Tired Nature asserted herself and took the full twelve hours. But I felt like another man when I left the house next morning, and I was eager to grapple anew with the mystery. I found two reports awaiting me at the office: Mr. Royce had passed a good night and was better; the clerks who had spent the afternoon before in visiting the stables had as yet discovered nothing, and were continuing their search.
I looked up a time-card of the Long Island Railroad, and found that Miss Holladay's coachman could not reach the city until 9.30. So I put on my hat again, sought a secluded table at Wallack's, and over a cigar and stein of bock, drew up a résumé of the case—to clear the atmosphere, as it were. It ran something like this:
March 13, Thursday—Holladay found murdered; daughter drives to Washington Square.March 14, Friday—Coroner's inquest; Miss Holladay released; mysterious note received.March 16, Sunday—Holladay buried.March 18, Tuesday—Will opened and probated.March 28, Friday—Miss Holladay returns from drive, bringing new maid with her and discharges old one.March 29, Saturday—Gives orders to open summer house.April 1, Tuesday—Asks for $100,000.April 2, Wednesday—Gets it.April 3, Thursday—Leaves home, ostensibly for Belair, in company with new maid.April 14, Monday—Butler reports her disappearance; Royce taken ill; I begin my search.
March 13, Thursday—Holladay found murdered; daughter drives to Washington Square.
March 14, Friday—Coroner's inquest; Miss Holladay released; mysterious note received.
March 16, Sunday—Holladay buried.
March 18, Tuesday—Will opened and probated.
March 28, Friday—Miss Holladay returns from drive, bringing new maid with her and discharges old one.
March 29, Saturday—Gives orders to open summer house.
April 1, Tuesday—Asks for $100,000.
April 2, Wednesday—Gets it.
April 3, Thursday—Leaves home, ostensibly for Belair, in company with new maid.
April 14, Monday—Butler reports her disappearance; Royce taken ill; I begin my search.
There I stopped. The last entry brought me up to date—there was nothing more toadd. But it seemed impossible that all the developments of this mystery should have taken only a month. For years, as it seemed to me, I had thought of nothing else.
I looked over the schedule again carefully. There was only one opening that I could see where it was possible to begin work with the hope of accomplishing anything. That was in the very first entry. Miss Holladay had driven to Washington Square; she had, I felt certain, visited her sister; I must discover the lodging of this woman. Perhaps I should also discover Frances Holladay there. In any event, I should have a new point to work from.
The police had been over the ground, I knew; they had exhausted every resource in the effort to locate Mr. Holladay's mysterious visitor, and had found not a trace of her. But that fact did not discourage me; for I hoped to start my search with information which the police had not possessed.Brooks, the coachman, should be able to tell me——
Recalled suddenly to remembrance of him, I looked at my watch and saw that it was past his hour. I was pleased to find him awaiting me when I opened the office door three minutes later. I had only a few questions to ask him.
"When your mistress left the carriage the day you drove her to Washington Square, did you notice which street she took after she left the square?"
"Yes, sir; she went on down West Broadway."
"On which side?"
"Th' left-hand side, sir; th' east side."
"She must have crossed the street to get to that side."
"Yes, sir; she did. I noticed pertic'lar, for I thought it funny she shouldn't 've let me drive her on down th' street to wherever she was goin'. It's a dirty place along there, sir."
"Yes, I know. When you drove her out on the 28th—the day she brought back the maid—where did she go?"
"To Washington Square again, sir."
"And left you waiting for her?"
"Yes, sir; just th' same."
"And went down the same street?"
"Yes, sir; crossed to th' east side just th' same as th' time before."
"How long was she gone?"
"Over an hour, sir; an hour an' a half, I should say."
"Did you notice anything unusual in her appearance when she came back?"
"No, sir; she was wearin' a heavy veil. She had th' other woman with her, an' she just said 'Home!' in a kind o' hoarse voice, as I helped them into th' carriage."
That was all that he could tell me, and yet I felt that it would help me greatly. In the first place, it narrowed my investigations to the district lying to the east of West Broadway, and I knew that the French quarterextended only a block or two in that direction. And again, it gave me a point to insist on in my inquiries—I knew the date upon which the mysterious woman had left her lodging. Or, at least, I knew that it must be one of two dates. The lodging had been vacated, then, either on the twenty-eighth of March or the third of April. As a last resource, I had the photograph. I was ready to begin my search, and dismissed Brooks, warning him to say nothing to anyone about the mystery.
As I passed out the door to the pavement, I happened to glance across the way, and there, in the crowd of brokers which always lines the street, I perceived Martigny. He was listening intently to one of the brokers, who was talking earnestly in his ear—telling him how to make his fortune, I suppose—and did not see me. For an instant, I was tempted to cross to him, and get him out of danger. Then I smiled at the absurdity of the thought. It would take a clever man tofleece Martigny, and I recalled his strong face, his masterful air—he was no fool, no lamb ready for the shears. He was perfectly able to look out for himself—to wield the shears with power and effect, if need be.
I turned west toward Broadway, still, I suppose, thinking of him subconsciously: for a few moments later, some irresistible impulse caused me to glance around. And there he was, walking after me, on the opposite side of the street! Then, in a flash, I understood. He was following me!
It is difficult to describe the shock that ran through me, that left me numbed and helpless. For an instant, I stumbled on, half-dazed; then, gradually, my self-control came back, and with it a certain fierce joy, a hot exultation. Here, at last, was something definite, tangible, a clew ready to my hand, if only I were clever enough to follow it up; a ray of light in the darkness! I could feel my cheeks burning, and my heart leaping at the thought!
