, in the hearing of the Holladay case, and, of course, took occasion to discuss with him the latest developments of this extraordinary crime. Mr. Lester agreed with theRecordin a theory which is the only one that fits the facts of the case, and completely and satisfactorily explains all its ramifications.
ARecordrepresentative had the pleasure, yesterday evening, of dining with Mr. Warwick Lester, the brilliant young attorney who achieved such a remarkable victory before Coroner Goldberg yesterday afternoon, in the hearing of the Holladay case, and, of course, took occasion to discuss with him the latest developments of this extraordinary crime. Mr. Lester agreed with theRecordin a theory which is the only one that fits the facts of the case, and completely and satisfactorily explains all its ramifications.
The theory was then developed at great length and the article concluded with the statement that theRecordwas assisting the police in a strenuous endeavor to find the guilty woman.
Now that the police knew in which quarterto spread their net, I had little doubt that she would soon be found, since she had tempted providence by remaining in town.
Mr. Graham and Mr. Royce were looking through theRecordarticle when I reached the office, and I explained to them how the alleged interview had been secured. They laughed together in appreciation of Godfrey's audacious enterprise.
"It seems a pretty strong theory," said our senior. "I'm inclined to believe it myself."
I pointed out how it explained Miss Holladay's reticence—her refusal to assist us in proving an alibi. Mr. Royce nodded.
"Precisely. As Godfrey said, the theory touches every point of the case. According to the old police axiom, that proves it's the right one."
The body of Hiram Holladay was placed beside that of his wife in his granite mausoleum at Woodlawn on the Sunday following his death; two days later, his will, which had been drawn up by Mr. Graham and deposited in the office safe, was read and duly admitted to probate. As was expected, he had left all his property, without condition or reserve, to his daughter Frances. There were a few bequests to old servants, Rogers receiving a handsome legacy; about half a million was given to various charities in which he had been interested during his life, and the remainder was placed at the absolute disposal of his daughter.
We found that his fortune had been over-estimated, as is usually the case with men whose wealth depends upon the fluctuationsof the Street, but there still remained something over four millions for the girl—a pretty dowry. She told us at once that she wished to leave her affairs in our hands, and in financial matters would be guided entirely by our advice. Most of this business was conducted by our junior, and while, of course, he told me nothing, it was evident that Miss Holladay's kindly feelings toward him had suffered no diminution. The whole office was more or less conversant with the affair, and wished him success and happiness.
So a week or ten days passed. The utmost endeavor of newspapers and police had shed no new light on the tragedy, and for the great public it had passed into the background of the forgotten. But for me, at least, it remained of undiminished interest, and more than once I carefully reviewed its features to convince myself anew that our theory was the right one. Only one point occurred to me which would tend toprove it untrue. If there was an illegitimate daughter, the blow she had dealt her father had also deprived her of whatever income he had allowed her, or of any hope of income from him. So she had acted in her own despite—still, Godfrey's theory of sudden passion might explain this away. And then, again, Miss Holladay could probably be counted upon, her first grief past, to provide suitably for her sister. Granting this, the theory seemed to me quite impregnable.
One other thing puzzled me. How had this woman eluded the police? I knew that the French quarter had been ransacked for traces of her, wholly without success, and yet I felt that the search must have been misconducted, else some trace of her would surely have been discovered. Miss Holladay, of course, rigidly refused herself to all inquirers, and here, again, I found myself on the horns of a dilemma. Doubtless, she was very far from wishing the discovery ofthe guilty woman, and yet I felt that she must be discovered, if only for Miss Holladay's sake, in order to clear away the last vestige of the cloud that shadowed her.
Then came new developments with a startling rapidity. It was toward quitting time one afternoon that a clerk brought word into the inner office that there was a woman without who wished to see Mr. Royce at once. She had given no name, but our junior, who happened to be at leisure for the moment, directed that she be shown in. I recognized her in an instant, and so did he—it was Miss Holladay's maid. I saw, too, that her eyes were red with weeping, and as she sat down beside our junior's desk she began to cry afresh.
"Why, what's the matter?" he demanded. "Nothing wrong with your mistress?"
"She aint my mistress any more," sobbed the girl. "She discharged me this afternoon."
"Discharged you!" echoed our junior. "Why, I thought she thought so much of you?"
"And so did I, sir, but she discharged me just the same."
"But what for?" persisted the other.
"That's just what I don't know, sir; I begged and prayed her to tell me, but she wouldn't even see me. So I came down here. I thought maybe you could help me."
"Well, let me hear about it just as it happened," said Mr. Royce soothingly. "Perhaps Icanhelp you."
"Oh, if you could, sir!" she cried. "You know, I thought the world and all of Miss Frances. I've been with her nearly eight years, and for her to go and treat me like this—why, it just breaks my heart, sir! I dressed her this afternoon about two o'clock, and she was as nice to me as ever—gave me a little brooch, sir, that she was tired of. Then she went out for a drive, and about an hour ago came back. I went right up to herroom to undress her, and when I knocked, sir, a strange woman came to the door and said that Miss Frances had engaged her for her maid and wouldn't need me any more, and here was a month's wages. And while I stood there, sir, too dazed to move, she shut the door in my face. After I'd got over it a bit, I begged that I might see Miss Frances, if only to say good-by; but she wouldn't see me. She sent word that she wasn't feeling well, and wouldn't be disturbed."
Her sobs mastered her again and she stopped. I could see the look of amazement on our junior's face, and did not wonder at it. What sudden dislike could her mistress have conceived against this inoffensive and devoted creature?
"You say this other maid was a stranger?" he asked.
"Yes, sir; she'd never been in the house before, so far as I know. Miss Frances brought her back with her in the carriage."
"And what sort of looking woman is she?"
