“It would just about kill me not to take the chance,” returned Minna. “Now, I suppose I still have the right to order my own movements. I shall at once send the personal to the Boston paper,—I’ll put it in several, so he’ll be sure to see it,—and then, I’ll await his further advice. Will you send the messages, Rodney, or must I do it myself?”
“Of course, I am at your orders, Mrs Varian.” Rod gave her his winning smile, “But, at least, let’s think it over a bit.”
“No; send the word at once. We can talk it over afterward.”
There seemed to be no way out, so Granniss went off to do her bidding.
Even then, he had half a mind to pretend to send the word but really to withhold it. On reflection, he concluded he had no right to do this. But he remembered that Minna had not bound him to secrecy, though, of course, it was implied.
So with the letters to the Boston papers went also one to Pennington Wise begging him to come at once to investigate the remarkable case of Betty Varian, and telling him frankly of the strange letter just received.
That same afternoon a telegram came for Mrs Varian.
Granniss opened it, as was his custom, and its contents so surprised him that he nearly succumbed to the temptation to keep it from Mrs Varian.
But, he reconsidered, he had no right to presume on his position as confidential secretary, so with grave fears of its effects he handed it to her.
“Dear Mother,” it ran; “I am all right, and if you do just as you agree, I will soon be with you again. Please obey implicitly.“Betty.”
“Dear Mother,” it ran; “I am all right, and if you do just as you agree, I will soon be with you again. Please obey implicitly.“Betty.”
“From her!” Minna cried, and fainted.
Nurse Fletcher soon revived her, but she was in a shaken, nervous state, and could stand no contradiction or disapproval.
“Now you see, Rodney,” she cried triumphantly, “it is all right! Here is word from Betty herself—oh, my darling!” and she fell to kissing the yellow paper, as if it were the face of her child.
“But, Mrs Varian,” Granniss hesitated to correct her but felt he must, “that may not be from Betty, you know. Anybody could send a telegram signed with Betty’s name.”
“Rodney!” Minna’s eyes blazed with anger, “why do you try every way to make me miserable? Why dash every cup of joy from my lips? You seem to hope that we never find Betty! I can’t understand your attitude, but unless you are more helpful,—yes, and more hopeful,—I don’t think we can get along together.”
But Granniss knew that he must stand by this distracted woman. Another secretary might have more leniency and less judgment, which would be a bad thing for Minna’s interests. No, even at risk of letting her be imprudent, he must stand by her, and protect her all he could against her own wrong decisions.
“Oh, yes, we’ll get along all right, Mrs Varian,” he said, trying to treat the matter lightly. “You can’t get rid of me so easily,—and, too, you know that I want to believe all this quite as much as you do. But you must admit that a telegram is not like a letter. It might be faked.”
“Well, this isn’t,” said Minna, contentedly, still caressing the paper missive.
“Let’s consider it,” said Rod. “It doesn’t sound to me like Betty’s diction. Would she use the word ‘implicitly’?”
“Why not?” Minna stared at him. “And, too, she wrote it under compulsion, most likely. Oh, my darling child,—at the mercy of those ruffians! Yet, I make no doubt they’re good to her. Why should they harm my baby? They only want the ransom money, and that they shall have. I’m glad it’s a large sum, it makes me more sure I’ll get Betty.”
Granniss was in despair. He felt the awful responsibility of Mrs Varian’s wild determination, but he couldn’t see anything to do about it.
To report to Doctor Varian was not his duty, and though he thought it was his duty to tell the story to the police, Minna had exacted his promise not to do so, and he had given it. After all, it was her money,—if she chose to give it up so easily, it was not his affair. And, too, he couldn’t help a lurking hope that it might be all true and might result in Betty’s restoration to her sorrowing mother,—and, to himself. For he knew, now that the opposing influence of her father was removed, if Betty should ever be found, she would some day be his wife. He trusted in her faith and loyalty to himself as he believed in his own to her.
And yet, he couldn’t approve of Minna’s wholesale compliance with the exorbitant demands of people who might be and probably were mere swindlers. He was thinking these things over when Mrs Varian came to him.