But what had been his part in the affair? For a moment, I groped blindly in the dark, but only for a moment. Whatever his share in the tragedy, he had plainly been left behind to watch us; to make sure that we did not follow the fugitives; to warn them in case of danger. I understood, now, his solicitude for Miss Holladay—"in her I take such an interest!" It was important that he should know the moment we discovered her absence. And he had known; he knew that I was even at this moment commencing the search for her. My cheeks reddened at the thought of my indiscreetness; yet he was a man to command confidence. Who would have suspected him? And an old proverb which he had repeated one evening, flashed through my mind:
"Folle est la brebis qui au loup se confesse."
"Silly is the sheep who to the wolf herself confesses," I had translated it, with that painful literalness characteristic of the beginner.Well, I had been the sheep, and silly enough, Heaven knows!
I had reached Broadway, and at the corner I paused to look at a display of men's furnishings in a window. Far down the street, on the other side, almost lost in the hurrying crowd, Martigny was buying a paper of a newsboy. He shook it out and looked quickly up and down its columns, like a man who is searching for some special item of news. Perhaps hewasa speculator; perhaps, after all, I was deceiving myself in imagining that he was following me. I had no proof of it; it was the most natural thing in the world that he should be in this part of the town. I must test the theory before accepting it. It was time I grew wary of theories.
I entered the store, and spent ten minutes looking at some neckties. When I came out again, Martigny was just getting down from a bootblack's chair across the street. His back was toward me, and I watched him getout his little purse and drop a dime into the bootblack's hand. I went on up Broadway, loitering sometimes, sometimes walking straight ahead; always, away behind me, lost in the crowd, was my pursuer. It could no longer be doubted. He was really following me, though he did it so adroitly, with such consummate cunning, that I should never have seen him, never have suspected him, but for that fortunate intuition at the start.
A hundred plans flashed through my brain. I had this advantage: he could not know that I suspected him. If I could only overmaster him in cunning, wrest his secret from him—and then, as I remembered the strong face, the piercing eyes, the perfect self-control, I realized how little possible it was that I could accomplish this. He was my superior in diplomacy and deceit; he would not pause, now, at any means to assure the success of his plot.
Yes, I could doubt no longer that therewas a plot, whose depths I had not before even suspected; and I drew back from the thought with a little shiver. What was the plot? What intricate, dreadful crime was this which he was planning? The murder of the father, then, had been only the first step. The abduction of Frances Holladay was the second. What would the third be? How could we prevent his taking it? Suppose we should be unsuccessful? And, candidly, what chance of success could we have, fighting in the dark against this accomplished scoundrel? He had the threads all in his fingers, he controlled the situation; we were struggling blindly, snarled in a net of mystery from which there seemed no escaping. My imagination clothed him with superhuman attributes. For a moment a wild desire possessed me to turn upon him, to confront him, to accuse him, to confound him with the very certainty of my knowledge, to surprise his secret, to trample him down!
But the frenzy passed. No, he must not discover that I suspected him; I must not yield up that advantage. I might yet surprise him, mislead him, set a trap for him, get him to say more than he wished to say. That battle of wits would come later on—this very night, perhaps—but for the moment, I could do nothing better than carry out my first plan. Yet, he must not suspect the direction of my search—I must throw him off the track. Why, this was, for all the world, just like the penny-dreadfuls of my boyhood—and I smiled at the thought that I had become an actor in a drama fitted for a red-and-yellow cover!
My plan was soon made. I crossed Broadway and turned into Cortlandt, sauntering along it until the Elevated loomed just ahead; I heard the roar of an approaching train, and stopped to purchase some fruit at the corner stand. My pursuer was some distance behind, closely inspecting the bric-à-brac in a peddler's cart. Thetrain rumbled into the station, and, starting as though I had just perceived it, I bounded up the stair, slammed my ticket into the chopper, and dived across the platform. The guard at the rear of the train held the gate open for me an instant, and then clanged it shut. We were off with a jerk; as I looked back, I saw Martigny rush out upon the platform. He stood staring after me for an instant; then, with a sudden grasping at his breast, staggered and seemed to fall. A crowd closed about him, the train whisked around a corner, and I could see no more.
But, at any rate, I was well free of him, and I got off at Bleecker Street, walked on to the Square, and began my search. My plan was very simple. Beginning on the east side of West Broadway, it was my intention to stop at every house and inquire whether lodgers were kept. My experience at the first place was a pretty fair sample of all the rest.
A frowsy-headed woman answered my knock.
"You have rooms to let?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, monsieur," she answered, with an expansive grin. "Step zis vay."
We mounted a dirty stair, and she threw open a door with a flourish meant to be impressive.
"Zese are ze rooms, monsieur; zey are ver' fine."
I looked around them with simulated interest, smothering my disgust as well as I could.
"How long have they been vacant?" I asked.
"Since only two days, monsieur; as you see, zey are ver' fine rooms."
That settled it. If they had been vacant only two days, I had no further interest in them, and with some excuse I made my way out, glad to escape from that fetid atmosphere of garlic and onions. So I went from house to house; stumbling over dirty children;climbing grimy stairs, catching glimpses of crowded sweat-shops; peering into all sorts of holes called rooms by courtesy; inhaling a hundred stenches in as many minutes; gaining an insight that sickened me into the squalid life of the quarter. Sometimes I began to hope that at last I was on the right track; but further inquiry would prove my mistake. So the morning passed, and the afternoon. I had covered two blocks to no purpose, and at last I turned eastward to Broadway, and took a car downtown to the office. My assistants had reported again—they had met with no better success than I. Mr. Graham noticed my dejected appearance, and spoke a word of comfort.
"I think you're on the right track, Lester," he said. "But you can't hope to do much by yourself—it's too big a job. Wouldn't it be better to employ half a dozen private detectives, and put them under your supervision? You could save yourself thisnerve-trying work, and at the same time get over the ground much more rapidly. Besides, experienced men may be able to suggest something that you've overlooked."