The girl hesitated.
"She looked like a foreigner, sir," she said at last. "A Frenchwoman, maybe, by the way she rolls her r's."
I pricked up my ears. The same thought occurred at that instant to both Mr. Royce and myself.
"Does she resemble Miss Holladay?" he asked quickly.
"Miss Holladay? Oh, no, sir. She's much older—her hair's quite gray."
Well, certainly, Miss Holladay had the right to choose any maid she pleased, and to discharge any or all of her servants; and yet it seemed strangely unlike her to show such seeming injustice to anyone.
"You say she sent down word that she was ill?" said Mr. Royce, at last. "Was she ill when you dressed her?"
"Why, sir," she answered slowly, "I wouldn't exactly say she was ill, but sheseemed troubled about something. I think she'd been crying. She's been crying a good deal, off and on, since her father died, poor thing," she added.
That would explain it, certainly; and yet grief for her father might not be the only cause of Frances Holladay's tears.
"But she didn't seem vexed with you?"
"Oh, no, sir; she gave me a brooch, as I told you."
"I fear I can't promise you anything," said Mr. Royce slowly, after a moment's thought. "Of course, it's none of my business: for Miss Holladay must arrange her household to suit herself; yet, if you don't get back with your old mistress, I may, perhaps, be able to find you a position somewhere else. Suppose you come back in three or four days, and I'll see what I can do."
"All right, sir; and thank you," she said, and left the office.
I had some work of my own to keep mebusy that night, so devoted no thought to Frances Holladay and her affairs, but they were recalled to me with renewed force next morning.
"Did you get Miss Holladay's signature to that conveyance?" Mr. Graham chanced to ask his partner in the course of the morning.
"No, sir," answered Mr. Royce, with just a trace of embarrassment. "I called at the house last night, but she sent down word that she was too ill to see me or to transact any business."
"Nothing serious, I hope?" asked the other quickly.
"No, sir; I think not. Just a trace of nervousness probably."
But when he called again at the house that evening, he received a similar message, supplemented with the news imparted by the butler, a servant of many years' standing in the family, that Miss Holladay had suddenly decided to leave the city and open hercountry place on Long Island. It was only the end of March, and so a full two months and more ahead of the season; but she was feeling very ill, was not able to leave her room, indeed, and believed the fresh air and quiet of the country would do more than anything else to restore her shattered nerves. So the whole household, with the exception of her maid, a cook, house-girl, and under-butler, were to leave the city next day in order to get the country house ready at once.
"I don't wonder she needs a little toning up," remarked our chief sympathetically. "She has gone through a nerve-trying ordeal, especially for a girl reared as she has been. Two or three months of quiet will do her good. When does she expect to leave?"
"In about a week, I think. The time hasn't been definitely set. It will depend upon how the arrangements go forward. It won't be necessary, will it, to bother herwith any details of business? That conveyance, for instance——"
"Can wait till she gets back. No, we won't bother her at all."
But it seemed that she had either improved or changed her mind, for two days later a note, which her maid had written for her, came to Mr. Graham, asking him to call upon her in the course of the next twenty-four hours, as she wished to talk over some matters of business with him. It struck me as singular that she should ask for Mr. Graham, but our senior called a cab, and started off at once without comment. An hour later, the door opened, and he entered the office with a most peculiar expression of countenance.
"Well, that beats me!" he exclaimed, as he dropped into his chair.
Our junior wheeled around toward him without speaking, but his anxiety was plain enough.
"To think that a girl as level-headed as Frances Holladay has always been, should suddenly develop such whimsicalities. Yet, I couldn't but admire her grasp of things. Here have I been thinking she didn't know anything about her business and didn't care, but she seems to have kept her eyes open."
"Well?" asked Mr. Royce, as the other paused.
"Well, she started out by reminding me that her property had been left to her absolutely, to do as she pleased with; a point which I, of course, conceded. She then went on to say that she knew of a number of bequests her father had intended to make before his death, and which he would have made if he had not been cut off so suddenly; that the bequests were of such a nature that he did not wish his name to appear in them, and that she was going to undertake to carry them out anonymously."
"Well?" asked our junior again.
"Well," said Mr. Graham slowly, "she asked me to dispose at once of such of her securities as I thought best, in order that I might place in her hands by to-morrow night one hundred thousand dollars in cash—a cool hundred thousand!"
"A hundred thousand dollars!" ejaculated Mr. Royce, and sat staring at his chief.
"A hundred thousand dollars! That's a good deal for a girl to give away in a lump, but she can afford it. Of course, we've nothing to do but carry out her instructions. I think both of us can guess what she intends doing with the money."
The other nodded. I believed that I could guess, too. The money, of course, was intended for the other woman—she was not to suffer for her crime, after all. Miss Holladay seemed to me in no little danger of becoming an accessory after the fact.
"She seems really ill," continued our senior. "She looks thinner and quite careworn.I commended her resolution to seek rest and quiet and change of scene."
"When does she go, sir?" asked Mr. Royce, in a subdued voice.
"The day after to-morrow, I think. She did not say definitely. In fact, she could talk very little. She's managed to catch cold—the grip, I suppose—and was very hoarse. It would have been cruelty to make her talk, and I didn't try."
He wheeled around to his desk, and then suddenly back again.
"By the way," he said, "I saw the new maid. I can't say I wholly approve of her."
He paused a minute, weighing his words.
"She seems careful and devoted," he went on, at last, "but I don't like her eyes. They're too intense. I caught her two or three times watching me strangely. I can't imagine where Miss Holladay picked her up, or why she should have picked her up at all. She's French, of course—she speaks with a decided accent. About the money, I supposewe'd better sell a block of U. P. bonds. They're the least productive of her securities."