“I want you to go right down to New York,” she told him, “and get me a hundred thousand dollars in cash. Now, don’t raise objections, for I should only combat them, and it takes my strength so to argue with you. My husband’s fortune is mine. There is no one to dictate to me how I shall use it. I want,—I insist upon this sum in cash, or some sort of bonds or securities that may be cashed by anybody, without identification. Oh, you know what I mean,—I want the money in such shape that these kidnappers will take it willingly. Of course, they won’t accept checks or notes. Go on, now, Rodney, get off at once, and get back as soon as you can. And I want some man to stay in this house while you’re away. I’m not exactly timid, but I’ve never stayed nights in a house without a man in it,—beside the butler, I mean,—and I’m sure you can invite some friend who would be willing to come. Perhaps Mr Landon. He’s so nice, and I’d try to make it pleasant for him in any way I could. There are plenty of books, and with good cigars, he might be contented.”
“Oh, he’d be contented, all right; but Landon’s gone off on a little trip. He won’t be back for several days. How’d you like to have North? Probably he’d come.”
“Very well,—if he’s perfectly willing. I’d hate to bore him. You’ll be back,—when?”
“I’ll have to be away two nights,—if North can’t come, there’s young Clark,—he’s a good sort.”
“I hate to ask it of any of them, but I hate worse to stay alone. I’d get nervous and I shouldn’t sleep at all.”
“That’s all right, Mrs Varian, I know how you feel about it, and I’ll get somebody.”
Granniss was as good as his word, and, finding that Lawrence North was glad to do anything in his power to help Mrs Varian, it was arranged that he should visit at Headland House until Rodney could get back from New York.
“But promise me,” Granniss said, “that if you get further letters from the kidnappers you won’t do anything definite until I return.”
“I can’t,” said Minna, thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t promise, anyway, but, as you must see for yourself, I can’t do anything till I get that money.”
“I suppose not,” Granniss agreed, and went off. During a sociable and chatty evening, Minna told North about the letter from the abductors.
“Oh Mrs Varian,” he exclaimed, “you don’t believe it, do you? I only wonder you haven’t had several. It’s a common way of crooks to attempt to get money.”
“But this rings so true,” Minna defended herself, and showed him the letter.
North studied it.
“It sounds plausible enough,” he said, “but how is it possible? How could anyone have kidnapped the girl?”
“Now, look here, Mr North, don’t say over and over again, ‘how could he?’ You know somebody or something is responsible for Betty’s disappearance as well as for Mr Varian’s death. Don’t think for a minute that my anxiety about my daughter in any way obliterates or lessens my grief at my husband’s death. But, as you must see, nothing can bring Mr Varian back. While,—something may bring Betty back! Can you wonder, then, that I catch at any straw,—believe in any hope,—take up with any suggestion on the mere chance of getting my child back? If they had asked for my whole fortune, I should pay it—on the chance!”
“Yes,” North spoke slowly,—“I see how you feel about it,—but you ought to have some proof that they really have your Betty.”
“I’ve thought about that,” Minna shuddered, “but, I’ve read of these cases, and—when they send a proof—sometimes, it’s a—a finger—you know——”
“Oh, now, now, don’t be morbid! I don’t mean anything of that sort. But if they would give you a bit of her hair, or a scrap of her own handwriting——”
“But how can I demand that? How can I ask for it?”
“You just wait for their next instruction. If they are sincere in this offer, if they really have Miss Betty and are really ready to negotiate, they must tell you what to do next. And, Mrs Varian, I advise you to do it. It may be a wrong principle, but your case is exceptional,—and, since you’ve showed me this letter, I can’t help feeling it’s the real thing. For one thing, you can see it’s written by at least a fairly well educated man. I mean, not by the common, ignorant class. Moreover, the very audacity of demanding such enormous ransom, indicates to my mind that the writer can perform his part of the bargain. A mere crook, writing a fake letter, would never dream of asking such a sum. How are you going to manage the payment?”
“If you mean the method of handing it over, I don’t know. I shall do as I’m directed. If you mean how shall I obtain the cash, I’ve asked Mr Granniss to bring it up from New York for me.”
“Is he going to travel home with that sum on his person!”