I had thought of that—I had wondered if I were making the best possible use of my opportunities—and the suggestion tempted me. But something rose within me—pride, ambition, stubbornness, what you will—and I shook my head, determined to hang on. Besides, I had still before me that battle of wits with Martigny, and I was resolved to make the most of it.
"Let me keep on by myself a day or two longer, sir," I said. "I believe I'll succeed yet. If I don't there will still be time to call in outside help. I fancy I've made a beginning, and I want to see what comes of it."
He shook me kindly by the hand.
"I like your grit," he said approvingly, "and I've every confidence in you—it wasn't lack of confidence that prompted the suggestion. Only don't overdo the thing,and break down as Royce has. He's better, by the way, but the doctor says that he must take a long vacation—a thorough rest."
"I'm glad he's better. I'll be careful," I assented, and left the office.
While I waited for a car I bought a copy of the last edition of theSun—from force of habit, more than anything; then, settling myself in a seat—still from force of habit—I turned to the financial column and looked it over. There was nothing of special interest there, and I turned back to the general news, glancing carelessly from item to item. Suddenly one caught my eye which brought me up with a shock. The item read:
Shortly after ten o'clock this morning, a man ran up the steps of the Cortlandt Street station of the Sixth Avenue Elevated, in the effort to catch an uptown train just pulling out, and dropped over on the platform with heart disease. An ambulance was called from the Hudson Street Hospital and the man taken there. At noon, it was said he would recover. He was still too weak to talk, but among other things, a card of the Café Jourdain, 54 WestHouston Street, was found in his pocket-book. An inquiry there developed the fact that his name is Pierre Bethune, that he is recently from France, and has no relatives in this country.
Shortly after ten o'clock this morning, a man ran up the steps of the Cortlandt Street station of the Sixth Avenue Elevated, in the effort to catch an uptown train just pulling out, and dropped over on the platform with heart disease. An ambulance was called from the Hudson Street Hospital and the man taken there. At noon, it was said he would recover. He was still too weak to talk, but among other things, a card of the Café Jourdain, 54 WestHouston Street, was found in his pocket-book. An inquiry there developed the fact that his name is Pierre Bethune, that he is recently from France, and has no relatives in this country.
In a moment I was out of the car and running westward to the Elevated. I felt that I held in my hand the address I needed.
Fifty-four West Houston Street, just three blocks south of Washington Square, was a narrow, four-storied-and-basement building, of gray brick with battered brown-stone trimmings—at one time, perhaps, a fashionable residence, but with its last vestige of glory long since departed. In the basement was a squalid cobbler's shop, and the restaurant occupied the first floor. Dirty lace curtains hung at the windows, screening the interior from the street; but when I mounted the step to the door and entered, I found the place typical of its class. I sat down at one of the little square tables, and ordered a bottle of wine. It was Monsieur Jourdain himself who brought it: a little, fat man, with trousers very tight, and a waistcoat very dazzling. The night trade had not yet begun in earnest, so he was forthe moment at leisure, and he consented to drink a glass of wine with me—I had ordered the "supérieur."
"You have lodgings to let, I suppose, on the floors above?" I questioned.
He squinted at me through his glass, trying, with French shrewdness, to read me before answering.
"Why, yes, we have lodgings; still, a man of monsieur's habit would scarcely wish——"
"The habit does not always gauge the purse," I pointed out.
"That is true," he smiled, sipping his wine. "Monsieur then wishes a lodging?"
"I should like to look at yours."
"You understand, monsieur," he explained, "that this is a good quarter, and our rooms are not at all the ordinar' rooms—oh, no, they are quite supérior to that. They are in great demand—we have only one vacant at this moment—in fact, I am notcertain that it is yet at liberty. I will call my wife."
She was summoned from behind the counter, where she presided at the money-drawer, and presented to me as Madame Jourdain. I filled a glass for her.
"Monsieur, here, is seeking a lodging," he began. "Is the one on the second floor, back, at our disposal yet, Célie?"
His wife pondered the question a moment, looking at me with sharp little eyes.
"I do not know," she said at last. "We shall have to ask Monsieur Bethune. He said he might again have need of it. He has paid for it until the fifteenth."
My heart leaped at the name. I saw that I must take the bull by the horns—assume a bold front; for if they waited to consult my pursuer, I should never gain the information I was seeking.
"It was through Monsieur Bethune that I secured your address," I said boldly. "Hewas taken ill this morning; his heart, you know," and I tapped my chest.
They nodded, looking at me, nevertheless, with eyes narrow with suspicion.
"Yes, monsieur, we know," said Jourdain. "The authorities at the hospital at once notified us."
"It is not the first attack," I asserted, with a temerity born of necessity. "He has had others, but none so serious as this."
They nodded sympathetically. Plainly they had been considerably impressed by their lodger.
"So," I continued brazenly, "he knows at last that his condition is very bad, and he wishes to remain at the hospital for some days until he has quite recovered. In the meantime, I am to have the second floor back, which was occupied by the ladies."
I spoke the last word with seeming nonchalance, without the quiver of a lash, though I was inwardly a-quake; for I was risking everything upon it. Then, in an instantI breathed more freely. I saw that I had hit the mark, and that their suspicions were gradually growing less.
"They, of course, are not coming back," I added; "at least, not for a long time; so he has no further use for the room. This is the fourteenth—I can take possession to-morrow."
They exchanged a glance, and Madame Jourdain arose.
"Very well, monsieur," she said. "Will you have the kindness to come and look at the room?"
I followed her up the stair, giddy at my good fortune. She opened a door and lighted a gas-jet against the wall.
"I am sure you will like the apartment, monsieur," she said. "You see, it is a very large one and most comfortable."