"Yes, I suppose so," agreed Mr. Royce, and the chief called up a broker and gave the necessary orders. Then he turned to other work, and the day passed without any further reference to Miss Holladay or her affairs.
The proceeds of the sale were brought to the office early the next afternoon, a small packet neatly sealed and docketed—one hundred thousand-dollar bills. Mr. Graham turned it over in his hand thoughtfully.
"You'll take it to the house, of course, John," he said to his partner. "Lester 'd better go with you."
So Mr. Royce placed the package in his pocket, a cab was summoned, and we were off. The trip was made without incident, and at the end of half an hour we drew up before the Holladay mansion.
It was one of the old-styled brownstonefronts which lined both sides of the avenue twenty years ago; it was no longer in the ultra-fashionable quarter, which had moved up toward Central Park, and shops of various kinds were beginning to encroach upon the neighborhood; but it had been Hiram Holladay's home for forty years, and he had never been willing to part with it. At this moment all the blinds were down and the house had a deserted look. We mounted the steps to the door, which was opened at once to our ring by a woman whom I knew instinctively to be the new maid, though she looked much less like a maid than like an elderly working-woman of the middle class.
"We've brought the money Miss Holladay asked Mr. Graham for yesterday," said Mr. Royce. "I'm John Royce, his partner," and without answering the woman motioned us in. "Of course we must have a receipt for it," he added. "I have it ready here, and she need only attach her signature."
"Miss Holladay is too ill to see you, sir,"said the maid, with careful enunciation. "I will myself the paper take to her and get her signature."
Mr. Royce hesitated a moment in perplexity. As for me, I was ransacking my memory—where had I heard that voice before? Somewhere, I was certain—a voice low, vibrant, repressed, full of color. Then, with a start, I remembered! It was Miss Holladay's voice, as she had risen to welcome our junior that morning at the coroner's court! I shook myself together—for that was nonsense!
"I fear that won't do," said Mr. Royce at last. "The sum is a considerable one, and must be given to Miss Holladay by me personally in the presence of this witness."
It was the maid's turn to hesitate; I saw her lips tighten ominously.
"Very well, sir," she said. "But I warn you, she is most nervous and it has been forbidden her to talk."
"She will not be called upon to talk,"retorted Mr. Royce curtly; and without answering, the woman turned and led the way up the stair and to her mistress's room.
Miss Holladay was lying back in a great chair with a bandage about her head, and even in the half-light I could see how changed she was. She seemed much thinner and older, and coughed occasionally in a way that frightened me. Not grief alone, I told myself, could have caused this breakdown; it was the secret weighing upon her. My companion noted the change, too, of course—a greater change, perhaps, than my eyes could perceive—and I saw how moved and shocked he was.
"My dear Miss Holladay," he began, but she stopped him abruptly with a little imperative motion of the hand.
"Pray do not," she whispered hoarsely. "Pray do not."
He stopped and pulled himself together. When he spoke again, it was in quite a different tone.
"I have brought the money you asked for," and he handed her the package.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Will you verify the amount?"
"Oh, no; that is not necessary."
"I have a receipt here," and he produced it and his fountain-pen. "Please sign it."
She took the pen with trembling fingers, laid the receipt upon her chair-arm without reading, and signed her name with a somewhat painful slowness. Then she leaned back with a sigh of relief, and buried her face in her hands. Mr. Royce placed the receipt in his pocket book, and stopped, hesitating. But the maid had opened the door and was awaiting us. Her mistress made no sign; there was no excuse to linger. We turned and followed the maid.
"Miss Holladay seems very ill," said Mr. Royce, in a voice somewhat tremulous, as she paused before us in the lower hall.
"Yes, sir; ver' ill."
Again the voice! I took advantage ofthe chance to look at her intently. Her hair was turning gray, certainly; her face was seamed with lines which only care and poverty could have graven there; and yet, beneath it all, I fancied I could detect a faded but living likeness to Hiram Holladay's daughter. I looked again—it was faint, uncertain—perhaps my nerves were overwrought and were deceiving me. For how could such a likeness possibly exist?
"She has a physician, of course?" asked my companion.
"Oh, yes, sir."
"He has advised rest and quiet?"
"Yes, sir."
"When do you leave for the country?"
"To-morrow or the next day after that, I think, sir."
He turned to the door and then paused, hesitating. He opened his lips to say something more—his anxiety was clamoring for utterance—then he changed his mind and stepped outside as she held the door open.
"Good-day," he said, with stern repression. "I wish her a pleasant journey."
The door closed after us, and we went down the steps.
"Jenkinson's the family doctor," he said. "Let's drive around there, and find out how really ill Miss Holladay is. I'm worried about her, Lester."
"That's a good idea," I agreed, and gave the driver the address. Jenkinson was in his office, and received us at once.
"Doctor Jenkinson," began our junior, without preamble, "I am John Royce, of Graham & Royce. You know, I suppose, that we are the legal advisers of Miss Frances Holladay."
"Yes," answered Jenkinson. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Royce."
"In consequence, we're naturally interested in her welfare and all that concerns her, and I called to ask you for some definite details of her condition."
"Her condition? I don't quite understand."
"We should like to know, doctor, just how ill she is."
"Ill!" repeated Jenkinson, in evident surprise. "But is she ill?"
"She's your patient, isn't she? I thought you were the family doctor."
"So I am," assented the other. "But I haven't seen Miss Holladay for ten days or two weeks. At that time, she seemed quite well—a little nervous, perhaps, and worried, but certainly not requiring medical attention. She has always been unusually robust."
Mr. Royce stopped, perplexed; as for me, my head was in a whirl again.