“Yes, he said he had no fear in that direction.”
“Oh, no; since no one knows of it, he runs little risk.”
Meantime, Rodney Granniss, in New York, was putting through his errands in record time.
He attended to the money matter, and by the aid of some influential friends of the Varian family, he obtained the desired sum in cash and unregistered bonds.
Then he went to see Pennington Wise.
That astute detective declared himself too busy to accept any new commission. But after Granniss had personally told the astonishing details of the case, Wise was unable to resist the temptation to undertake its investigation.
“The way you put it, Mr Granniss,” he said, “it sounds like an impossible condition. I can’t see any explanation at all, but, as we know, theremustbe one. The obvious solution is a secret passage, but since you tell me there is none, I feel I must go up there and see for myself what could have happened.”
“Then you’ll come?”
“Yes,—I’ll drop all else, and go straight off. We won’t travel together, though. You go ahead, right now, and I’ll follow soon. And, by the way,—you’re carrying that money with you?”
“Yes.”
“Let me take it. It’s far safer so.”
Rod Granniss opened his eyes wide. Was this strange man asking him to transfer his trusted errand to him?
Wise laughed. “I can’t say I blame you for not wanting to hand it over. But, this I do tell you,—it will be safe with me,—and it may not be with you.”
“Why, nobody knows I have it!”
“Even so. I strongly advise your letting me take it,—but you must do as you choose.”
“You’ll get it safely up to Mrs Varian?” Granniss said, reluctantly producing the rather bulky parcel.
“Yes, I will,—and if I don’t,—I’ll make the loss good.”
He looked meaningly at the younger man, and, flushing a little, Rodney said, “That’s right,—Mr Wise. I couldn’t make it good if I lost it. Take it.”
And with no further security than the detective’s word, Granniss handed over the money.
He went to his train in a most perturbed spirit. Had he done right or not? It all depended on the fidelity of the detective. To be sure, Granniss had every confidence in him, but the sum of money was so large that it might well prove a temptation to hitherto impeccable honesty.
He boarded his train, still uncertain of the wisdom of his course, and more uncertain as to what Mrs Varian would say.
But, he reasoned, if they were to employ the services of one of the best and best known detectives in the country, it was surely right to obey his first bit of advice.
This thought comforted Granniss somewhat, and he was further comforted by an event which took place that night, and which proved the wisdom of the detective’s advice.
Granniss was asleep in his lower berth when the merest feeling of a cautious movement above awakened him.
He could hear no sound, but through half-dosed eyes, he saw the occupant of the berth above crawl silently down and stealthily reach for Rodney’s clothes, which were folded at the foot of the berth.
Interested rather than afraid, Granniss watched the performance, keeping his own eyes nearly closed. It was too dark for him to see the marauder, who worked entirely by feeling, and who swiftly examined the clothing of his victim and then turned his attention to his bag.
Still Granniss made no sign, for he preferred to see the chagrin of the robber rather than to interrupt him at his work.
The bag yielded nothing of interest, and then the upper berth man came along and slipped his hand under Granniss’ pillow.
Deftly done as it was, Rodney shot out his own hand and grabbed the wrist of the other. But it was twisted away from him, and in an instant the man was back in his own berth.
Rod thought it over, and concluded to raise no outcry. In the morning he would see who his visitor was, and then take such steps as he thought best. He fell asleep, and when he awoke the sun was up and his would-be robber had disappeared.
Chagrined at his own stupidity in over-sleeping, but rejoiced at the safety of Mrs Varian’s money, Granniss went on with his journey home.
But, when he found on the floor of the car a handkerchief that had been under his pillow, he realized that a still further search for treasure had been made beneath his sleeping head.
When Granniss stepped off the train at Headland Harbor, there were but few other passengers who alighted at the same time. But one of these, a mild young man, came nearer Rodney and said, quietly:
“Mr Granniss, may I speak to you a moment?”
“Certainly,” Rod answered, after a quick glance at him.
“I am a messenger from Mr Wise. I have with me the money for Mrs Varian. Shall I give it to you here, or go up to the house with you and carry it? No one seems to be observing us; take it if you like.”