It was, indeed, of good size and well furnished. The bed was in a kind of alcove, and beyond it was a bath—unlooked-for luxury! One thing, however, struck me aspeculiar. The windows were closed by heavy shutters, which were barred upon the inside, and the bars were secured in place by padlocks.
"I shall want to open the windows," I remarked. "Do you always keep them barred?"
She hesitated a moment, looking a little embarrassed.
"You see, monsieur, it is this way," she explained, at last. "Monsieur Bethune himself had the locks put on; for he feared that his poor sister would throw herself down into the court-yard, which is paved with stone, and where she would certainly have been killed. She was very bad some days, poor dear. I was most glad when they took her away: for the thought of her made me nervous. I will in the morning open the windows, and air the room well for you."
"That will do nicely," I assented, as carelessly as I could. I knew that I had chanced upon a new development, though I could notin the least guess its bearing. "What do you ask for the apartment?"
"Ten dollars the week, monsieur," she answered, eying me narrowly.
I knew it was not worth so much, and, remembering my character, repressed my first inclination to close the bargain.
"That is a good deal," I said hesitatingly. "Haven't you a cheaper room, Madame Jourdain?"
"This is the only one we have now vacant, monsieur," she assured me.
I turned back toward the door with a little sigh.
"I fear I can't take it," I said.
"Monsieur does not understand," she protested. "That price, of course, includes breakfast."
"And dinner?"
She hesitated, eying me again.
"For one dollar additional it shall include dinner."
"Done, madame!" I cried. "I pay youfor a week in advance," and I suited the action to the word. "Only," I added, "be sure to air the room well to-morrow—it seems very close. Still, Bethune was right to make sure that his sister could not harm herself."
"Yes," she nodded, placing the money carefully in an old purse, with the true miserly light in her eyes. "Yes—she broke down most sudden—it was the departure of her mother, you know, monsieur."
I nodded thoughtfully.
"When they first came, six weeks ago, she was quite well. Then her mother a position of some sort secured and went away; she never left her room after that, just sat there and cried, or rattled at the doors and windows. Her brother was heartbroken about her—no one else would he permit to attend her. But I hope that she is well now, poor child, for she is again with her mother."
"Her mother came after her?" I asked.
"Oh, yes; ten days ago, and together they drove away. By this time, they are again in the good France."
I pretended to be inspecting a wardrobe, for I felt sure my face would betray me. At a flash, I saw the whole story. There was nothing more Madame Jourdain could tell me.
"Yes," I repeated, steadying my voice, "the good France."
"Monsieur Bethune has himself been absent for a week," she added, "on affairs of business. He was not certain that he would return, but he paid us to the fifteenth."
I nodded. "Yes: to-morrow—I will take possession then."
"Very well, monsieur," she assented; "I will have it in readiness."
For an instant, I hesitated. Should I use the photograph? Was it necessary? How explain my possession of it? Did I notalready know all that Madame Jourdain could tell me? I turned to the stair.
"Then I must be going," I said; "I have some business affairs to arrange," and we went down together.
The place was filling with a motley crowd of diners, but I paused only to exchange a nod with Monsieur Jourdain, and then hurried away. The fugitives had taken the French line, of course, and I hastened on to the foot of Morton Street, where the French line pier is. A ship was being loaded for the voyage out, and the pier was still open. A clerk directed me to the sailing schedule, and a glance at it confirmed my guess. At ten o'clock on the morning of Thursday, April 3d,La Savoiehad sailed for Havre.
"May I seeLa Savoie'spassenger list?" I asked.
"Certainly, sir," and he produced it.
I did not, of course, expect to find Miss Holladay entered upon it, yet I felt that astudy of it might be repaid; and I was not mistaken. A Mrs. G. R. Folsom and two daughters had occupied thecabine de luxe, 436, 438, 440; on the company's list, which had been given me, I saw bracketed after the name of the youngest daughter the single word "invalide."
"La Lorrainesails day after to-morrow, I believe?" I asked.
"Yes, sir."
"And is she full?"
"No, sir; it is a little early in the season yet," and he got down the list of staterooms, showing me which were vacant. I selected an outside double one, and deposited half the fare, in order to reserve it.
There was nothing more to be done that night, for a glance at my watch showed me the lateness of the hour. As I emerged from the pier, I suddenly found myself very weary and very hungry, so I called a cab and was driven direct to my rooms. A bath and dinner set me up again, and finally Isettled down with my pipe to arrange the events of the day.
Certainly I had progressed. I had undoubtedly got on the track of the fugitives; I had found out all that I could reasonably have hoped to find out. And yet my exultation was short-lived. Admitted that I was on their track, how much nearer success had I got? I knew that they had sailed for France, but for what part of France? They would disembark at Havre—how was I, reaching Havre, two weeks later, to discover which direction they had taken? Suppose they had gone to Paris, as seemed most probable, how could I ever hope to find them there? Even if I did find them, would I be in time to checkmate Martigny?
For a time, I paused, appalled at the magnitude of the task that lay before me—in all France, to find three people! But, after all, it might not be so great. Most probably, these women were from one of the towns Holladay and his wife had visited duringtheir stay in France. Which towns they were, I, of course, had no means of knowing; yet I felt certain that some means of discovering them would present itself. That must be my work for the morrow.
A half-hour passed, and I sat lost in speculation, watching the blue smoke curling upward, striving vainly to penetrate the mystery. For I was as far as ever from a solution of it. Who were these people? What was their aim? How had they managed to win Miss Holladay over to their side; to persuade her to accompany them; to flee from her friends—above all, from our junior partner? How had they caused her change of attitude toward him? Or had they really abducted her? Was there really danger of foul play—danger that she would fall a victim, as well as her father? Who was Martigny? And, above all, what was the plot? What did he hope to gain? What was he striving for? What was this great stake, for which he risked so much?
To these questions I could find no reasonable answer; I was still groping aimlessly in the dark; and at last in sheer confusion, I put down my pipe, turned out the light, and went to bed.