"I'll tell you the story," he said at last. "I should like the benefit of your advice;" and he recounted rapidly the facts of Miss Holladay's illness, in so far as he knew them, ending with an account of our recent visit, and the statement of the maid that her mistresswas under a doctor's care. Jenkinson heard him to the end without interrupting, but he was plainly puzzled and annoyed.
"And you say she looked very ill?" he asked.
"Oh, very ill, sir; alarmingly ill, to my unpracticed eyes. She seemed thin and worn—she could scarcely talk—she had such a cough—I hardly knew her."
Again the doctor paused to consider. He was a very famous doctor, with many very famous patients, and I could see that this case piqued him—that another physician should have been preferred!
"Of course, Mr. Royce," he said finally, "Miss Holladay was perfectly free to choose another physician, if she thought best."
"But would you have thought it probable?" queried our junior.
"Ten minutes ago, I should have thought it extremely improbable," answered thedoctor emphatically. "Still, women are sometimes erratic, as we doctors know to our sorrow."
Mr. Royce hesitated, and then took the bull by the horns.
"Doctor Jenkinson," he began earnestly, "don't you think it would be wise to see Miss Holladay—you know how her father trusted you, and relied on you—and assure yourself that she's in good hands? I confess, I don't know what to think, but I fear some danger is hanging over her. Perhaps she may even have fallen into the hands of the faith-curists."
Jenkinson smiled.
"The advice to seek rest and quiet seems sane enough," he said, "and utterly unlike any that a faith-curist would give."
"But still, if you could see for yourself," persisted Mr. Royce.
The doctor hesitated, drumming with his fingers upon the arm of his chair.
"Such a course would be somewhat unprofessional,"he said at last. "Still, I might call in a merely social way. My interest in the family would, I think, excuse me."
Mr. Royce's face brightened, and he caught the doctor's hand.
"Thank you, sir," he said warmly. "It will lift a great anxiety from the firm, and, I may add, from me, personally."
The doctor laughed good-naturedly.
"I knew that, of course," he said. "We doctors hear all the gossip going. I might add that I was glad to hear this bit. If you'll wait for me here, I'll go at once."
We instantly assented, and he called his carriage, and was driven away. I felt that, at last, we were to see behind one corner of the curtain—perhaps one glimpse would be enough to penetrate the mystery. But, in half an hour he was back again, and a glance at his face told me that we were again destined to disappointment.
"I sent up my card," he reported briefly,"and Miss Holladay sent down word that she must beg to be excused."
Mr. Royce's face fell.
"And that was all?" he asked.
"That was all. Of course, there was nothing for me to do but come away. I couldn't insist on seeing her."
"No," assented the other. "No. How do you explain it, doctor?"
Jenkinson sat down, and for a moment studied the pattern of the carpet.
"Frankly, Mr. Royce," he said at last, "I don't know how to explain it. The most probable explanation is that Miss Holladay is suffering from some form of dementia—perhaps only acute primary dementia, which is usually merely temporary—but which may easily grow serious, and even become permanent."
The theory had occurred to me, and I saw from the expression of Mr. Royce's face that he, also, had thought of it.
"Is there no way that we can makesure?" he asked. "She may need to be saved from herself."
"She may need it very badly," agreed the doctor, nodding. "Yet, she is of legal age, and absolute mistress of her actions. There are no relatives to interfere—no intimate friends, even, that I know of. I see no way unless you, as her legal adviser, apply to the authorities for an inquest of lunacy."
But Mr. Royce made an instant gesture of repugnance.
"Oh, that's absurd!" he cried. "We have no possible reason to take such action. It would offend her mortally."
"No doubt," assented the other. "So I fear that at present nothing can be done—things will just have to take their course till something more decided happens."
"There's no tendency to mental disease in the family?" inquired Mr. Royce, after a moment.
"Not the slightest," said the doctor emphatically."Her father and mother were both sound and well-balanced. I know the history of the family through three generations, and there's no hint of any taint. Twenty-five years ago Holladay, who was then just working to the top in Wall Street, drove himself too hard—it was when the market went all to pieces over that Central Pacific deal—and had a touch of apoplexia. It was just a touch, but I made him take a long vacation, which he spent abroad with his wife. It was then, by the way, that his daughter was born. Since then he has been careful, and has never been bothered with a recurrence of the trouble. In fact, that's the only illness in the least serious I ever knew him to have."
There was nothing more to be said, and we turned to go.
"If there are any further developments," added the doctor, as he opened the door, "will you let me know? You may count upon me, if I can be of any assistance."
"Certainly," answered our junior. "You're very kind, sir," and we went back to our cab.
The week that followed was a perplexing one for me, and a miserable one for Royce. As I know now, he had written her half a dozen times, and had received not a single word of answer. For myself, I had discovered one more development of the mystery. On the day following the delivery of the money, I had glanced, as usual, through the financial column of theSunas I rode home on the car, and one item had attracted my attention. The brokerage firm of Swift & Currer had that day presented at the sub-treasury the sum of one hundred thousand dollars in currency for conversion into gold. An inquiry at their office next morning elicited the fact that the exchange had been effected for the account of Miss Frances Holladay. It was done, of course, that the recipient of the money might remain beyond trace of the police.
Our regular work at the office just at that time happened to be unusually heavy and trying. The Brown injunction suit, while not greatly attracting public attention, involved points of such nicety and affected interests so widespread, that the whole bar of New York was watching it. The Hurd substitution case was more spectacular, and appealed to the press with peculiar force, since one of the principal victims had been the eldest son of Preston McLandberg, the veteran managing editor of theRecord, and the bringing of the suit impugned the honor of his family—but it is still too fresh in the public mind to need recapitulation here, even were it connected with this story. The incessant strain told upon both our partners and even upon me, so that I returned to my rooms after dinnerone evening determined to go early to bed. But I had scarcely donned my house-coat, settled in my chair, and got my pipe to going, when there came a tap at the door.