Rodney stared at him. Wise, then, had sent his messenger with the money along on the same train. By this means he had outwitted the man in the upper berth, who, without question, knew of Granniss’ errand, and who had thus been foiled in his attempt to rob him.
“Good for you!” Granniss exclaimed, heartily. “I think it will be all right for me to take it now,—here is the Varian car. But would you prefer to go up to the house?”
“No; I’d rather not. I’m sure the way is clear now. I saw that performance in the train last night. But don’t talk any more about it. Just take the box, and I’ll go right back on the next train. Mr Wise will arrive tomorrow.”
Marveling at the detective’s way of managing, Granniss took the unimportant looking parcel the young man offered, and with a brief good-by, got into the Varian car.
The car could go only to the lodge gate, and from there Rodney trudged up the steep path to the house, half afraid that some bandit would even yet appear to rob him of the treasure.
But nothing untoward happened, and he reached Headland House in safety.
It was nearly noon when he arrived, and Lawrence North, still there, was as eager as Minna to hear the results of Granniss’ errands in New York.
But not until after luncheon, when the three were alone in the library, did he tell the whole story.
He then gave a frank account of the detective’s asking to take charge of the package of money, and of the lucky stroke it was that he did so.
“But I never imagined,” Rodney said, “that he would send it along by a messenger on the same train!”
“Clever work!” said North. “Now, Mrs Varian, have you a really good safe?”
“Yes, I have. My husband had it sent up here with our trunks. It looks like a wardrobe trunk, but it is a modern and secure safe.”
The safe was in a closet in the library, and as the men examined it, they agreed that it was a good safe and proof against even a most skilful burglar.
“Unless he carries it off,” suggested North. “It’s not very large.”
“But it’s very heavy,” Minna said, “and besides, it’s clamped to the floor.”
They put the parcel of money in the safe, tucked it well back behind less important matters, and Minna herself closed the door.
“I’ll use the same combination Fred used,” she said, “nobody on earth knows it but myself.”
“Keep it to yourself, Mrs Varian,” North counseled her, “a secret shared is no secret.”
“I’m not afraid to trust you two,” Minna returned, “but I won’t tell any one else.”
“You’ve had no further communication from the kidnappers?” asked Granniss.
“I have,” she said, “a letter came in this morning’s mail. I don’t know what to do about it. It’s so strange,—and yet,—I feel a positive conviction that I ought to do as they tell me.”
“Whatever they ask, I beg of you not to decide until Mr Wise gets here,” Rodney said, earnestly. “Since I have seen him, I know he will help us, and I feel sure that he would disapprove of your going ahead with this until he can advise you.”
“What do they ask you to do?” North inquired; “that is, if you care to tell us.”
“Oh, I’m glad to tell you, and see what you think. I know it might be a better plan to wait for Mr Wise’s arrival, but that may scare off these people and lose me my one and only chance to meet their demands,—and—get my Betty!”
“Where’s the letter?” asked Granniss, looking very serious.
Minna handed him a paper, and the two men read it at the same time.
“This is your one and only chance to get back your daughter. Unless you obey these directions exactly and secretly you have no chance at all. At midnight, tonight, take the packet of money, if you have it, and drop it over the cliff into the sea. First you must place it in a light pasteboard box that is too large for it. This will insure its floating until we can pick it up. Now if you have told any one of this and if there is any boat on the sea at that time, we will not carry out our plans, the money will be lost and your daughter will be killed. So, take your choice of acting in good faith or losing your child forever. We are desperately in earnest and this is your one and only chance. If you fear to go to the cliff’s edge alone, you may take a companion but only one who is in your faith and confidence. If you breathe a word to the police we shall know of it, and we will call off all our arrangements. It is up to you.”
There was no signature. The paper and typing were like those of the previous letter from the same source, and the tenor of the letter seemed to be an ultimatum.
“Don’t think of it for a minute,” urged Granniss. “You are simply throwing away a large sum of money and you cannot possibly get any return. If the thing were genuine, if it were from real kidnappers who really had Betty, they would have given you a sign, a proof that they have her. They would have enclosed a scrap of her handwriting or some such thing. That telegram is of course a fake! This letter proves it!”