Mr. Graham's congratulations next morning quite overwhelmed me.
"I never expected such complete and speedy success, Mr. Lester," he said warmly. "You've done splendid work."
I pointed out to him that, after all, my success was purely the result of accident. Had I been really clever, I should have instantly suspected what that sudden seizure on the station platform meant, I should have hurried back to the scene, and followed Martigny—as I still called him in my thoughts—to the hospital, on the chance of securing his first address. Instead of which, if chance had not befriended me, I should have been as far as ever from a solution of the mystery. I trembled to think upon what a slender thread my victory had hung.
But my chief would not listen; he declared that a man must be judged by his achievements, and that he judged me by mine.
"Let us find out how our friend is," I said at last; so the hospital was called up. We were informed that the patient was stronger, but would not be able to leave his bed for two or three days.
"The Jourdains may tell him of my call," I said. "They'll suspect something when I don't return to-day—yet they may wait for me a day or two longer—they have my money—and one day is all I want. It's just possible that they may keep silent altogether. They've nothing to gain by speaking—it's plain that they're not in the conspiracy. Anyway, to-morrow I'll be out of reach."
Mr. Graham nodded.
"Yes—that's plainly the next step. You must follow them to France—but where in France will you look for them? I didn't think of that before. Why, the search isjust beginning! I thought it impossible to accomplish what you have accomplished, but that seems easy, now, beside this new problem."
"Yes," I assented; "still, it may not be so hard as it looks. We must try to find out where the women have gone, and I believe Rogers can help us. My theory is that they're from one of the towns which the Holladays visited when they were abroad, and Mr. Holladay must have kept in touch with his office, more or less, during that time."
My chief sprang up and seized his hat.
"The very thing!" he cried. "There's no luck about that bit of reasoning, Mr. Lester. Come, I'll go with you."
"Only," I added, as we went down together, "I very much fear that the search will lead to Paris, for Martigny is undoubtedly a Parisian."
"And to find a person in Paris...."
I did not answer: I only shut my teeth together,and told myself for the hundredth time that I must not fail.
Rogers had been carrying on the routine work of the business since his employer's death, and was supervising the settlement of accounts, and the thousand and one details which must be attended to before the business could be closed up. We found him in the private office, and stated our errand without delay.
"Yes," he said, "Mr. Holladay kept in touch with the office, of course. Let me see—what was the date?"
"Let us look for the first six months of 1876," I suggested.
He got down the file covering that period, and ran through the letters.
"Yes, here they are," he said after a moment. "In January, he writes from Nice, where they seem to have remained during February and March. About the middle of April, they started north—here's a letter dated Paris, April 19th—and fromParis they went to a place called Etretat. They remained there through May, June, and July. That is all the time covered by this file. Shall I get another?"
"No," I answered; "but I wish you'd make an abstract of Mr. Holladay's whereabouts during the whole time he was abroad, and send it to our office not later than this afternoon."
"Very well, sir," he said, and we left the room.
"But why didn't you let him go farther?" asked Mr. Graham, as we left the building.
"Because I think I've found the place, sir," I answered. "Did you notice—the time they stayed at Etretat covers the period of Miss Holladay's birth, with which, I'm convinced, these people were in some way concerned. We must look up Etretat."
A map at the office showed us that it was a little fishing hamlet and seaside resort on the shore of the English Channel, not far north of Havre.
"My theory is," I said, "that when the time of her confinement approached, Mr. Holladay brought his wife to Paris to secure the services of an experienced physician, perhaps; or perhaps a nurse, or linen, or all of them. That done, they proceeded to Etretat, which they may have visited before, and knew for a quiet place, with a bracing atmosphere and good climate—just such a place as they would naturally desire. Here, the daughter was born, and here, I am convinced, we shall find the key to the mystery, though I'm very far from guessing what that key is. But I have a premonition—you may smile if you wish—that I'll find the clew I'm seeking at Etretat. The name has somehow struck an answering chord in me."
The words, as I recall them now, seem more than a little foolish and self-assured; yet, in light of the result—well, at any rate, my chief showed no disposition to smile, but sat for some moments in deep thought.
"I don't doubt that you're right, Mr. Lester," he said at last. "At any rate, I'm ready to trust your experience—since I have absolutely none in this kind of work. I don't need to say that I have every confidence in you. I'll have a letter of credit prepared at once, so that you may not want for money—shall we say five thousand to start with?"
I stammered that I was certain that would be more than enough, but he silenced me with a gesture.
"You'll find foreign travel more expensive than you think," he said. "It may be, too, that you'll find that money will help you materially with your investigations. I want you to have all you may need—don't spare it. When you need more don't hesitate to draw on us."
I thanked him and was about to take my leave, for I had some packing to do and some private business to arrange, when a message came from Doctor Jenkinson. Mr. Graham smiled as he read it.
"Royce is better," he said; "much better. He's asking for you, and Jenkinson seems to think you'd better go to him, especially if you can bring good news."
"Just the thing!" I cried. "I must go to bid him good-by, in any event," and half an hour later I was admitted to our junior's room. He was lying back in a big chair, and seemed pale and weak, but he flushed up when he saw me, and held out his hand eagerly.
"I couldn't wait any longer, Lester," he began. "It seems an age since I've seen you. I'd have sent for you before this, but I knew that you were working."
"Yes," I smiled; "I was working."
"Sit down and tell me about it," he commanded. "All about it—every detail."
The door opened as he spoke, and Dr. Jenkinson came in.
"Doctor," I queried, "how far is it safe to indulge this sick man? He wants me to tell him a story."
"Is it a good story?" asked the doctor.
"Why, yes; fairly good."
"Then tell it. May I stay?"
"Certainly," said Mr. Royce and I together, and the doctor drew up a chair.