"Come in," I called, thinking it was Mrs. Fitch, my landlady, and too weary to get up.
But it was not Mrs. Fitch's pale countenance, with its crown of gray hair, which appeared in the doorway; it was a rotund and exceedingly florid visage.
"You will pardon me, sir," began a resonant voice, which I instantly remembered, even before the short, square figure stepped over the threshold into the full light, "but I have just discovered that I have no match with which to ignite my gas. If I might from you borrow one——"
"Help yourself," I said, and held out to him my case, which was lying on the table at my elbow.
"You are very good," he said, and then, as he stepped forward and saw me more distinctly,he uttered a little exclamation of surprise. "Ah, it is Mistair——"
"Lester," I added, seeing that he hesitated.
"It is a great pleasure," he was saying, as he took the matches; "a great good fortune which brought me to this house. So lonely one grows at times—and then, I greatly desire some advice. If you would have the leisure——"
"Certainly," and I waved toward a chair. "Sit down."
"In one moment," he said. "You will pardon me," and he disappeared through the doorway.
He was back almost at once with a handful of cigarettes, which he placed on the table. Then he drew up a chair. With a little deprecatory gesture, he used one of my matches to light a cigarette.
"It was truly for the gas," he said, catching my smile; "and the gas for the cigarette!"
There was something fascinating about the man; an air of good-humor, of comradeship, of strength, of purpose. My eyes were caught by his stodgy, nervous hands, as he held the match to his cigarette; then they wandered to his face—to the black hair flecked here and there with gray; to the bright, deep-set eyes, ambushed under heavy brows; to the full lips, which the carefully arranged mustache did not at all conceal; to the projecting chin, with its little plume of an imperial. A strong face and a not unhandsome one, with a certain look of mastery about it——
"It is true that I need advice," he was saying, as he slowly exhaled a great puff of smoke which he had drawn deep into his lungs. "My name is Martigny—Jasper Martigny"—I nodded by way of salutation—"and I am from France, as you have doubtless long since suspected. It is my desire to become a citizen of Amer-ric'."
"How long have you been living in America?" I asked.
"Since two months only. It is my intention to establish here a business in wines."
"Well," I explained, "you can take no steps toward naturalization for three years. Then you go before a court and make a declaration of your intentions. Two years later, you will get your papers."
"You mean," he hesitated, "that it takes so many years——"
"Five years' actual residence—yes."
"But," and he hesitated again, "I had understood that—that——"
"That it was easier? There are illegal ways, of course; but you can scarcely expect me to advise you concerning them, Mr. Martigny."
"No; of course, no!" he cried hastily, waving his hand in disclaimer. "I did not know—it makes nothing to me—I will wait—I wish to obey the laws."
He picked up a fresh cigarette, lit it from the other, and tossed away the end.
"Will you not try one?" he asked, seeing that my pipe was finished, and I presently found myself enjoying the best cigarette I had ever smoked. "You comprehend French—no?"
"Not well enough to enjoy it," I said.
"I am sorry—I believe you would like this book which I am reading," and he pulled a somewhat tattered volume from his pocket. "I have read it, oh, ver' many times, as well as all the others—though this, of course, is the masterpiece."
He held it so that I could see the title. It was "Monsieur Lecoq."
"I have read it in English," I said.
"And did you not like it—yes? I am ver' fond of stories of detection. That is why I was so absorbed in that affair of Mees—Mees—ah, I have forgotten! Your names are so difficult for me."
"Miss Holladay," I said.
"Ah, yes; and has that mystery ever arrived at a solution?"
"No," I said. "Unfortunately, we haven't any Monsieur Lecoqs on our detective force."
"Ah, no," he smiled. "And the young lady—in her I conceived a great interest, even though I did not see her—how is she?"
"The shock was a little too much for her," I said. "She's gone out to her country-place to rest. She'll soon be all right again, I hope."
He had taken a third cigarette, and was lighting it carelessly, with his face half-turned away from me. I noticed how flushed his neck was.
"Oh, undoubtedly," he agreed, after a moment; "at least, I should be most sad to think otherwise. But it is late; I perceive that you are weary; I thank you for your kindness."
"Not at all," I protested. "I hope you'll come in whenever you feel lonely."
"A thousand thanks! I shall avail myself of your invitation. My apartment is just across the hall," he added, as I opened the door. "I trust to see you there."
"You shall," I said heartily, and bade him good-night.
In the week that followed, I saw a good deal of Martigny. I would meet him on the stairs or in the hall; he came again to see me, and I returned his visit two nights later, upon which occasion he produced two bottles of Château Yquem of a delicacy beyond all praise. And I grew more and more to like him—he told me many stories of Paris, which, it seemed, had always been his home, with a wit to which his slight accent and formal utterance gave new point; he displayed a kindly interest in my plans which was very pleasing; he was always tactful, courteous, good-humored. He was plainly a boulevardier, a man of the world, with an outlook upon life a little startling in its materiality, but interesting in its freshness,and often amusing in its frankness. And he seemed to return my liking—certainly it was he who sought me, not I who sought him. He was being delayed, he explained, in establishing his business; he could not get just the quarters he desired, but in another week there would be a place vacant. He would ask me to draw up the lease. Meanwhile, time hung rather heavily on his hands.
"Though I do not quarrel with that," he added, sitting in my room one evening. "It is necessary for me that I take life easily. I have a weakness of the heart, which has already given me much trouble. Besides, I have your companionship, which is most welcome, and for which I thank you. I trust Mees—Mees—what you call—Holladay is again well."
"We haven't heard from her," I said. "She is still at her place in the country."
"Oh, she is doubtless well—in her I takesuch an interest—you will pardon me if I weary you."
"Weary me? But you don't!"