North looked dubious.
“You may be right, Granniss,” he said, “perhaps you are. But,—I can’t help thinking there may be some way to foil these people. Suppose Mrs Varian throws a faked packet over the cliff——”
“No,” Granniss declared, “that would do no good.”
“Wait a minute,” North went on; “then we could have a swift motor boat hidden in the shadows, and follow the boat that picks it up,—for I have no doubt that they will come for the money in a motor boat.”
“Of course they’ll do that,” Rod agreed, “but it will be a boat more powerful than any we have around here——”
“Anyway,” broke in Minna, “I won’t play them false. I shall either follow their instructions in good faith, or not do it at all. I’m sure if I try to fool them, they’ll take it out on Betty.” She began to cry, and North said, hastily:
“Don’t let me influence you, Mrs Varian. You must do just as you please in the matter. If you feel that the mere chance of getting Betty by such means is sufficient to justify your equal chance of losing all that money,—you must follow your own wishes.”
Minna Varian sat for several moments in deep thought. Then she said, quietly: “I’ve made up my mind. I shall not do this thing tonight. I am more influenced by Rodney’s remark about the telegram than anything else. As he says, if these people really had Betty, they would send a note in her writing and not a telegram.”
“That’s the way to look at it, Mrs Varian,” cried Granniss, much pleased at her logical decision. “The telegram was a mistake on their part. To begin with, if Betty is closely confined, which she must be, if there’s any truth at all in this matter, how could she get out to send a telegram? And if they sent it for her,—why not a note?”
“That’s all true,” said North, thoughtfully; “and when Mr Wise gets here, he can doubtless discern the real truth of it all. The money will be all right in the safe over night, and tomorrow the detective can look after it. Then you’re decided, Mrs Varian?”
“I’m decided for the present,——” she smiled a little; “but I don’t say I won’t change my mind. It’s a terrible temptation to do as they bid me, even if it proves a false hope.”
North went away, and poor Minna spent the rest of that day in alternate decisions for and against the directions of the kidnappers.
Granniss tried his best to dissuade her from what he deemed a foolish deed.
“To begin with,” he argued, “I can’t believe in kidnappers. How could they have abducted Betty, in broad daylight, with half a dozen people looking for her to come out of the house?”
“I don’t know,” said poor Minna, dejectedly, “but oh, Rodney, it doesn’t mean anything to ask such questions as that! For how could any other thing happen? I mean, how do you explain Betty’s disappearance without being kidnapped, any more easily than by such means? How explain Fred’s death? How explain anything? Now, the only chance,—as the letter says,—is this plan of theirs. Shall I try it?”
“Look at it this way, Mrs Varian,” Granniss said at last. “Suppose you throw that money over the cliff. It’s by no means certain that they will retrieve it safely.”
“But that’s their business. It’s full moon now, and at twelve o’clock the sea will be bright as day. There’ll be no spying boat around at that hour, and they will watch the box fall, get it quickly, and go away. Then they will send Betty back!”
Minna’s face always lighted up with a happy radiance when she spoke of the return of Betty.
“But think a minute. Suppose by some chance they don’t get the money,—suppose there is some stray boat out at that hour. Suppose the parcel gets caught on the way down——”
“It can’t if I drop it right down from the overhang. And I’d have you to protect and watch over my own safety,—oh, Rodney, Imustdo it!”
And so, despite Granniss’ dissuasion, in defiance of her own misgivings as to the genuineness of the anonymous bargainers, the poor distracted mother made up her mind to take the slim chance of recovering her lost child by the desperate method offered her.
But an unforeseen difficulty prevented her.
Shortly before midnight the sky clouded over and became entirely black. A terrific thunderstorm followed, and when that was over the whole heavens remained darkened and a drizzling rain kept up.
“It’s out of the question,” Granniss said, as the clock struck twelve. “It’s still raining, it’s pitch dark, nobody could see a parcel dropped over the cliffs, and you might lose your own life in the process. But, let this comfort you, if these people are really the kidnappers, they will give you another chance. They won’t lose their chance of a fortune for a rainstorm, and they’ll communicate with you again.”