So I recounted, as briefly as I could, the events of the past two days, and the happy accident which had given me the address I sought. Mr. Royce's face was beaming when I ended.
"And you start for France to-morrow?" he asked.
"To-morrow morning—the boat sails at ten o'clock."
"Well, I'm going with you!" he cried.
"Why," I stammered, startled by his vehemence, "are you strong enough? I'd be mighty glad to have you, but do you think you ought? How about it, doctor?"
Jenkinson was smiling with half-shut eyes.
"It's not a bad idea," he said. "He needs rest and quiet more than anything else,and he's bound to get a week of that on the water, which is more than he'll do here. I can't keep that brain of his still, wherever he is. He'd worry here, and with you he'll be contented. Besides," he added, "he ought to be along: for I believe the expedition is going to be successful!"
I believed so, too; but I recognized in Jenkinson's words that fine optimism which had done so much to make him the great doctor he was. I shook our junior's hand again in the joy of having him with me. As for him, he seemed quite transformed, and Jenkinson gazed at him with a look of quiet pleasure.
"You'll have to pack," I said. "Will you need my help?"
"No; nurse can do it, with the doctor here to help us out," he laughed. "You've your own packing to do, and odds and ends to look after. Besides, neither of us will need much luggage. Don't forget to reserve the other berth in that stateroom for me."
"No," I said, and rose. "I'll come for you in the morning."
"All right; I'll be ready."
The doctor followed me out to give me a word of caution. Mr. Royce was still far from well; he must not over-exert himself; he must be kept cheerful and hopeful, if possible; above all, he was not to worry; quiet and sea air would do the rest.
I hurried back to the office to make my final report to Mr. Graham, and to get the abstract which Rogers had promised to have ready, and which was awaiting me on my desk. Our worthy senior was genuinely pleased when he learned that his junior was going with me, though our absence would mean a vast deal of extra work for himself. The canvass of the city stables had been completed without result, but I suspected now that Martigny himself had hired the carriage, and had, perhaps, even acted as driver—such an easy and obvious way to baffle our pursuit would hardly have escaped him.
I finished up some odds and ends of work which I had left undone, and finally bade Mr. Graham good-by, and started for my rooms. My packing was soon finished, and I sat down for a final smoke and review of the situation.
There was one development of the day before which quite baffled me. I had proved that there were, indeed, two women, and I believed them to be mother and daughter, but I could not in the least understand why the younger one had so completely broken down after the departure of the elder with Miss Holladay. I looked at this point from every side, but could find no reasonable explanation of it. It might be, indeed, that the younger one was beginning already to repent her share in the conspiracy—there could be no question that it was she who had struck down Holladay in his office—that she had even refused to go farther in the plot, and that her companions had found it necessary to restrain her; but this seemed to metoo exceedingly improbable to believe. And, as I went over the ground again, I found myself beginning more and more to doubt the truth of Godfrey's theory, though I could formulate none to take its place; I became lost in a maze of conjecture, and, at last, I gave it up and went to bed.
I called for Mr. Royce, as we had agreed, and together we drove down to Morton Street. He, too, had limited his baggage to a single small trunk. We secured a deck-hand to take them into our stateroom, and, after seeing them disposed of, went out on deck to watch the last preparations for departure. The pier was in that state of hurly-burly which may be witnessed only at the sailing of a transatlantic liner. The last of the freight was being got aboard with frantic haste; the boat and pier were crowded with people who had come to bid their friends good-by; two tugs were puffing noisily alongside, ready to pull us out into thestream. My companion appeared quite strong, and seemed to enjoy the bustle and hubbub as much as I did. He flushed with pleasure, as he caught sight of our senior pushing his way toward us.
"Why, this is kind of you, sir!" he cried, grasping his hand. "I know what the work of the office must be, with both of us deserting you this way."
"Tut, tut!" and Mr. Graham smiled at us. "You deserve a vacation, don't you? I couldn't let you go without telling you good-by. Besides," he added, "I learned just this morning that two very dear friends of mine are taking this boat—Mrs. Kemball and her daughter—the widow of Jim Kemball, you know."
Mr. Royce nodded. I, too, recalled the name—Jim Kemball had been one of the best men at the New York bar twenty years before, and must inevitably have made a great name for himself but for his untimely death. I had heard a hundred stories of him.
"Well, I want you to meet them," continued Mr. Graham, looking about in all directions. "Ah, here they are!" and he dragged his partner away toward the bow of the boat. I saw him bowing before a gray-haired little lady, and a younger and taller one whose back was toward me. They laughed together for a moment, then the last bell rang, and the ship's officers began to clear the boat. I turned back to the pier, but was brought round an instant later by Mr. Graham's voice.
"My dear Lester," he cried, "I thought we'd lost you. I want to introduce you to Mrs. Kemball and her daughter, who are to be your fellow voyagers. Mr. Lester's a very ingenious young man," he added. "Make him amuse you!" and he hastened away to catch the gang-plank before it should be pulled in.
I bowed to Mrs. Kemball, thinking to myself that I had never seen a sweeter, pleasanter face. Then I found myself lookinginto a pair of blue eyes that fairly took my breath away.
"We'll not neglect Mr. Graham's advice," said a merry voice. "So prepare for your fate, Mr. Lester!"
There was a hoarse shouting at the gang-way behind me, and the eyes looked past me, over my shoulder.
"See," she said; "there's one poor fellow who has just made it."
I turned and looked toward the gang-plank. One end had been cast loose, but two deck-hands were assisting another man to mount it. He seemed weak and helpless, and they supported him on either side. An involuntary cry rose to my lips as I looked at him, but I choked it back. For it was Martigny, risen from his bed to follow us!