"Then I will make bold to ask you—have you made any—what you call—theory of the crime?"
"No," I answered; "that is, none beyond what was in the newspapers—the illegitimate daughter theory. I suppose you saw it. That seems to fit the case."
He nodded meditatively. "Yet I like to imagine how Monsieur Lecoq would approach it. Would he believe it was a murder simply because it so appeared? Has it occurred to you that Mees Holladay truly might have visited her father, and that his death was not a murder at all, but an accident?"
"An accident?" I repeated. "How could it be an accident? How could a man be stabbed accidentally in the neck? Besides, even if it were an accident, how would that explain his daughter's rushing from thebuilding without trying to save him, without giving the alarm? If it wasn't a murder, why should the woman, whoever she was, be frightened? How else can you explain her flight?"
He was looking at me thoughtfully. "All that you say is ver' true," he said. "It shows that you have given to the case much thought. I believe that you also have a fondness for crimes of mystery," and he smiled at me. "Is it not so, Mistair Lester?"
"I had never suspected it," I laughed, "until this case came up, but the microbe seems to have bitten me."
"Ah, yes," he said doubtfully, not quite understanding.
"And I've rather fancied at times," I admitted, "that I should like to take a hand at solving it—though, of course, I never shall. Our connection with the case is ended."
He shot me a quick glance, then lighted another cigarette.
"Suppose it were assigned to you to solve it," he asked, "how would you set about it?"
"I'd try to find the mysterious woman."
"But the police, so I understand, attempted that and failed," he objected. "How could you succeed?"
"Oh, I dare say I shouldn't succeed," I laughed, his air striking me as a little more earnest than the occasion demanded. "I should probably fail, just as the police did."
"In France," he remarked, "it is not in the least expected that men of the law should——"
"Nor is it here," I explained. "Only, of course, a lawyer can't help it, sometimes; some cases demand more or less detective work, and are yet too delicate to be intrusted to the police."
"It is also the fault of our police that it is too fond of the newspapers, of posing before the public—it is a fault of human nature, is it not?"
"You speak English so well, Mr. Martigny," I said, "that I have wondered where you learned it."
"I was some years in England—the business of wine—and devoted myself seriously to the study of the language. But I still find it sometimes very difficult to understand you Americans—you speak so much more rapidly than the English, and so much less distinctly. You have a way of running your words together, of dropping whole syllables——"
"Yes," I smiled, "and that is the very thing we complain of in the French."
"Oh, our elisions are governed by well-defined laws which each one comprehends, while here——"
"Every man is a law unto himself. Remember, it is the land of the free——"
"And the home of the license, is it not?" he added, unconscious of irony.
Yes, I decided, I was very fortunate in gaining Martigny's acquaintance. Ofcourse, after he opened his business, he would have less time to devote to me; but, nevertheless, we should have many pleasant evenings together, and I looked forward to them with considerable anticipation. He was interesting in himself—entertaining, with that large tolerance and good humor which I have already mentioned, and which was one of the most striking characteristics of the man. And then—shall I admit it?—I was lonely, too, sometimes, as I suppose every bachelor must be; and I welcomed a companion.
It was Monday, the fourteenth day of April, and we had just opened the office, when a clerk hurried in with a message for Mr. Royce.
"There's a man out here who wants to see you at once, sir," he said. "He says his name's Thompson, and that he's Miss Frances Holladay's butler."
Our junior half-started from his chair inhis excitement; then he controlled himself, and sank back into it again.
"Show him in," he said, and sat with his eyes on the door, haggard in appearance, pitiful in his eagerness. Not until that moment had I noticed how the past week had aged him and worn him down—his work, of course, might account for part of it, but not for all. He seemed almost ill.
The door opened in a moment, and a gray-haired man of about sixty entered. He was fairly gasping for breath, and plainly laboring under strong emotion.
"Well, Thompson," demanded Mr. Royce, "what's the trouble now?"
"Trouble enough, sir!" cried the other. "My mistress has been made away with, sir! She left town just ten days ago for Belair, where we were all waiting for her, and nobody has set eyes on her since, sir!"
Mr. Royce grasped the arms of his chair convulsively, and remained for a moment speechless under the shock. Then he swung around toward me.
"Come here, Lester," he said hoarsely. "I needed you once before, and I need you now. This touches me so closely I can't think consecutively. Youwillhelp, won't you?"
There was an appeal in his face which showed his sudden weakness—an appeal there was no resisting, even had I not, myself, been deeply interested in the case.
"Gladly," I answered, from the depths of my heart, seeing how overwrought he was. "I'll help to the very limit of my power, Mr. Royce."
He sank back into his chair again, and breathed a long sigh.
"I knew you would," he said. "Get the story from Thompson, will you?"
I brought a chair, and sat down by the old butler.
"You have been in Mr. Holladay's family a great many years, haven't you, Mr. Thompson?" I asked, to give him opportunity to compose himself.
"Yes, a great many years, sir—nearly forty, I should say."
"Before Miss Holladay's birth, then?"
"Oh, yes, sir; long before. Just before his marriage, Mr. Holladay bought the Fifth Avenue house he lived in ever since, and I was employed, then, sir, as an under-servant."
"Mr. Holladay and his wife were very happy together, weren't they?" I questioned.
"Very happy; yes, sir. They were just like lovers, sir, until her death. They seemed just made for each other, sir," and the triteold saying gathered a new dignity as he uttered it.
I paused a moment to consider. This, certainly, seemed to discredit the theory that Holladay had ever had a liaison with any other woman, and yet what other theory was tenable?
"There was nothing to mar their happiness that you know of? Of course," I added, "you understand, Thompson, that I'm not asking these questions from idle curiosity, but to get to the bottom of this mystery, if possible."