“That’s probably true, Rod,” and Minna gave a sigh of relief as she gazed out of the window at the rain. “And so, let’s go to rest and try to hope for a future opportunity.”
Mrs Fletcher was waiting to put her patient to bed, and was much displeased at her late hour of retiring.
So, little was said by either of the women, and at last with a curt good night, the nurse went away to her own room, and Minna closed the door between.
But she could not sleep, she was restless and nervous.
At last she began to worry over the safety of the money in the safe. She imagined the thwarted kidnappers, disappointed at the collapse of their plans, coming up to the house to rob her of the money they had reason to suppose she had in her possession.
To her anxious and worried mind, it seemed the money would be safer up in her own room than down in the library safe.
On a sudden impulse she determined to go down stairs and get it. She donned dressing gown and slippers and stealthily, not to awake Fletcher, she crept down the stairs.
Into the library she went and, opening the closet door, began to work the combination that unlocked the safe.
Absorbed in her occupation, she did not hear a slight noise behind her. But suddenly a voice said; softly, “Oh, it’s you, ma’am! I thought it was a robber!”
Minna turned quickly to see Martha, the waitress, staring at her.
As she already had the safe door open and was about to take out the parcel she was after, she was annoyed at any interruption.
“Martha!” she exclaimed, though in a low whisper, “what are you doing here? Go back to bed!”
“Yes, ma’am. I thought I heard robbers, ma’am.”
“No; it’s only I. I have to see about some important papers, and I can’t sleep, so I’m attending to it now. Go back to your room at once, Martha.”
“Yes, ma’am,” and the girl obeyed.
Drawing a sigh of relief, Minna took her precious parcel, shut the safe, and went softly back to her own room. She put the package beneath her mattress, locked her bedroom door, and soon fell asleep, worn out with weariness and exhaustion.
“Great doin’s,” grumbled the cook, as Martha, who shared her room, returned to it, “where you been?”
“Hush up,” said Martha. “I heard a noise and I thought it was burglars.”
“And you went downstairs!” exclaimed Hannah. “Why, what foolishness! They might ’a’ shot you!”
“There wasn’t any,” Martha explained. “It was Mrs Varian, poking about in her safe.”
“The pore leddy,” said Hannah, sympathetically; “she can’t sleep at all, at all. The nurse tells me she lies awake nearly all night and only gets forty winks in the morning after sun-up.”
“Well, she was a bit upset at my coming in,” said Martha. “I wouldn’t ’a’ gone, only I thought it was my duty.”
“Oh, you and your duty!” growled the cook. “I’m thinkin’ your duty is to keep quiet and let me get a bit of sleep myself. I can’t do without it as you and the missus can!”
Hannah grunted as she turned over and promptly went to sleep again, while Martha, who was both imaginative and curious of mind, lay awake, wondering what fearful things had happened or would happen to this strange house.
The girl was of a fearless nature, but deeply interested in the mysterious, and had more than once made investigations herself in an effort to find some secret passage such as the family were continually discussing.
But she had found nothing, and now, still unable to sleep, she occupied her mind in trying to form some new theory of the tragedies of Headland House.
Hannah awakened in the morning by reason of the alarm sounding from her bedroom clock.
“My goodness,” she growled, to herself, “seems like I’d only just dropped to sleep. Well,—I’ve got to get up. Hey, Martha, come along, my girl.”
But no response came from the other bed, and Hannah stepped across the room to give the girl an arousing shake.
“Why, heaven bless us, she ain’t here!” exclaimed the startled cook. “Now, don’t that beat all! Not content with rampoosin’ round the house in the night, she must be up and off early in the mornin’! She thinks she’s able to help them as has the detective work in charge! That Martha!”
Hannah proceeded to make her toilet and then descended the back stairs to the kitchen.
But on reaching the kitchen she gave voice to such a scream as could be heard by all the servants in the house, and even penetrated to the rooms occupied by Minna and her nurse.
“Whatever is the matter?” cried Fletcher, running out to the hall in her night clothes.
“Matter enough,” Hannah called back. “Will you get Mr Granniss, and tell him to come quick!”