I watched him with a kind of fascination until he disappeared through the door of the cabin. I could guess what it had cost him to drag himself from his bed, what agony of apprehension must have been upon him to make him take the risk. The Jourdains, puzzled at my not returning, unable to keep silence, suspecting, perhaps, some plot against themselves, had doubtless gone to the hospital and told him of my appearance—there had been no way for me to guard against that. He had easily guessed the rest. He had only to consult the passenger list to assure himself that Mr. Royce and I were aboard. And he was following us, hoping—what? What could a man in his condition hope to accomplish? What need was there for us to fear him? And yet, there was something about him—something in theatmosphere of the man—that almost terrified me.
I came back to earth to find that Royce and Mrs. Kemball had drifted away together, and that my companion was regarding me from under half-closed lids with a little smile of amusement.
"So you're awake again, Mr. Lester?" she asked. "Do you often suffer attacks of that sort?"
"Pardon me," I stammered. "The fact is, I—I——"
"You looked quite dismayed," she continued relentlessly. "You seemed positively horror-stricken. I saw nothing formidable about him."
"No; you don't know him!" I retorted, and stopped, lest I should say too much.
She was smiling broadly, now; an adorable smile that wrinkled up the corners of her eyes, and gave me a glimpse of little white teeth.
"I think we'd better sit down," she said.
"Your knees seem to be still somewhat shaky. Mother and Mr. Royce have deserted us."
So we sought a seat near the stern, where we could watch the city sink gradually away in the distance, as the great boat glided smoothly out into the bay, her engines starting on the rhythm which was to continue ceaselessly until the voyage ended. I confess frankly I was worried. I had not thought for a moment that Martigny would have the temerity to board the same boat with us—yet it was not so wonderful after all, since he could not guess that I suspected him, that I knew him and Bethune to be the same person. That was my great advantage. In any event, we were in no danger from him; he was probably following us only that he might warn his confederates, should we seem likely to discover them. Certainly they were in no present danger of discovery, and perhaps might never be. But his following us, his disregard of the grave danger tohimself, gave me a new measure of his savage determination to baffle us; I found myself more and more beginning to fear him. My fancy cast about him a sinister cloud, from the depths of which he peered out at us, grim, livid, threatening.
Should I inform Mr. Royce of this new development? I asked myself; then I remembered the doctor's words. He must have rest and quiet during the coming week; he must be free from worry.
"I trust that I'm not in the way, Mr. Lester?" inquired a low, provoking voice at my side, and I awoke to the fact that I had again been guilty of forgetting my companion.
"Miss Kemball," I began desperately, "let me confess that I'm in an exceedingly vexatious situation. The fact that I can't ask advice makes it worse."
"You can't ask even Mr. Royce?" she queried, with raised brows.
"He least of all. You see, he's just recoveringfrom a severe nervous breakdown—he must have quiet—that's one reason he's taking this voyage."
"I see," she nodded.
I glanced at her again—at the open, candid eyes, the forceful mouth and chin—and I took a sudden resolution.
"Miss Kemball," I said, "I'm going to ask your help—that is, if I may."
"Of course you may."
"Well, then, that man who came on board last is the inveterate enemy of both Mr. Royce and myself. We're trying to unearth a particularly atrocious piece of villainy in which he's concerned. I have reason to believe him capable of anything, and a very fiend of cleverness. I don't know what he may plot against us, but I'm certain he'll plot something. Mr. Royce doesn't even know him by sight, and shouldn't be worried; but, unless he's forewarned, he may walk right into danger. I want you to help me keep an eye on him—to help me keephim out of danger. If we look after him closely enough, I shan't need to warn him. Will you help me?"
Her eyes were dancing as she looked up at me.
"Why, certainly!" she cried. "So we're to have a mystery—just we two!"
"Just we two!" I assented with a quickened pulse.
She looked at me doubtfully for a moment.
"I must remember Mr. Graham's warning," she said. "You haven't invented this astonishing story just to entertain me, Mr. Lester?"
"On my word, no," I responded, a little bitterly. "I only wish I had!"
"There," she said contritely; "I shouldn't have doubted! Forgive me, Mr. Lester. Only it seemed so fantastic—so improbable——"
"Itisfantastic," I assented, "but, unfortunately, it is true. We must keep an eye on Monsieur Martigny or Bethune."
"Which is his real name?"
"Those are the only ones I know, but I doubt if either is the true one."
Royce and Mrs. Kemball joined us a moment later, and we sat watching the low, distant Long Island shore until the gong summoned us to lunch. A word to the steward had secured us one of the small tables in an alcove at the side—Mrs. Kemball and her daughter surrendered the grandeurs of the captain's table willingly, even gladly, to minister to us—and the meal was a merry one, Mr. Royce seeming in such spirits that I was more than ever determined not to disturb him with the knowledge of Martigny's presence.
As the moments passed, my fears seemed more and more uncalled for. It was quite possible, I told myself, that I had been making a bogy of my own imaginings. The Frenchman did not appear in the saloon, and, afterwards, an inquiry of the ship's doctor developed the fact that he was seriouslyill, and quite unable to leave his state room.
So afternoon and evening passed. There were others on board who claimed their share of the charming Mrs. Kemball and her daughter. Mr. Royce knew a few of them, too, and introduced me to them, but I found their talk somehow flat and savorless. I fancied that my companion looked slightly wearied, too, and at last we stole away to our deck chairs, where we sat for an hour or more looking out across the dancing waves, listening to the splash of the boat as she rose and fell over them. He was thinking, no doubt, of a certain dark beauty, whose caprices there was no explaining. As for me—well, I had suddenly developed a sturdy preference for blue eyes.