"I understand, sir," he nodded. "No, there was nothing to mar their happiness—except one thing."
"And what was that?"
"Why, they had no children, sir, for fifteen years and more. After Miss Frances came, of course, that was all changed."
"She was born abroad?"
"Yes, sir; in France. I don't just know the town."
"But you know the date of her birth?"
"Oh, yes, sir—the tenth of June, eighteen seventy-six—we always celebrated it."
"Mr. Holladay was with his wife at the time?"
"Yes, sir; he and his wife had been abroad nearly a year. His health had broken down, and the doctor made him take a long vacation. He came home a few months later, but Mrs. Holladay stayed on. She didn't get strong again, some way. She stayed nearly four years, and he went over every few months to spend a week with her; and at last she came home to die, bringing her child with her. That was the first time any of us ever saw Miss Frances."
"Mr. Holladay thought a great deal of her?"
"You may well say so, sir; she took his wife's place," said the old man simply.
"And she thought a great deal of him?"
"More than that, sir; she fairly worshiped him. She was always at the door tomeet him; always dined with him; they almost always spent their evenings together. She didn't care much for society—I've often heard her tell him that she'd much rather just stay at home with him. It was he who rather insisted on her going out; for he was proud of her, as he'd a right to be."
"Yes," I said: for all this fitted in exactly with what I had always heard about the family. "There were no other relatives, were there?"
"None at all, sir; both Mr. Holladay and his wife were only children; their parents, of course, have been dead for years."
"Nor any intimate friends?"
"None I'd call intimate, sir; Miss Frances had some school friends, but she was always—well—reserved, sir."
"Yes." I nodded again. "And now," I added, "tell me, as fully as you can, what has happened within the last three weeks."
"Well, sir," he began slowly, "after her father's death, she seemed quite distractedfor a while—wandered about the house, sat in the library of evenings, ate scarcely anything. Then Mr. Royce got to coming to the house, and she brightened up, and we all hoped she'd soon be all right again. Then she seemed to get worse of a sudden, and sent us all away to get Belair ready. I got the place in order, sir, and telegraphed her that we were ready. She answered that she'd come in a few days. Ten days ago the rest of the servants came, and I looked for her every day, but she didn't come. I telegraphed her again, but she didn't answer, and, finally, I got so uneasy, sir, I couldn't rest, and came back to the city to see what was the matter. I got here early this morning, and went right to the house. Thomas, the second butler, had been left in charge, and he told me that Miss Frances and her maid had started for Belair the same day the servants did. That's all I know."
"Then she's been gone ten days?" I questioned.
"Ten days; yes, sir."
Ten days! What might not have happened in that time! Doctor. Jenkinson's theory of dementia recurred to me, and I was more than ever inclined to credit it. How else explain this flight? I could see from Mr. Royce's face how absolutely nonplused he was.
"Well," I said at last, for want of something better, "we'll go with you to the house, and see the man in charge there. Perhaps he can tell us something more."
But he could tell us very little. Ten days before, a carriage had driven up to the door, Miss Holladay and her maid had entered it and been driven away. The carriage had been called, he thought, from some neighboring stable, as the family coachman had been sent away with the other servants. They had driven down the avenue toward Thirty-fourth Street, where, he supposed, they were going to the Long Island station. We looked through the house—it was inperfect order. Miss Holladay's rooms were just as she would naturally have left them. Her father's rooms, too, were evidently undisturbed.
"Here's one thing," I said, "that might help," and I picked up a photograph from the mantel. "You won't mind my using it?"
Mr. Royce took it with trembling hand and gazed at it for a moment—at the dark eyes, the earnest mouth——Then he handed it back to me.
"No," he answered; "not if it will really help; we must use every means we can. Only——"
"I won't use it unless I absolutely have to," I assured him; "and when I'm done with it, I'll destroy it."
"Very well," he assented, and I put it in my pocket.
There was nothing more to be discovered there, and we went away, after warning the two men to say not a word to anyoneconcerning their mistress's disappearance.
Plainly, the first thing to be done was to find the coachman who had driven Miss Holladay and her maid away from the house; and with this end in view, we visited all the stables in the neighborhood; but from none of them had a carriage been ordered by her. Had she ordered it herself from a stable in some distant portion of the city for the purpose of concealing her whereabouts, or had it been ordered for her by her maid, and was she really the victim of foul play? I put this question to Mr. Royce, but he seemed quite unable to reach a conclusion. As for myself, I was certain that she had gone away of her own accord, and had deliberately planned her disappearance. Why? Well, I began to suspect that we had not yet really touched the bottom of the mystery.
We drove back to the office, and found Mr. Graham there. I related to him the circumstancesof our search, and submitted to him and to our junior one question for immediate settlement.
"At the best, it's a delicate case," I pointed out. "Miss Holladay has plainly laid her plans very carefully to prevent us following her. It may be difficult to prove that she has not gone away entirely of her own accord. She certainly has a perfect right to go wherever she wishes without consulting us. Have we the right to follow her against her evident desire?"
For a moment Mr. Graham did not answer, but sat tapping his desk with that deep line of perplexity between his eyebrows. Then he nodded emphatically.
"It's our duty to follow her and find her," he said. "It's perfectly evident to me that no girl in her right mind would act as she has done. She had no reason whatever for deceiving us—for running away. We wouldn't have interfered with her. Jenkinson's right—she's suffering with dementia.We must see that she receives proper medical treatment."
"It might not be dementia," I suggested, "so much as undue influence—on the part of the new maid, perhaps."
"Then it's our duty to rescue her from that influence," rejoined Mr. Graham, "and restore her to her normal mentality."
"Even if we offend her?"
"We can't stop to think of that. Besides, she won't be offended when she comes to herself. The question is, how to find her most speedily."