Stunned by the cook’s voice and manner, the nurse hurriedly knocked at Rodney’s door, and he responded at once.
He was partly dressed, and finishing a hasty toilet, he ran down stairs.
He found Hannah, and Kelly, the butler, gazing at a huddled heap on the kitchen floor, which he saw at once, was the dead body of Martha, the waitress.
“What does it mean?” he asked, in an awed voice. “Who did it?”
“Who, indeed, sir?” Hannah said, whimpering like a child. “Oh, Mr Granniss, sir, do get Mrs Varian to go away from this accursed house! Nobody is safe here! I’m leaving as soon’s I can pack up. Kelly, here, is going, too,—and I hope the missus will go this very day. It’s curst indeed, is this place! Oh, Martha, me little girl,—who could ’a’ done this to ye?”
Going nearer, Rodney looked at the body, touched it and felt for the girl’s heart.
There was no heartbeat and the cold flesh proved her death took place some hours since.
“What do you know about it?” he asked the cook.
“Not a thing, sir. Martha was down stairs late last night, and she came up again, saying Mrs Varian was down in the library.”
“Mrs Varian down stairs! At what time was this?”
“’Long about one o’clock, sir. Then me and Martha both went to sleep,—leastways, I did, and that’s all I knew till morning. Then I went to call the girl to get up, and her bed was empty. I came down—and here I saw—this!”
Throwing her apron over her face, Hannah rocked back and forth in her chair.
Rodney forced himself to think,—to give orders.
“Hannah,” he said, “I’m sorry, but we mustn’t touch Martha,—and you’ll have to get breakfast,—just the same.”
“I can’t, sir—I can’t get the breakfast, with that poor dead girl,—why, I loved that young one like she was my own.”
“But, Hannah, remember your duty to Mrs Varian. Now, we’ll lay a coverlet over Martha, and you and Kelly between you must prepare the coffee, and such things as Mrs Varian wants. Be brave now, for there’s enough sorrow for Mrs Varian to bear. You and Kelly must do whatever you can to help.”
Then Rodney looked hastily at all the doors and windows, finding them all securely fastened, as they always were at night.
“Thank goodness, Wise is coming today,” he thought, as he went to telephone for Sheriff Potter again.
Potter summoned, he turned his mind to the question of how best to tell the news to Minna, and concluded to tell Nurse Fletcher first.
She came down then, greatly excited, to learn what had happened.
Granniss told her, and then said, “Now Mrs Fletcher, I beg of you, don’t threaten to leave. Mrs Varian needs you now more than ever, and as Mr Wise, the great detective, is coming today, I’m sure you need not be afraid to stay on.”
“Very well,” Fletcher returned, primly, “I know my duty, and I propose to do it. I will stay with Mrs Varian until she can get some one else,—or until I can get some one else for her,—but not an hour longer. How did the maid die?”
“I don’t know, exactly,” Rodney looked puzzled. “I didn’t think it best to touch the body, except to convince myself that she is really dead. Now, will you tell Mrs Varian, or shall I?”
“I’ll tell her,—but I’d like you to stand by.”
So, taking Minna’s breakfast tray, quite as usual, the nurse went back to her patient.
“You needn’t tell me,” was the greeting she received. “I overheard enough to know what has happened. It’s awful,—but I suppose it’s only the beginning of a further string of tragedies.”
The utter hopelessness of the white face alarmed Granniss more than a hysterical outburst would have done.
“Now, Mrs Varian,” he said, consolingly, “it is an awful occurrence, but in comparison with your nearer sorrows, it means little to you. Try not to think about it; leave it to us and trust me to do all that is necessary or possible.”
Potter arrived then, and Granniss went down to receive him.
“Another!” the sheriff exclaimed. “What devil’s work is going on here, any way?”
He went to the kitchen and knelt beside the dead girl.
“Strangled,” he said, briefly, after an examination. “Choked to death by a strong pair of man’s hands. Mr Granniss, I accuse you of the murder of this girl!”
Granniss looked at the constable blankly. Then he said, “Oh, well, you may as well accuse me as anybody, for the present. Where’s Dunn?”