I may as well confess at once that I was seasick. It came next morning, ten minutes after I had left my berth—not a violent sickness, but a faintness and giddiness that mademe long for my berth again. But Mr. Royce would not hear of it. He got me out on deck and into my chair, with the fresh breeze blowing full in my face. There was a long line of chairs drawn up there, and from the faces of most of their occupants, I judged they were far more miserable than I. At the end of an hour, thanks to this treatment, I felt almost well again, and could devour with some appetite the luncheon which Mr. Royce ordered for me.
After a while the doctor came down the line and looked at each of us, stopping for a moment's chat. The more serious cases were below, and all that any of us needed was a little encouragement.
"Won't you sit down a minute, doctor?" I asked, when he came to me, and motioned to Mr. Royce's chair.
"Why, you're not sick!" he protested, laughing, but he dropped into the vacant place.
"It wasn't about myself I wanted to talk,"I said. "How's your other patient—the one who came aboard last?"
His face sobered in an instant.
"Martigny is his name," he said, "and he's in very bad shape. He must have been desperately anxious to get back to France. Why, he might have dropped over dead there on the gang-plank."
"It's a disease of the heart?"
"Yes—far advanced. He can't get well, of course, but he may live on indefinitely, if he's careful."
"He's still confined to his bed?"
"Oh, yes—he won't leave it during the voyage, if he takes my advice. He's got to give his heart just as little work as possible, or it'll throw up the job altogether. He has mighty little margin to go on."
I turned the talk to other things, and in a few moments he went on along his rounds. But I was not long alone, for I saw Miss Kemball coming toward me, looking a very Diana, wind-blown and rosy-cheeked.
"Somal-de-merhas laid its hand on you, too, Mr. Lester!" she cried.
"Only a finger," I said. "But a finger is enough. Won't you take pity on a poor landsman and talk to him?"
"But that's reversing our positions!" she protested, sitting down, nevertheless, to my great satisfaction. "It was you who were to be the entertainer! Is our Mephisto abroad yet?" she asked, in a lower tone. "I, too, am feeling his fascination—I long for another glimpse of him."
"Mephisto is still wrestling with his heart, which, it seems, is scarcely able to furnish the blood necessary to keep him going. The doctor tells me that he'll probably spend the voyage abed."
"So there'll be nothing for us to do, after all! Do you know, Mr. Lester, I was longing to become a female Lecoq!"
"Perhaps you may still have the chance," I said gloomily. "I doubt very much whether Mephisto will consent to remaininactive. He doesn't look to be that sort."
She clapped her hands, and nodded a laughing recognition to one of the passing promenaders.
"You're going to Paris, aren't you, Miss Kemball?" I asked.
"To Paris—yes. You too? You must be, since you're going to France."
"We go first to Etretat," I said, and stopped, as she leaned, laughing, back in her chair. "Why, what's wrong with that?" I demanded, in some astonishment.
"Wrong? Oh, nothing. Etretat's a most delightful place—only it recalled to me an amusing memory of how my mother was one day scandalized there by some actresses who were bathing. It's the prettiest little fishing-village, with the finest cliffs I ever saw. But it's hardly the season for Etretat—the actresses have not yet arrived. You'll find it dull."
"We will not stay there long," I said."But tell me about it. I should like to know."
"Etretat," said my companion, "is rather a bohemian resort. Alphonse Karr discovered it somewhere back in the dark ages, and advertised it—the Etretatians were immensely grateful, and named the main street of the town after him—and since then a lot of artists and theatrical people have built villas there. It has a little beach of gravel where people bathe all day long. When one's tired of bathing, there are the cliffs and the downs, and in the evening there's the casino. You know French, Mr. Lester?"
"Why," I explained, "I was supposed to study it at college. I still remember my 'j'ai, tu a, il a.'"
"You'll remember more when you get to Etretat," she laughed. "You'll have to, or starve."
"Oh, I also know the phrase made immortal by Mark Twain."
"'Avez-vous du vin?'—yes."
"And I think I also have a hazy recollection of the French equivalents for bread and butter and cheese and meat. We shan't starve—besides, I think Mr. Royce can help. He's been to France."
"Of course—and here he comes to claim his chair."
"I won't permit him to claim it if you'll use it a little longer," I protested.
"Oh, but I must be going," and she arose, laughing. "Have I been a satisfactory entertainer?"
"More than satisfactory; I'll accept no other."
"But you won't need any at all, after this morning—I don't really believe you're ill now!"
She nodded to Royce, and moved away without waiting for my answer, which somehow halted on my lips; and so I was left to the rosiest, the most improbable of day dreams.
Saturday, Sunday, and Monday passed, with only such incidents to enliven them as are common to all voyages. But I saw that quiet and sea air were doing their work well with my companion, and that he was steadily regaining his normal health. So I felt more and more at liberty to devote myself to Miss Kemball—in such moments as she would permit me—and I found her fascination increasing in a ratio quite geometrical. Martigny was still abed, and, so the ship's doctor told me, was improving very slowly.
It was Tuesday evening that Mrs. Kemball and her daughter joined us on the promenade, and weary, at last, of Strauss waltzes and Sousa marches, we sauntered away toward the bow of the boat, where the noise from the orchestra could reach us only in far-away snatches. We found a seat in the shadow of the wheel-house, and sat for a long time talking of many things, watching the moonlight across the water. At last we arose to return, and Royce and Mrs.Kemball started on ahead, after a habit they had fallen into, which, now I think of it, I am sure was our junior's doing.
"Two more days, and we'll be at Havre," I said. "I'll be very sorry, Miss Kemball."
"Sorry? I'd never have suspected you of such a fondness for the ocean!"
"Oh, it's not the ocean!" I protested, and—what with the moonlight and the soft night and the opportunity—"the time and the place and the loved one, all together"—would have uttered I know not what folly, had she not sprung suddenly forward with a sharp cry of alarm.
"Mr. Royce!" she cried. "Mother!"
They stopped and turned toward her, just as a heavy spar crashed to the deck before them.