"The police, probably, could do it most speedily," I said; "but since she can be in no immediate danger of any kind, I rather doubt whether it would be wise to call in the police. Miss Holladay would very properly resent any more publicity——"
"But," objected Mr. Graham, "if we don't call in the police, how are we to find her? I recognize, of course, how undesirable it is that she should be subjected to anyfurther notoriety, but is there any other way?"
I glanced at Mr. Royce, and saw that he was seemingly sunk in apathy.
"If I could be excused from the office for a few days, sir," I began hesitatingly, "I might be able to find some trace of her. If I'm unsuccessful, we might then call in the authorities."
Mr. Royce brightened up for a moment.
"That's it," he said. "Let Lester look into it."
"Very well," assented Mr. Graham. "I agree to that. Of course, any expenses you may incur will be borne by the office."
"Thank you, sir," and I rose with fast-beating heart, for the adventure appealed to me strongly. "I'll begin at once then. I should like assistance in one thing. Could you let me have three or four clerks to visit the various stables of the city? It would be best, I think, to use our own people."
"Certainly," assented our senior instantly. "I'll call them in, and we can give them their instructions at once."
So four clerks were summoned, and each was given a district of the city. Their instructions were to find from which stable Miss Holladay had ordered a carriage on the morning of Thursday, April 3d. They were to report at the office every day, noon and evening, until the search was finished. They started away at once, and I turned to follow them, when my eye was caught by the expression of our junior's face.
"Mr. Royce is ill, sir!" I cried. "Look at him!"
He was leaning forward heavily, his face drawn and livid, his eyes set, his hands plucking at the arms of his chair. We sprang to him and led him to a couch. I bathed his hands and face in cold water, while Mr. Graham hurriedly summoned a physician. The doctor soon arrived, and diagnosed the case at a glance.
"Nervous breakdown," he said tersely. "You lawyers drive yourselves too hard. It's a wonder to me you don't all drop over. We'll have to look out, or this will end in brain fever."
He poured out a stimulant, which the sick man swallowed without protest. He seemed stronger in a few moments, and began talking incoherently to himself. We got him down to the doctor's carriage, and drove rapidly to his lodgings, where we put him to bed without delay.
"I think he'll pull through," observed the doctor, after watching him for a while. "I'll get a couple of nurses, and we'll give him every chance. Has he any relatives here in New York?"
"No; his relatives are all in Ohio. Had they better be notified?"
"Oh, I think not—not unless he gets worse. He seems to be naturally strong. I suppose he's been worrying about something?"
"Yes," I said. "He has been greatly worried by one of his cases."
"Of course," he nodded. "If the human race had sense enough to stop worrying, there'd be mighty little work for us doctors."
"I'd like to call Doctor Jenkinson into the case," I said. "He knows Mr. Royce, and may be of help."
"Certainly; I'll be glad to consult with Doctor Jenkinson."
So Jenkinson was called, and confirmed the diagnosis. He understood, of course, the cause of Mr. Royce's breakdown, and turned to me when the consultation was ended, and his colleague had taken his departure.
"Mr. Lester," he said, "I advise you to go home and get some rest. Put this case out of your mind, or you'll be right where Mr. Royce is. He had some more bad news, I suppose?"
I told him of Miss Holladay's disappearance;he pondered over it a moment with grave face.
"This strengthens my belief that she is suffering with dementia," he said. "Sudden aversion to relatives and friends is one of its most common symptoms. Of course, she must be found."
"I'm going to find her," I assured him, with perhaps a little more confidence than I really felt.
"Well, remember to call on me if I can help you. But first of all, go home and sleep for ten hours—twelve, if you can. Mind, no work before that—no building of theories. You'll be so much the fresher to-morrow."
I recognized the wisdom of this advice, but I had one thing to do first. I took a cab and drove to the nearest telegraph office. There I sent an imperative message to Brooks, the Holladay coachman, telling him to return to New York by the first train, and report to me at the office. That done,I gave the driver my address and settled back in the seat.
No building of theories, Jenkinson had said; yet it was difficult to keep the brain idle. Where was Frances Holladay? Why had she fled? Was she really mentally deranged? Had the weight of the secret proved too great for her? Or had she merely fallen under the influence of the woman who was guilty? Supposing she was insane, what should we do with her when we found her? How could we control her? And, supposing she were not insane, what legal right had we to interfere with her? These and a hundred other questions crowded upon me, till thought failed, and I lay back confused, indifferent——
"Here we are, sir," said the driver, jumping down from his seat and jerking open the door.
I paid him, and went stumblingly up the steps. I have no doubt he was grinning behind me. As I fumbled with my key,someone opened the door from the inside.
"Why, Mistair Lester!" exclaimed Martigny's voice. "What is it? You have no illness, I hope!"
"No," I murmured, "I'm just dead tired," and I started blindly for the stair.
"Let me assist you," and he took my arm and helped me up; then went on ahead, opened my door, and lighted the gas.
"Thanks," I said, as I dropped into a chair.
He sat quietly down opposite me, and, weary as I was, I was conscious of his keen eyes upon me.
"We heard from Miss Holladay this morning," I remarked, unconsciously answering their question.
He did not reply for a moment, but I had closed my eyes again, and I was too tired to open them and look at him.
"Ah," he said, in a voice a little hoarse; "and she is well?"
"No; she's disappeared."
"You mean——"
"I mean she's run away," I said, waking up a little.
"And she has informed you——"
"Oh, no; we've just found it out. She's been gone ten days."
"And you are going to search for her?" he questioned carelessly, after another pause.
"Yes—I'll begin in the morning."
Again there was a moment's silence.
"Ah!" he said, with a curious intensity. "Ah."
Then he arose and left me to tumble incontinently into bed.