“He’s coming,” replied Potter, angry at the young man’s indifference to his charge. “But you can’t treat this matter so scornfully, Mr Granniss. I’ve been thinking a whole lot about you in connection with all these mysteries up here, and I’m of the opinion you know more about some things than you admit.”
“Quite right, I do,” said Rod, cheerfully. “But don’t arrest me just yet, for a really worth while detective is coming this morning and he may disagree with your conclusions. But this is a bad thing,—about this poor girl. I can’t understand it.”
“I can,” and Potter looked straight at him. “You found her in your way and—you put her out of it.”
“Oh, come now, Sheriff,” this from Bill Dunn, who had come hurrying in, “don’t go off half-primed! You haven’t any evidence against Mr Granniss, except that he was in the house.”
“I will have, though!” Potter muttered. “Where’s the butler?”
“Here I am,” and Kelly put in his appearance.
“Who saw this girl last?” Potter thundered, glaring round at the assembled members of the household. They were all present, for Nurse Fletcher had been unable to resist her aroused curiosity, and Minna Varian, too, stood in the background, composed and quiet, but evidently holding herself together by a strong effort of will-power.
“I did,” said Hannah, who stood, silent and grim, with folded arms, watching the sheriff.
“Where was she, then?”
“In her bed,—last night after midnight. She had been down stairs,——”
“After midnight?”
“Yes. She heard somebody down stairs, and—Martha was a brave one! She thought it was robbers in the house and she went down to see.”
“Well?”
“Well, it was Mrs Varian, who had gone down to the library. So Martha came up again,——”
“Leaving Mrs Varian down there?”
“Yes,” Minna interrupted, “leaving me down there.”
“What were you doing, Mrs Varian?”
“I was wakeful, and I went down to the library to look over some papers.”
“And this girl came to you there? Tell the story in your own way.”
“There’s little to tell. I was startled at Martha’s unexpected appearance, and sent her back to her room. Shortly afterward, I went back to my own room. That is all.”
“Then Martha must have come down stairs again.”
“That is quite evident,” said Minna, looking sorrowfully at the dead girl. “Oh, Mr Potter,—Rodney,—whatdoesit all mean?”
“It will take a lot of clearing up, ma’am, before anybody can say what it means. Where were you at this time, Kelly?”
“In my own room, asleep,” answered the butler.
“You heard nothing of the goings on?”
“No; my room is up in the third story, and I sleep very soundly.”
“Humph! You do? Well, how about the doors and windows? I suppose they were locked and barred as usual?”
“Yes, they were,” asserted Kelly. “I always look after those,—especially nowadays.”
“Then there was no way for an intruder to get in this house, last night, between midnight, say, and morning?”
“No way, sir,” assented Kelly.
“Then this girl was murdered by either you, Kelly, or by Mr Granniss. Those marks on her throat of a strangling hold, were made by a man,—and by a strong man. Either of you two could have done it,—now, which one did?”
“Not I, sir,” Kelly denied, as calmly as if he were merely refuting a slight accusation. “I know nothing about it.”
“I don’t believe you do,” said Potter, judicially, “but I do think you’re implicated, Mr Granniss. Were you in your room all night?”
“Of course I was. I retired about one o’clock, and I didn’t open my door again until I was summoned this morning to learn of Martha’s death.”
“You say that glibly enough,—but it will take some proof.”
“No; your denial of it, or suspicion of my veracity will take the proof. Can you produce it?”
“You’re not wise to be so cocksure, sir. There is such a thing as elimination, and I say that only you could have done this thing. The women are not capable of such a deed, and I’ve no reason to suspect Kelly.”
“And just what is your reason for suspecting me?” Rodney’s eyes were beginning to grow stern and his jaw set firmly. “Also, what evidence have you for your suspicions?”
“Come off, Potter,” Bill Dunn warned him. “You ain’t got no real evidence against Mr Granniss, and you’d better go easy. To my mind, Mr Granniss ain’t going to kill a servant girl without a good reason.”
“He may have a very good reason. Suppose Mr Granniss was at the safe and suppose Martha surprised him there as she had startled Mrs Varian. And suppose Mr Granniss didn’t want it known that he had been there, so he took the only sure method of silencing her lips.”